Total pages in book: 168
Estimated words: 164910 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 825(@200wpm)___ 660(@250wpm)___ 550(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 164910 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 825(@200wpm)___ 660(@250wpm)___ 550(@300wpm)
I paid attention to everything. He hates quiet. He’s always listening to something. He likes ketchup on fries but doesn’t like it on anything else. He doesn’t have enough patience for movies. He googles the ending before it’s over.
And he breaks out in goose bumps every time his neck is kissed.
His hand lands across my face, my neck aching as it’s whipped to the side.
Clutching my collar again, he gets in my face.
“I hate what I just did,” I breathe out. “And it’ll be in my head forever.”
I wanted him so badly, I had to make him hate me so he’d feel something for me.
“You don’t feel badly, do you?” I ask him.
He glares at me. “What the fuck for?”
What for?
I open my mouth, but no words come out. How can he be like this?
“For not calling me,” I say. “You just threw me away. You didn’t text me.”
Was it all a fucking lie? I didn’t imagine it.
He…
He liked me. Didn’t he?
But he just shakes his head. “You stupid fucking kid.”
No.
No.
I squeeze my eyes shut and bow my head, and he throws me to the ground.
“Did you think we were falling in love?” he asks, his voice suddenly light and mocking.
He squats down next to me. “Maybe someday, when you have a wife,” he tells me, “I’ll do you both. Would you like that?”
I clench my jaw, trying to get back up.
But he pushes my head back down, keeping me on the floor. “Here’s what I like so you marry accordingly,” he pants in my ear. “Brunettes with blue eyes, tits at least a handful, and if she doesn’t wear underwear, that’s a plus. I love bare pussy.”
Tears spill down my face. Jesus Christ.
Pain wracks my brain. He doesn’t want me.
He hates me.
He hates everyone.
I swallow the sobs, lifting my eyes to him. “I told you once that I felt like shit all the time,” I murmur, “and that I envied my father because he could do anything and not feel like shit.”
That green fire burns in his eyes as he looks at me like I’m dirt, and I know now that he’ll never look at me any other way.
I continue. “I now realize that people who never feel like shit are always sick.”
Just like my father.
Dallas is no different. No guilt, no shame, no remorse.
It’s not human.
And I still envy it.
Growling, I push him to the floor, pinning him with my forearm on his neck.
“I may not be as hard and as ruthless as you,” I spit out, “but I’m young, and I have almost unlimited resources.”
I attacked Liv, because if I couldn’t get him to love me, then I wanted him to feel anything else.
Nothing has changed.
I bite out, “There will come a time when you won’t be able to go a day without dealing with me.”
He digs a fist into my ribs, a crack followed by a searing pain. I topple over, breathing hard.
He rises and whips open the door, knowing in no uncertain terms that I won’t be an enemy he wants in ten years. Or even five.
“It’s a matter of pride, Dallas,” I gasp as he walks out.
I learned from the fucking best.
15
Dallas
Bursting through the antechamber door, I slam it closed again.
The two women who checked us in go still, darting their eyes to me, but they don’t gasp or run. They’re no doubt used to weird shit.
Five.
Six.
The bells chime, and I race to the shelves, shoving Callum’s phone onto the floor, out of the way. Seizing mine, I charge to the other door, whip it open, and dash up the stairs.
Seven.
Eight.
Maybe he just wants to enjoy seeing me run or maybe he’ll give chase. Either way, I’ve had my fun. I don’t need to stick around to see his new little friend blow him.
If I ever had one ounce of respect for Callum, it was for his taste in warm bodies. He may have wanted Clay at his side in high school, but out of all my brothers, I was the one he wanted in bed.
I mean, of course.
But the fucking hairdo on that other guy? And the shoes? He definitely pisses sitting down.
Leaping out of the door, I can’t hear anyone coming after me, but any second now…
Twisting my head left to right, I don’t see the car. “What the fuck?” I grit out.
He said it would take me home when I was ready. Shit!
A door slams, footfalls hitting the stairs behind me, and I run. “Fuck!”
I left my shirt and jacket inside, too. Dammit.
Digging in my heels, I race down the driveaway, but a golf cart speeds up next to me on the green.
“Let’s go!” Iron yells, Trace sitting next to him.
The door to the field house swings open behind us, and I hear their battle cry. “Let’s go!”
Every hair on my body rises, and I leap onto the golf cart as Iron steers over the grass.