Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 63055 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 315(@200wpm)___ 252(@250wpm)___ 210(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63055 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 315(@200wpm)___ 252(@250wpm)___ 210(@300wpm)
Inside me.
The breeze blows in my face, and I suddenly remember the whip of the wind around me yesterday on the back of Bo’s bike. The feel of his hard muscles beneath the slide of his cotton t-shirt. The sound of that deep, growly voice.
My panties get damp, and I rock against the hard lip of the bike seat to alleviate the ache between my legs. I don’t know why I find such a cocky asshole so hot, but I do.
It’s the bad-boy vibe, I guess. The motorcycle and Rebel Without a Cause attitude.
The ice blue of those eyes judging me for some crime. Whether it’s the one I actually committed or a different one, I can’t be sure.
All I know is that he doesn’t like me.
Neither does his brother, although that bothers me far less.
There’s some kind of long-standing rivalry between Cave Hills and Wolf Ridge high. Maybe the animosity stems from that. I don’t know—I’m just the new kid here, but I guess Cave Hills’ kids are the haves; Wolf Ridge, the have-nots.
I was once one of the haves. I lived in a three-quarter million dollar house in Grosse Pointe, Michigan, the wealthiest suburb of Detroit. My dad was a stock broker.
But if they only knew how far this princess has fallen, they might not hold it against me. The crown has been firmly knocked off my head and crushed underfoot.
My dad went to jail for embezzlement last year, and last month the guards found him hanging in his cell, his bed sheet around his throat. Suicide… allegedly. With everyone my father screwed over, who knows.
I’m living with my mom’s sister and my eleven-year-old cousin without a penny to my name. Have been since a little after my father was picked up by the feds.
I turn onto my aunt’s street, and my stomach drops out onto the pavement.
The black Lincoln Navigator that I’m becoming all too familiar with is parked in the lot in front of the townhouses.
The sweat on my skin turns cold and clammy.
I don’t make them chase me. I’m not that stupid. I ride my bike right up to the driver’s side window.
“Hi guys,” I call out brightly, waving my hand beside my face as I peer in.
The window rolls down, and I’m facing two assholes in sunglasses and first class frowns.
They are Vinny and Tom, or as I like to call them, Goon One and Goon Two, even though they look more like middle-aged divorced dads with thinning hair lines and bellies that hang out a little past their belt buckles.
“Where is it?” Vinny demands. He’s in a god-awful peach colored polo, khakis and Ray Bans, like he just came off the golf course.
I pull my phone out of my pocket and check the screen just to see if Winslow messaged yet. Still nothing.
Fucker.
“How’d the greens treat you today, gentlemen? Hit under par?” I try for levity and false confidence.
Tom, in his gray-striped Adidas polo and Titleist hat, opens his mouth like he’s about to legit answer, but Vinnny’s not having it. “Don’t be smart, kid.” His hand shifts to the console between the seats and rests on a black handgun.
I swallow, my throat suddenly very dry. “I’ll have it. There’s a lot to go through. But I’m looking. Every day.” There’s nothing to go through. The few boxes I have of my father’s belongings are full of clothes and pictures. My mother’s wedding ring…
Tom picks his teeth with a toothpick. “Clock’s ticking. Boss’ll be back soon.”
Sweat trickles down my back. I lean my elbows on the doorframe, enjoying the cool breeze of the A/C, then straighten when both their gazes drift down and lock on my tits. I’m not above using my sexuality whenever necessary, but with these guys, I’m trying to play more of the poor, scared teenage kid role.
I decide to go with the God’s honest truth. “Even if I don’t find his stuff, I can raise cash to cover it. I stole a Porsche and got a new title for it, but I still have to fence it. When it’s sold, I hope to have at least ten grand for you, maybe fifteen. Maybe I could make payments—like until I find it.”
I see grudging appreciation on Vinny’s face. “That right? You stole a Porsche?”
“Yeah. It’d be easier if you’d take payments in the form of cars. Is that a possibility?”
“No,” Vinny says. “We ain’t a used car dealership.”
“Maybe with a clean title,” Tom says at the same time.
But that doesn’t work for me. I need Winslow to get the clean title, and that means splitting the profits with him.
I scuff my sneaker in the gravel at my feet. “You sure you can’t handle a hot car? I could feed them to you every day, no problem.”
Vinny shakes his head. “Nice try, kid. Anyone can steal a car. Moving it is the hard part.”