Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 82201 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82201 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
God-fucking-dammit. I’d watched these little hellions grow up. I’d handed out hot dogs and juice boxes at baseball games, and now my property smelled like a stoner’s paradise.
One of Dylan’s classmates spotted me when I reached the porch steps.
“Oh crap, it’s Mr. Riley.” Sabrina thought she was subtle when she threw her drink over the railing.
“Who?” some boy slurred.
“One of Dylan’s dads, dumbass. We gotta go.”
“Not so fast,” I told the girl. “Who drove here tonight?”
“What?”
I pointed at the cars parked in front of the house. “Those cars didn’t appear by magic. Who drove?”
“Oh, um, probably Martin’s big brother and his friends.”
“Martin Nielsen?”
She nodded quickly. “His brother’s name is Brent. I think he’s in the kitchen.”
Excellent. “Okay. Go home.”
And there was little Jonathan. I narrowed my eyes at the oblivious guy, went up to him, and took the cigarette from his mouth.
“That shit will kill you. Get the fuck out of here, Jonathan.” I threw it on the ground.
His eyes bugged out, and he dragged two friends with him that I didn’t recognize.
“So sorry, Mr. Riley—please don’t call my dad!” Julie ran off too, with another drunk boy.
“Everyone get off my damn porch,” I snapped.
The kids scattered.
I took a deep breath and entered the house, where people were dancing, jumping around, laughing, getting drunk and high—
“Are you fucking kidding me, Lia? You have a game coming up.” I took the joint from her and the Solo cup from another, and I just started ruining their party. “Go home.” One bottle of vodka there—thank you, it was going down the drain soon. Beer, beer, beer.
I peered into the kitchen and spotted half a dozen little assholes playing poker and another half dozen sitting around on the floor.
“There’s a cute girl asking for a Brent Nielsen…?” I mentioned.
A boy was quick to jump to his feet. “That’s me.”
He was drunk off his ass, so this wasn’t gonna be difficult. A handful of his buddies stuck to him like a shadow, and I guessed two of them had cars.
“I’ll be honest. This girl loves cars. She wants to know if you have a sweet ride before she asks you out,” I said. “Otherwise, she’ll go with someone else. So, show me your keys, boys.”
It was like taking candy from a baby…
Brent and two of his friends eagerly revealed what kind of cars they drove, while digging out their keys.
Kids could be so stupid.
I didn’t fuck around. I grabbed the keys and told them they could get them back tomorrow—
“Whoa, man! I need to get home,” Brent slurred.
“I agree. Start walkin’.” I pointed at the hallway. “All’a youse. Unless you want me to call your folks.”
One of the kids seemed to sober up at bit, and he tugged at Brent’s arm. “Dude, I’m supposed to be at my cousin’s house. If my parents find out, I’m toast.”
Buddy Number Three wasn’t happy. “Man, I’ve had two drinks. I don’t wanna take the damn Metro.”
“And I don’t wanna get sued or go to bed with a guilty conscience,” I retorted. “Get the fuck out.”
My quest to crash the party continued, and I moved on to another crowd where I found the baby brother of Brent. Martin, who was in Dylan’s class.
“Martin, let me call your folks so they can come get you,” I said loudly, pretending to scan the contact sheet.
“Oh fuck, it’s—uh, hey, Mr. Riley.”
Someone tried to sneak by me with a bottle of cheap gin, so I took that too.
“Umm, I bought that, Mr. Riley—”
“Rat me out to your parents, Oliver. I fucking dare you.” I stared him down until he fled the scene.
Others followed.
I dumped the alcohol in the sink and heard someone hollering for Dylan.
God-awful music. Kids these days didn’t know a good tune if it smacked them in the head.
Once the kitchen was cleared, I repositioned myself in the doorway as more kids hurried to leave.
Looked like I didn’t have to do much else.
“I’ll take that.” Another vodka bottle.
“Hey, that’s mine!”
“Want me to call the police for you?” I drawled.
He wasn’t in Dylan’s class. I didn’t recognize him.
And now he was gone.
Hey, another cigarette—in my goddamn house. What was wrong with people? At least my brother and I had had the decency to cover shit up.
I put it out in a nearby bottle of who-the-fuck-knew.
The rush ended with Dylan appearing in the hallway, eyes wide—oh, he was lit. Fuck me, that pissed me off.
“Dad, w-what’re you doing home?”
“Wrong question,” I gritted out. I pointed toward the living room that was still packed with people. “You have twenty minutes to clear the house and get every ounce of booze and weed into the kitchen. Am I making myself clear, son?”
He nodded jerkily and disappeared into the crowd.
Rein it in.
I took a steadying breath and walked out of the house, pocketing the contact sheet on the way.