Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 99381 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 497(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 331(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99381 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 497(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 331(@300wpm)
I look down at my phone and message the guy I’ve been texting with since returning to Manhattan. I only want one thing: Fun.
When I glance up, I notice Ford looking at me in the rearview mirror as his brother flips through songs.
“Have you asked for permission?” Ford asks, obviously having watched me this entire time on my phone.
I pocket my cell as I tell him, “I don’t need to. Dutton may think he’s in charge of me, but he’s not. He’s my brother, not my father.” I flick my hair over my shoulder. Even my father’s not that meddling. My brother is just overbearing and protective. I’m almost twenty-three, for fuck’s sake. I can do what I want.
Hawke passes me a bottle from the front. I frown at it and look at the label. Whiskey. Can’t say I’ve ever really liked the stuff, but I defiantly take a swig. Fuck these guys. I’m sick of people thinking I’m this dainty little princess.
I choke on the harsh burn but take a second sip for extra measure.
Hawke applauds, actually fucking claps like a clown. “Little tornado is going to make a mess tonight.”
I roll my eyes as I pass the bottle back to him. I might think he’s a dumbass, but I really like Hawke; he’s never treated me any differently because of my brother’s influence. And I like the nickname little tornado. He always calls me that because I’m so easily wound up—mostly because of my brother.
I remember the first time I met the twins; it was years ago now. While Dutton and Eli have been friends with them for much longer, I was banned from hanging around his friends even though I saw them all the time. It was only when I turned eighteen and begged to go to the adult parties, that I started meeting people. My parents gave me a pretty sheltered life. Considering our high-profile family, I was sent to private school, and despite how my brother was, I never went behind my parents’ back, never snuck out—never had the need to.
Now, it feels like a bright new world has opened up to me. And even though I’m rarely involved in anything the family does, my brother absolutely hates it and tries to shield me from it. I’m kind of addicted to it, though. So, anytime I come home from college, I love to see what everyone is doing.
By the time we arrive at the club, it’s fair to say I’m drunk. Hawke jumps out of the car, immediately clasping hands with the bouncer. I look down at my phone, waiting for a response from the guy who is most likely going to be a disappointing fuck tonight, but at least it’s something. I haven’t received anything back.
I sigh, and as I go to open my door, Ford opens it for me. I adjust my green bodycon dress as I step out. He’s dressed in black jeans and a black long-sleeve shirt that’s pushed up his arms, exposing a few of his tattoos. I can’t help but look at them and wonder how he does them himself. I’ve never seen him do it, but I heard that’s what he does—tattoo people. And it’s especially hard not to notice the one across his throat that reads Bad to the Bone. I’d probably laugh if he wasn’t so ridiculously hot, in an I-definitely-should-not-touch-this-man kind of way.
I pass Ford the almost empty bottle of whiskey. “Lighten up, Ford. You might actually have fun tonight.” He frowns at the bottle as I walk past him.
I’ve never asked Hawke why his brother always seems like he has a stick up his ass. Frankly, Hawke is probably the only fun one out of the bunch. The rest of our friends and family always seem to have a frown marring their features, like they just sucked on a lemon.
It doesn’t surprise me when I look over my shoulder and notice Ford putting the bottle on the floor of the car, untouched. Instead, he’s sucking on the second lollipop I gave him, the little white stick hanging out of his mouth as he glares at any man who looks at me.
For fuck’s sake, it’s like having my brother here.
Hawke throws an arm around my shoulders to pull me inside with him as if giving me a personal tour. Once we’re inside the club, the flashing lights and pounding music call to me, and the alcohol adds a pleasant buzz. I fucking love dancing, though it might not be the same without the girls. And I sure as shit can’t see either of these two being the dancing type.
Hawke leads us to a seating area, Ford begrudgingly following behind. I wonder if he even likes this type of scene, and if not, why does he come? In fact, I have no idea what his idea of fun is. I never see him drink or party. I wonder if the only thing he enjoys is hurting people.