Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 87152 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87152 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
Stepping into the hallway, I see my sister rush into her room like she is trying to avoid me. In an instant, alarm bells ring in my ears. Not only is she walking really fast, she is also wearing a sweatshirt with the hood up.
I follow her. “Hey, weirdo, why are you wearing a hoodie in the house?”
“I’m cold,” she mumbles before trying to slip into her room.
She moves to close the door in my face, but I’m faster. I slap my palm onto her door and push it back open.
“Easton!” she yells, as if to accuse me of a crime. Folding her arms across her chest, she turns away from me like she is hiding something.
“What the fuck is going on?” I grab her hood and pull it off her head. “Look at me,” I order. I’m starting to get angry with her. What the hell is she hiding?
Her shoulders are stiff when I reach for her, but I don’t care if she is angry. I spin her around to scan her face. A furious frown greets me. But that’s not what has my blood boiling. It’s the finger-sized bruises on her neck that have me three seconds from losing my shit.
My voice barely sounds like my own when I speak next. “You have one fucking chance to tell me what happened. I swear to God if you open your mouth and lie to me, I’ll make sure your ass is grounded until you’re thirty-five.”
My little nightmare of a sister has the audacity to roll her eyes at me. “You are not Dad,” she snaps. “And this is exactly why I didn’t want you to know. I knew you would overreact and go ballistic.”
My nostrils flare as I stare her down. My hands are balled into fists beside me, ready to punch whoever put their hands on her. “Who?” I growl my demand. “Was it Brody?”
For a moment, she says nothing. We both stare at each other, neither one of us backing down until she finally gives up. Her shoulders sag, and she shakes her head. “You are not going to let this go, are you?”
“Not in a million years,” I say without thinking.
She sighs, uncrossing her arms like she has finally conceded. “Yes, it was Brody.”
So many fucking emotions hit me at once. Anger is pretty much on the forefront. “Why are you even near that guy again? When and how did this shit happen and where is the fucker now?”
“We happened to be at the same birthday party—”
“No more parties for you!” I blurt out.
“Fine! I’ll just stop living life and lock myself in my room,” my sister quips.
“Now you get it.”
“Are we done here?” She places her hand on her hip like she’s had enough of me.
“Not even close, but for now, you stay here and out of fucking trouble.”
“He is not worth it. Please, just let it go. You’re just going to get in more trouble, and it’s going to be my fault,” she pleads, and it pisses me off even more.
“It’s not your fault. It’s his. He has it coming.” This time it’s me who turns away from her. She grabs my arm, but I shrug her off with ease. “Stay. Here,” I warn before leaving her alone in her room.
My mood is dark, and I don’t feel like eating anymore by the time I’m downstairs.
“Who pissed in your cereal?” Preston asks as soon as he sees my face when I walk into the kitchen. He is sitting on the counter, eating a bowl of oatmeal.
“Brody,” is all I have to say for Preston to drop his spoon.
“What now?” he asks, and I quickly fill him in on what I saw, and what Sarah told me.
“Fuck.” Preston shoves his bowl away from him as if he can’t stand the smell anymore. “What now?”
“I don’t know, but if I see that fucker again, he is dead,” I say, not joking one bit. I crack my knuckles, wishing I was cracking his bones instead.
“Well, right now, we have to leave, or we’ll be late for class,” Preston points out.
I have no desire to attend any classes, but there is something… or better yet, someone, I wouldn’t mind running into today. Especially now that Brody touched my sister again. I need to convince Emma not to testify, so Sarah can report this fucker before I seriously kill him.
“Fine, let’s go.”
Preston puts his half-eaten oatmeal into the sink before we head out and get into the car. By the time we make it to school, my mood has gone from dark to black.
How dare this scum! After we already beat him up once. Did he not get the message?
I get out of the car and slam the door shut hard enough to make Preston shake his head at me. “You got to chill,” he says like it’s that easy. Why is he not more agitated?