Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 114936 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 575(@200wpm)___ 460(@250wpm)___ 383(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114936 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 575(@200wpm)___ 460(@250wpm)___ 383(@300wpm)
“Cartier!” I yell, and her little body pauses just before the glass doors open out to the backyard. She doesn’t move. The music is still playing around us, and sweaty teens continue to dance to the beat of the song, but she heard me. Loud and fucking clear.
Just when I think she’s going to turn around to face me, she bolts forward and ducks between the bodies on the patio that spill out into the LED illuminated pool.
My upper lip curls as I snatch someone’s beer from them, following her footsteps. She fucking knows what she’s doing. Brat.
As soon as I hit the patio, my phone starts vibrating in my pocket and I swipe it unlocked when I see it’s Kyrin.
“She there?”
I don’t bother telling him that I’ve already lost her in the crowd. “Yeah. How’s the girl?” Cartier is good at playing diva, but the second she drops blood, it becomes a Kiznitch cover-up. We were about to leave NYC for a year because of our international schedule and she had to throw her toys out of the cot one last time. On her birthday, nonetheless.
“Alive.” Kyrin shuffles around in the background and my eyes fly around the space. Flashy lights, laughing girls, horny boys—horny boys staring at Cartier. “Maybe I should just put a bullet between her eyes. She could be messy and make this a problem.”
The Nero city house in the Upper East Side of New York is about as basic as they wanted it to be. High ceilings, new appliances, and all five bedrooms upstairs. I don’t know when the last time the older Neros were here, but by the state of it, I’d say around the same time we left, which means Cartier, who is now all but seventeen, has been running around playing queen of NYC and with an unlimited amount of money. I can only imagine the shit she has gotten into.
My eyes land on her instantly where she’s seated on a chair beside the pool with three other guys and another girl. There’s a table between them with coke dusted in straight lines. Her hair is out and in soft waves, and her face is layered with makeup. I get distracted when she flicks the rolled dollar bill around her fingers before leaning down and sniffing not one, but three lines in one hit.
Clearly, she’s giving a new meaning to her nickname the Ice Queen.
“No,” I answer my trigger-happy friend, heading right to where she is. “I’ll be there soon.” Hanging up with him, I shove my phone back into my pocket and kneel beside Cartier, my hand resting on her knee.
“Yo, man, you’re dreaming if you think she’ll let you hit. She only fucks teachers.”
I freeze, my grip around her thigh tensing. Her eyes are glued on the table, unwilling to look at me.
“What?” I mutter through gritted teeth but don’t move from her. I need to see her reaction when he repeats himself. How her sharp features melt when he fucking declares that she has been fucking her teacher.
A hand comes to my shoulder and I spin around, my fist flying straight into his nose. Blood spits out over my knuckles as I stand to my height. “Don’t fucking touch me.”
I turn back to Cartier, who hasn’t moved from her spot. “Look at me.” She doesn’t, and when I wrap my bloody fingers around her chin, forcing her face up to mine, I see it there. The fire, the ice, and everything that makes her a Nero, but it’s her eyes that are always my undoing. Something I’ve kept to myself since we were kids, because if anyone ever found out, Kyrin and I would send each other straight to Valhalla, and right now, she’s not worth losing a brother over.
Maybe one day.
Just not today.
“I didn’t know you were back.” Her blue eyes are lined with dark mascara or whatever shit chicks use to make it look all pirate-like. When the glass in her eyes forms a teardrop that falls down her cheek, I tighten my grip around her chin.
“I’m shutting this shit down, and we need to talk.”
She finally shoves out of my grip, swiping the tears from her cheek and pushing up from her chair. She slides her phone out from between her tits and hits pause on Spotify before pushing her fingers between her lips. “Everyone out!” They move quickly as if they’ve tested Cartier before and have witnessed firsthand the wrath of her anger. She’s not always that way, and only around people she truly doesn’t respect or like. Which makes her both painfully annoying and dangerous. I’m guessing the drama from a week ago with the fuckwit jock and his girlfriend died out the way we wanted it to. With Cartier not involved and her reputation intact.