Total pages in book: 177
Estimated words: 173392 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 867(@200wpm)___ 694(@250wpm)___ 578(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 173392 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 867(@200wpm)___ 694(@250wpm)___ 578(@300wpm)
Who knew Trace would be the brave one?
“Well, I know what I’m capable of,” Dallas chimes in, walking up. “I might be able to put up with getting paid to get laid.”
I throw him a look. “Macon is looking for a reason to kill you.”
But he just scoffs, cupping his hand under the spout of the cooler and filling it with water. Throwing his head back, he splashes the water over his hair, smoothing it back. “He can barely haul his ass off that stool in the garage. You seen him? He looks like shit lately.”
He’s looked like shit before; they’re just too young to remember. I close the tailgate, ignoring Elaine’s eyes, which I know are still on us.
Macon wouldn’t kill Dallas if he screwed for money that we no longer need. He would just realize it was all for nothing.
Trace looks at me. “Is something going on with him?” he asks.
“No.”
“Would you tell us if there were?”
“No.”
He hits me over the head, and I laugh and jog backward around the truck as he pursues me.
“But just think!” I point out. “If he killed Dallas, it would be one less mouth to feed. And with Iron gone, it would be an extra bedroom. We could move Krisjen in.”
Trace comes at me, but I plant my hand on his head, pushing him away.
“Can’t you just fuck her already,” Dallas yells at me, “so she can move on to Macon, and then she’ll finally leave after she’s made the rounds?”
Trace stops, looking over at Dallas. “Leave her alone.”
“She’s a good kid,” I add, heading back to the driver’s side. “And I’m not going to have sex with her.”
“But you look at her.”
I glance at Trace even though it was Dallas who said it. Iron already went after Krisjen. I raised Trace like a father. It’s different.
“She’s beautiful” is all I say. “I’m a visual person.”
Trace laughs, throwing open the door and dropping into the seat next to me. Dallas climbs in the back.
“It’s okay,” Trace tells me. “I couldn’t take my eyes off her there for a while, either. And she’s a Saint. Something about them is a little more exciting because we can’t have them. Feels forbidden.” He looks over at me. “As you remember.”
I pause, my hand clutching the key in the ignition. “What the fuck’s your problem?”
He knows better than to bring that up.
“She’s good,” he says, not grinning anymore. “Really fucking good. Sorry to say, the best I’ve ever had.”
Sorry because he doesn’t love her and wishes he did.
“When you’re not fucking her,” he goes on, “you’re thinking about fucking her.”
“Don’t talk about her like that.” I turn on the car, hoping that shuts him up.
She works hard; she’s reliable, trustworthy, and cute as hell. And she’s perceptive. More than I like sometimes.
I have no intentions toward Krisjen. She’s a kid. But she’s somebody, and she’s his friend. He shouldn’t be acting like she’s something to use to blow off steam.
“I think you need another Saint,” he says. Before I can tell him to shut up, he looks back at Dallas. “And maybe you need one, too.” He smiles at his brother. “She’s a biter.”
Jesus Christ. “Give me a beer,” I bark back at Dallas.
Trace laughs, diving into his phone as Dallas reaches into the cooler, handing a can to me over the seat. I pop the top and take a gulp, setting it in the drink holder in the console and shifting into Drive.
But then Trace growls, “Ah, son of a bitch!”
And I hit the brakes.
“Goddammit!” he yells, and I look over to see him pull on his seat belt, which he never does.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“That little shit!” He scowls. “A constant pain in my ass!”
“Who?”
“Krisjen!” he says, like he wasn’t just singing her praises. “We gotta go to her damn house.”
“But we’re expecting a storm.”
He holds up his phone, and I’m not sure what I’m seeing, but I know it’s Milo, and I know it’s our sister. Liv and Milo. In the same photo. At Krisjen’s house.
I floor it, not even checking traffic before we skid onto the road, hooking an immediate left.
I tell Trace to text Macon, letting him know we’ll be home later. It’s already getting dark, and Dex needs to be picked up at the sitter’s and fed dinner.
I don’t know what Liv—or Krisjen—is thinking right now.
When we pull up to the house, the gate is wide open, the driveway filled with cars.
Trace sighs. “Fuck …”
Yeah. Something is wrong. Krisjen has never had a party at her house. In the time I’ve known her, anyway.
And I can understand if Milo heard about it and showed up, but she was taking a shot of something with him. In the photo posted two hours ago. Two fucking hours. Who knows what’s happened since then?