Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 69534 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 348(@200wpm)___ 278(@250wpm)___ 232(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69534 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 348(@200wpm)___ 278(@250wpm)___ 232(@300wpm)
I barely had my door unlocked when she was yanking it open and fell into the car, her arms crossing defensively over her chest.
My sister was my sister, regardless of whether I liked her all the time or not.
That was why, when she called and told me she needed a ride in the middle of the night, I put everything that I was doing down and went to fetch her.
I was happy that Kent was old enough to be considered an almost-adult now, making it possible for me to leave Anders behind with him.
In the past if this happened, I’d have to get Anders and Kent out of bed and take them with me.
And trust me, it happened often.
Calliope Joe Hodges was hell on wheels, and there wasn’t anything that was going to stop her. Not police. Not lack of funds. And certainly not some guy that told her that she was easy.
The thing about Calliope was, she was easy.
Her self-worth was so low that she didn’t think that she was meant for anything more than what she was doing.
She had no aspirations in life.
Had no desire to go to college, or hell, even discover a trade that she was good at.
She’d told me once that there was no point in her trying, because most likely she’d be forced to work at the diner just like me, and ‘what was the fucking point of trying if you just kept getting sucked back into a shitty life?’
Anyway, my sister had issues, and I was very much aware that sometimes I helped her nurture those issues.
But how the hell was I supposed to say no to helping her out in the middle of the night when she was family?
I just couldn’t.
She’d been mine to protect and take care of for so long that it was near impossible to turn off the instinct.
“Hey,” I said carefully.
Her jaw worked, letting me know that she was fuming mad.
“What’s wrong?” I asked as I pulled yet another U-turn.
“Nothing,” she lied, turning her face away so that she was staring out the window at the nice ass houses that we were passing on our way out of the fancy-ass neighborhood.
I waited her out, knowing when to test her limits, until we were about a quarter of the way home and her shoulders had relaxed.
Her shoulders slumped even further, and I said, “Want to tell me what happened?”
She bit her lip, her expression wavering, and that’s when I knew that whatever had happened tonight had been bad.
She wouldn’t have considered telling me if it wasn’t.
That’s when my own stomach started to twist into knots.
Spotting a 7-Eleven, I pulled over into the nice, well-lit parking lot and turned the car off.
She remained silent for so long that I considered asking one more time, then she started to speak.
“Bryan asked me to go home with him, and I did. I didn’t agree to have sex with him, which he didn’t like. When I told him no, he tried to force me. I kicked him in the balls and called you,” she muttered.
Anger surged like a roiling storm inside of me, and it took everything that I had not to turn the car around and drive it straight through their front door.
The plan had merit.
It wasn’t like I had a great car.
Hell, it’d probably survive just fine.
And I could make it look like an accident.
However, the thought of my insurance going up any more than it had to was slightly devastating to think about.
But, just because I couldn’t drive my car through his front door didn’t mean that I couldn’t do other things.
I started the car and began driving again.
Calliope didn’t say anything until I missed the road that would lead home.
“Where are you going?” she asked, looking confused.
“There are some boxes of instant mashed potatoes at the diner that I was going to throw away because they spilled all over the ground in the kitchen. I was contemplating saving them and eating them at home, though. But then I decided that it was too gross for even my starving self to contemplate,” I explained.
“And what is a box of instant mashed potatoes going to do?” She rolled her eyes like the typical teenager that she was.
“Oh, Kemo Sabe,” I drawled. “You think you’re so smart. But you don’t know everything.”
Eight
You’re an idiot.
—Things I didn’t think I’d be saying on a daily basis
POSY
The drive to Gunner’s house from the bar we’d just been given our last call at was short.
I hadn’t drank much, just a couple of beers, but the same couldn’t be said for Gunner and Jasper.
They’d been pounding whiskey all night and had the turns from the bar to the neighborhood in which Gunner lived not been a hop and a skip away down a back alley, I’d have forced them to give me their keys.