Total pages in book: 20
Estimated words: 18102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 91(@200wpm)___ 72(@250wpm)___ 60(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 18102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 91(@200wpm)___ 72(@250wpm)___ 60(@300wpm)
“What in the hell…?” I whispered, all the while staring at our disconnected window.
2
KITTEN
Iwas about to turn in for the night, when my cell phone rang.
The screen showed my stepbrother Tate’s grumpy face. I contemplated not answering, because there were only two reasons why he could be calling.
One, he’d gotten himself into trouble—more than likely a fist fight—and needed me to bail him out. Or two, he wanted to go out drinking. Neither of those were really an option I wanted my night to end with.
I ignored it and set the phone down. But before I could even turn off the light, my cell dinged with an incoming text message. I knew the message was from Tate before I even checked it.
Tate: I know you’re home. You don’t go anywhere aside from school and work. Answer.
I didn’t have time to type a response—even if I planned to—because a second later, he was calling again. I hit Accept and exhaled as loudly as I could, so Tate would hear my sigh on the other end. His laugh was a little boisterous, which told me he was partying and probably a little drunk.
“Come hang out with me and Gunnar. He came down for the weekend,” he said before I even got a word out.
I rubbed my eyes. “Tate, it’s going on midnight. I’ve got a paper I have to start writing tomorrow—”
“Get out here,” he said, cutting me off. “Come hang out with us for an hour or two. You haven’t seen Gunnar since he was here three months ago. Besides, you’ve been working your ass off at school and your job. Can’t tell me a couple of beers don’t sound damn good.”
I could hear Gunnar saying something in the background. He was most likely talking shit about me wanting to go to bed instead of pounding back beers with them.
Both of them were twenty-six, Tate and Gunnar had been friends for the past ten years. When Tate and his father came into my mother’s life, I hated it. Tate had been an obnoxious fifteen-year-old who was cocky, thought he ruled the roost, and we butted heads more than we got along.
And ten years later, we were still like oil and water. We still butted heads and were both still so stubborn. But the years had made us closer. I now considered him my best friend and the one person I trusted above everyone else.
And through the years, Tate had become harder, more aggressive and arrogant. He now owned his own body shop in town, was covered in tattoos, and had an air of “don’t fucking talk to me” that he exuded.
“Come on, Sunny. Just hang for a beer or two,” my stepbrother’s deep voice slurred.
“It’s going on drunk-thirty, Tate.”
He chuckled, which then had Gunnar doing the same.
The truth was, I wasn’t really that tired, not after the private chat with Mr. Mystery. I was still wired from that strange and unexpected encounter.
A couple of beers and mindless conversation with my stepbrother and his best friend for a few hours might’ve been just the remedy I needed to remind myself to never let my job get personal.
“Damn, you’ve changed in the last few months, Sunny girl,” Gunnar said and tipped back his beer as he stared at me from across the coffee table.
I met them at Tate’s house an hour before and was on my second beer.
“You look pretty different too, Gunnar. I see you’ve added more artwork to your canvas.” I pointed to the ink I saw creeping up from under his T-shirt collar and covering his neck.
Gunnar set his bottle down and stood, and before I knew what he was doing, he grabbed the bottom of his shirt and lifted it up and off his body.
I felt my eyes widen as I stared at his chest and all the dark ink that covered his skin. He started pointing out all the new tattoos he’d gotten in just three months.
Detailed roses on his side. A vicious-looking skull covering his abdomen. There were women’s faces, swords, and other weapons that were all strategically placed so it all melded together into one work of art.
“He might have you beat on the tattoos, Tate.” I drank my beer and glanced at my stepbrother. He was watching me with a strange expression on his face, and then he was up and taking his shirt off too.
“Bullshit,” he finally said, and I smirked, realizing I poked the bear by implying anyone had more art than he did.
And then I was staring at shirtless Gunnar and Tate, and all I saw was twin, perfectly sculpted male physiques.
Tate reached out and ran his hand over Gunnar’s abdomen, and I saw the muscles clench, showing an even more defined glimpse of his six-pack. Both of them were built, with broad shoulders and massive arms.