Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 67039 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 335(@200wpm)___ 268(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67039 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 335(@200wpm)___ 268(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
“What’s going on?” I brush one of my unruly curls out of my face.
My mom stands, coming over to me. The only thing my mom and I have in common when it comes to appearance is that we’re both short. My mom is on the tiny side all around with blond, straight, short hair. She presses a kiss to my cheek.
“Have a seat, sweetheart.” Oh God. That feeling of uneasiness I had ramps up even more. I almost feel sick with nerves.
“Is one of you dying?!” I blurt out. Mom’s eyes soften.
“No, not today,” she reassures me, so I go and sit down on the loveseat.
“This isn’t about me going to see Marks either, is it?”
“No, honey,” my dad says with a small sigh. “This is about War.”
“Is he okay?” I almost come out of my seat, but I manage to keep it together. The first time I ever saw War, I’d fallen right on my ass. Literally, I tripped over my own stupid feet.
His real name is Warren, but everyone calls him War. He’s an impossible man to miss. He easily towers over most people with a broad, thick frame. I know he has at least a foot on me. That’s not saying much. I’m barely five foot five. But what stands out to me the most about him is his striking blue eyes.
They are such a contrast to his inky black hair, olive skin, and all-black suits that fit like they were tailored specifically for him, which I’m sure they are. Then there are the tattoos. I can’t even get started on those and how they peek out the top of his buttoned-up shirt, wrap around his neck, and show when he rolls his sleeves up. There have been many nights I've dreamed about seeing the rest of them. What it would be like to trace my fingers along them.
"He's fine," my dad says, but his tone is off. Does he not want him to be okay?
I'm guessing my crush on War was easy for my parents to spot. I'd still been a teen, so I must have been easy to read. My dad had told me to stay away from War, that he wasn't someone I should try to befriend or get close to. Plus, there was his age. He was at least ten years older than me.
It wasn't difficult to do as my dad told me. War didn't linger when I was in the main house. If I even said hi to him, I'd only get a grunt of a response. Every now and then, he'd cut me with a glare, but there had been a couple of times I thought he was watching me. I swear I felt his eyes on me, but he always kept his distance. There’s a high likelihood I imagined him paying attention to me because of the crazy crush I had on him.
"We owe the Marino family," my mom says.
"Like money?" A pit forms in my stomach. I ball my hands into fists in my lap. There have been a few times I saw some bloody men being dragged from the main house. I ducked my head and never spoke of it.
"No," my dad responds, my mom shaking her head.
“I’m truly sorry, sweetheart.” That warm smile my mom gave me when I entered the room has faded away. I wish they would get to the point already. Waiting for them to spring whatever news they have on me is like torture.
“I didn’t know this is what would have been asked of me.” Dad closes his eyes as if in pain. I have never seen him this way. My dad is a big guy that can handle himself. I recall when I was younger, he’d work late nights as security at bars.
“Dad,” I press. “Tell me. You’re freaking me out.”
“This isn’t how I thought this would go.” Mom's shoulders drop.
“The Marinos have come to collect the debt I owe them,” my dad finally says. “They have requested your hand in marriage to War.” I stare at my dad, not sure I heard him correctly. Did he just say I’m expected to marry War?
“Requested. Really?” My mom pops up from her chair. “I doubt that was a request, Corbin.” She starts to pace back and forth.
“You want me to marry War?” I ask out loud, more to myself and also in confusion. I reach down to pinch my arm to make sure I’m not dreaming. Nope. I’m wide awake.
“Do I want that? No,” my dad responds. Right, I was supposed to stay away from him.
“Can’t it be one of the other brothers?” Mom turns back to face Dad. “Z or Ronan.” I don’t want to marry Z or Ronan. Both my parents glance over at me for a second. If I had to pick between the two of them, though, I'd choose Ronan.