Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 90564 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90564 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Those assholes blamed that whiffle ball bat for everything. This had nothing to do with a few concussions and everything to do with Lola Stevens.
“Shut up, man.” I reached for the side door just as Ethan Taylor’s bright yellow Z28 Camaro screeched into the gas station. Lights bounced over the passenger side door as it opened, and Max Harford, King Golden Dick of Barrington, climbed out.
They only came to this side of town to use a shitty fake ID or to start crap with us. And the last time they had done that… it hadn’t ended too well for any of those date-rapey shitheads.
Max’s gaze landed on us, and he froze.
“Hear your girl’s back in town, Hunt.” Ethan rounded the front of his car, a cocky grin in place.
The little cocksucker must have felt a false sense of safety in a public place. Lucky for me, unlucky for him, this was Dayton. No one gave a shit about a little fistfight.
“And I hear Lola’s a little loose,” he said.
I didn’t even realize I’d moved away from Wolf’s truck until I had Ethan by the nape of his neck, smashing his face into the pump.
“Dude…” Wolf snatched me away, and Ethan crumpled to the oil-stained concrete. “We’re on a busy street.”
I kicked Ethan’s side, then spat on him. “Just so you know, I wipe my ass with that jersey of yours that I stole last year.”
I started toward Wolf’s truck, glancing at Harford still cowering behind the passenger-side door of the sports car. Guess he didn’t want a second helping of the ass beating he took last year.
Wolf laid into me on the way back to the house. Officer Jacobs was looking for any reason to arrest any of us and while even I could admit my beating Ethan’s ass on the corner of a busy highway wasn’t the smartest decision, when it came to Lola, there was no reining in my temper. Never had been.
The first punch I threw was in kindergarten. Some snot-nosed little boy pulled her sweatpants down when she was bent over the toy box. Blood went all over the nap mats, and half the class cried. From then on, most of them were scared of me, which meant not only did they leave me alone, but they also left her alone, too.
Wolf’s headlights shined over the house when he turned into my drive. God, he was still going at me about jail when he cut the engine.
“Lucky for us, Barrington dicks are too pussy to turn us in,” I said.
“What about when they’re not.”
I kicked open the door. Thick heat crept into the truck before I got out and went to the back to grab the beer. “Zepp hospitalized Harford, and they all said it was gang violence from some unknown gang. None of them mentioned our names. I mean, how many times have we beat their asses, Wolf?”
His shadow rounded the truck. “How many times have they thrown the first punch?” He snatched the rest of the beer from the back, then started up the dark drive. “Every time we’ve messed them up, there’s been a reason. Some rich dick running his mouth isn’t a reason a cop would care about. Them date raping girls is. Them coming onto our property with bats is. Them throwing the first punch is. Every other time we’ve doled out a beat down, they did something they damn well knew could hold up in court.”
Holds up in court. Like most courts would favor us over Barrington. I moved around him on the porch steps to open the door. “Nothing holds up in court with Barrington money.”
“Maybe not, but if you don’t think their uppity as hell parents reem their gold-rimmed assholes for it...” He made his way through the living room and into the kitchen. “Shaming their rich daddies could put their inheritance at risk.” Then he shoved a few cases into the fridge before straightening and looking over the dented door at me. “And what is a Barrington prick without his inheritance?”
Nothing. And in their eyes, that would almost be as bad as being Dayton. Maybe we weren’t as untouchable as I thought when it came to Barrington.
* * *
Two hours later, bass pumped through the stereo, rattling the single-pane windows while girls in short skirts and cut-off shorts danced in beat with the music. Students from Dayton packed the living room, and a few girls from Barrington—thanks to Bellamy’s girlfriend—who he was currently banging in the spare room.
“Hey, Hendrix…” Virginia Ford, one of the blond volleyball players, popped out of the crowd, latching onto my wrist. “Is that a new tat?” She batted her fake, drug-store lashes, pressing her tits to my stomach as she swept a fingernail over the first tattoo I’d gotten on my arm.
“I think Wolf said something about being backed up.” I swatted her hand away. “Maybe you can go slob on his knob.”