Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 95008 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 475(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95008 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 475(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
“Well, it didn’t stay between you and Curt,” my mom said sharply, “when you brought it over to Callie and Grease’s for everyone to witness.”
“You embarrassed?” I shot back.
“Watch yourself,” my dad ordered.
“Sorry,” I said to my mom, the word coming out instantly.
“That wasn’t a fuckin’ tussle between brothers,” my dad said, setting down the rag and pistol. “You were lookin’ to cause damage. So, again, I’m askin’ what it was about.”
“And again, I’m sayin’ it was between me and Curt.”
“Yeah, your brother’s sayin’ the same thing,” my dad said in annoyance.
“I bet he is,” I muttered.
“What was that?”
“Is that all you needed to talk to me about?” I asked.
“You in a hurry?” my dad raised his eyebrows.
“I’m headed over to Kara’s.”
“Of course you are,” my mom said, shuffling through her papers.
Before I could ask her what she meant by that, my dad spoke again.
“You only got one brother,” he said. “Whatever shit you got goin’ on, fix it.”
“Not as easy as that,” I replied.
“Well, make it that fuckin’ easy,” Dad replied derisively. “You’re not gonna be fightin’ like a couple of twelve year olds when we head back into the shop. It’s a fuckin’ business.”
“Like no one has ever fought in the forecourt?” I shot back. I’d been working at the Aces garage since I got out. It was a solid paycheck and I couldn’t complain—but I didn’t plan on staying there forever. It was still up in the air whether or not I’d patch in. The guys all figured I would, I was a legacy—both of my parents were kids of Aces MC members. My grandpa was the fucking president and my dad wore a patch, but I still wasn’t sure. I was good at working on cars, but it bored the hell out of me. Plus, Curt had been a prospect for almost a year already, and I wasn’t real sure that I’d want to prospect after my twin had already patched in. It just rubbed me the wrong way—especially since he’d been living easy while I’d been actually doing work for the club while I was inside.
“My sons haven’t had little bitchfits in the forecourt,” my dad responded. “And that’s not gonna start now.”
“Roger that,” I said sarcastically.
“Boy—” my dad said in warning, almost rising out of his chair.
“Is this about Kara?” my mom asked, setting her papers down to look at me. “Because if it is—”
“It’s about Curt bein’ a fuck,” I replied, cutting her off. No way were they going to bring Kara into it when it sure as shit wasn’t her fault.
“Figure it out,” my dad ordered.
I gave a short nod. I was ready to get the fuck out of there. “I’m gonna head out. You guys need anything before I go?”
“We’re good,” my dad said.
I kissed the top of my mom’s head as I left the house.
I was startled out of the memory when Kara jerked against me. She was frowning in her sleep, her entire body tense. She must’ve been having a bad dream. As she started to shake her head, mumbling something, I ran my hand down her back, trying to soothe her, but the motion didn’t help—if anything, she seemed to tense up even further.
“Kara,” I said quietly, pulling her closer. “Wake up, baby.”
My words had no effect and I wasn’t sure what to do. Were you supposed to let someone sleep when they were having a nightmare or wake them up? I couldn’t remember—but I sure as hell didn’t want her to have to go through it if I could help.
“Hey, sweetheart,” I said, kissing her forehead. “Hey, wake up.”
As she started to whimper, my stomach clenched. What the fuck was she dreaming about?
Chapter 11
Kara
I knew it was a dream, but I couldn’t escape it. I’d never been able to wake myself up when the dreams happened, I just had to relive them until they came to a natural end. I hated it. They always followed a similar path, the good memories turning into nightmares and the bad memories playing out with stunning clarity.
I stood in the hallway after school, grabbing stuff from my locker. I tried not to ever have to stay after school, but I’d bombed a test in World History and the teacher had let me make it up. Unfortunately, that meant that I was still around when football practice ended. I froze as voices came from around the corner. As I hurried to pack up, they grew closer.
“Hey Kara,” one of the guys sang, striding down the hallway toward me. “Lookin’ good.”
“Real good,” another one said. “You feel like gettin’ out of here?”
He stood right behind me and I wished the ground would swallow me whole. It didn’t happen every day, but more often than not, one of the group would find a way to corner me.