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)
“Don’t say douchebag,” I ordered. “Kent, who is this guy?”
“He’s eighteen,” Kent grumbled. “And he’s the house on the corner with the yellow curtains.”
I curled my own lip up in a snarl.
I knew that house.
The douchebag in question had an older douchebag for a father that liked to call out obscenities whenever I walked or ran by.
“I hate that guy,” I grumbled. “It doesn’t surprise me that he has kids that are assholes like him.”
Just as the words finished coming out of my mouth, there was a banging on my front door.
“He followed me home,” Kent said in explanation.
And just like that, I was pissed as fucking hell.
My mom.
The joke that was my life.
The utter disgust I had for the world.
It just poured out into a single, shining moment.
With anger in my every step, I scooped up Koda’s old baseball bat and kept walking, it dangling from my fingers in a loose grip.
Four years of softball gave me a good, solid grasp on how best to hit a ball.
The same was about to be said for a fuckin’ head.
Just to be sure who I thought was at my door was actually at my door, I slid the blinds to the side in the living room, giving me a full view of a very large eighteen-year-old boy standing on my doorstep.
He had biceps bigger than my thighs, a head that was twice the size of mine, and hands that could probably crush me with a single squeeze.
I yanked open the door and came out swinging, aiming for the meat of the boy-man’s body.
He threw his hands up defensively to protect his head, but that was a mistake.
I wouldn’t have broken his arm otherwise.
The bat came down with a solid thwack, and a crunch followed.
The kid went down hard, tumbling down the three rotten steps that led up to our front porch, before coming to a stop beside the chain link fence that was useless due to the amount of holes in the links.
The kid yelled out in surprise, and I hit him again on his meaty thigh before saying, “Get off my fucking property!”
“What the fuck, you crazy bitch?!” I heard him yell. “I was just here to talk!”
“You were here to talk?” I laughed sardonically. “Were you here to apologize for hitting my brother with your fist? Or for your sister’s absolute disgusting habit of stealing stuff that’s not hers?”
He cried out when I caught him in the shoulder. “Now roll the fuck off my property before I fuck you up some more.”
He scrambled to his knees, then his hands, and came up swinging.
And, because my hand-eye coordination was excellent, I swung at his hand like it was a softball.
The ping of the bat hitting his fisted hand sounded glorious in the twilight.
The bellow of outrage should’ve been enough to have me running, but I stayed exactly where I was, getting ready to swing again.
The kid started to stand, slowly, and I wondered if maybe I’d bit off too much to chew.
But before he could make a single threatening step toward me, a bored male voice said, “I wouldn’t try that, bud.”
I didn’t glance away from the kid in front of me, but I did relax slightly knowing that Posy Hicks was near.
“Who the fuck are you?” he asked, laughing bitterly. “You her man? Maybe you should get her ass under control before I take it under control myself.”
Posy made a humming noise underneath his breath, and that noise had me turning to survey him.
He was shirtless, in running shoes and a mid-thigh length pair of running shorts, and a backward-facing baseball cap.
Personally, I’d never really understood the whole ‘short shorts on men’ fashion thing that was going around.
But clearly, I’d never seen a man with excellent thighs, shapely calves, and a washboard set of abs wearing those short shorts.
I mean, granted, they weren’t super short. More like five inches in length.
But holy God, did they do great things to the man’s legs.
I understood now why men got off on short shorts on women.
Oh, and the sweat that was trickling down the length of the man’s body?
That was something, too.
I shifted from foot to foot, feeling the rub of my thighs against sensitive areas between them.
The movement caught Posy’s eye, and he turned slightly to take me in before returning his gaze to the boy-man in front of me.
“Leave, and don’t ever come back,” Posy said.
“Or what?”
That’s when I saw Posy’s chest inhale deeply.
The smattering of chest hair that I could see covering his perfect torso was really doing great things for me and my libido.
Posy turned then, and I saw that he wasn’t tattooless after all like I’d suspected. He had tattoos.
They were just all on his back.
And one in particular held me captive.
The huge, block lettering words ‘TRUTH TELLERS MC’ sent a little spark of excitement through my belly.