Series: Like Us Series by Krista Ritchie
Total pages in book: 177
Estimated words: 174544 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 873(@200wpm)___ 698(@250wpm)___ 582(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 174544 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 873(@200wpm)___ 698(@250wpm)___ 582(@300wpm)
Dad wears another half-smile. “Spoken like a true brother.”
“I’m serious.”
“As am I.” He shifts his weight, his sarcasm replaced with real gravity. “I’m going to protect him. I promise you that.”
My teeny tiny ember of hope sparks to life again. Maybe, possibly, taking down the Donnelly family is a priority to my dad. Maybe it’s not something impossible.
Maybe it’s right around the corner.
At what cost, though? The concern all over Farrow is verging on fear, and I know how heinous the Donnelly family is. They went after Beckett on Halloween, and in turn, they assaulted Beckett’s bodyguard. But I’ve never really met anyone related to Donnelly. All I have is my overactive imagination.
I start to picture Donnelly drifting in the dark. I picture him opening a door and drowning in a sea of vipers. My pulse races, and my deepest desire is to run right after him. I think of all the times he’s run after me, and I don’t want him to be alone.
But we’re not together, so how does this even work?
3
LUNA HALE
The pit in my stomach destroys my hunger, and Xander still hasn’t emerged from his bedroom. Dad goes to talk to him, and even though I’m worried a comet just tore through my relationship with my brother, I think the best path is the one where I give him space to digest everything.
Right now, I really want to see Donnelly, to know he’s still in my orbit and hasn’t rocketed to another solar system.
I tell my parents I’m thinking of just heading home for the penthouse in Center City. To my surprise, my mom offers to drive me. I thought she’d stay behind for Xander, and I try not to feel guilty knowing I’m taking her from him.
My mom is behind the wheel of her black Aston Martin. The fancy SUV was an anniversary gift from my dad several years ago. My parents rarely flaunt their wealth. Uncle Connor and Aunt Rose are the ones who love designer brands, jewelry in the six-figure mark, and rare bottles of wine.
At some point, my parents’ feelings changed on cars.
Dad bought a Bugatti, and Mom reluctantly loved it more than her old BMW. I remember she said she felt like she was cheating on an archaic thing for the newer model and it felt wrong.
Cars aren’t people, love. They don’t have feelings. You’re cheating on nothing. That’s what my dad said.
After that, I wrote a sci-fi story on Fictitious about sentient cars with feelings in a futuristic society. They’re not exactly people, but they have a consciousness. Kinda like Herbie and Transformers, but with a Battlestar Galactica feel.
Readers seemed to like that one…
But it’s off Fictitious now. Deleted with my account. Though, it’s printed and buried in my closet, pages stapled together.
I frown and watch my mom smoothly switch lanes, comfortable in the leather seat. She really does love the Aston Martin. If it does have feelings, it’d be purring in content.
The headlights illuminate the Philly roads. Our bodyguards follow in their own vehicle behind us, and I wonder if Frog is bored out of her mind with the company of Security Force Alpha.
I glance down at my phone.
Too afraid to unlock the screen and see social media, I just stare at the time and a pic of me and Donnelly in our shared bathroom. A mirror selfie: his inked arm is resting on my head while I show off my green tongue piercing. He’s flashing his silver nipple ring.
It could be innocent to those who know us.
To strangers it’s flirty and spicy enough to elicit intrigue. Comments.
Suspicion.
I captured the photo a couple days after our first (and only time) having sex, which was a week ago. We’ve mostly fooled around after that, but his cock has only been inside me the night he made my bounty hunter/alien queen fantasy come true. Then, we dated in our bedrooms for the week. When he came home from protecting Xander, we would binge TV, eat Tastykakes, smoke a little. I wrote on my laptop some nights, and he drew in his sketchbook.
It never moved out of our rooms. Never became something more. But I guess I thought he was on the road to being my boyfriend, so I made the photo my lock screen.
“I guess I need to delete it,” I mutter aloud.
“Delete what?” my mom asks, barely glancing over. Her green eyes maintain contact with the street and nighttime traffic.
“A picture of me and Donnelly.” I like how happy we look. Radiant isn’t a word I’d use in my fics to describe characters that are like me, but I start believing we look radiant together. Apart, do we seem gloomy? Miserable?
I don’t want to be miserable without him, but moving on from him isn’t an option I desire or could even take. I’ve tried to get over Donnelly already, and that didn’t work.