Total pages in book: 27
Estimated words: 25727 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 129(@200wpm)___ 103(@250wpm)___ 86(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 25727 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 129(@200wpm)___ 103(@250wpm)___ 86(@300wpm)
“Mock me more and you’ll find a lipstick stain on your shirt. Have fun explaining that to Lauren.”
“Do that and I’ll kill you.”
He’s probably serious. I move to a different topic. “Did you find someone to fight Mick?” Mick is Griff’s nineteen-year-old soon-to-be brother in law who has a surprising aptitude for boxing.
“Yeah, I’m bringing in a trainer from Las Vegas who has coached two world champs. I want Mick to have good fundamentals.”
“I invited a kid to the Friday night sparring. Mick would be a good opponent for him.”
“You’ve seen this kid fight?”
“No.”
“He any good?”
“Doubtful.”
“Then why the hell are you bringing him?”
“Because he needs the shit kicked out of him, and since he’s a teen, it’d be unseemly for me to do it, but Mick would be perfect.”
Griff frowns. “You’re not telling me the whole story.”
A knock at the door delays my response. “Give me a second and I’ll explain.”
The person standing just outside my door causes the words to die on my tongue.
Suddenly I’m fourteen and at Bill and Mary Johnson’s home, my fourth foster placement in as many years.
I hate them on sight. She’s got a mean, tight mouth, and Bill’s got a wandering eye. I don’t want to stay here. I figure I can get myself kicked out in three days. Maybe less.
I open my mouth to tell Mary that her home smells like old fucking socks when a wave of honey-blonde hair appears in the living room.
“This is Violet. Violet, this is your new brother Wesley.”
“Weston,” I correct.
“Wesley,” Mary continues as if I never spoke, “you will share a room with Mark. He’s currently pulling weeds in the back garden. Violet, show Wesley his room and get him changed. He can help you all with the evening chores.”
“While you wait for ol’ Wes here to get ready, why don’t you make the bed?” Bill suggests.
Violet tenses. She’s got a perfect read of Bill, too, which means going into his bedroom is not something she wants to do.
“At my last placement, the family had a small motel, and I changed about a bazillion sheets, so I can do that for you.” I tack on a “sir” so he doesn’t beat me for ruining his little plan to watch this girl bend over his bed. “I’m good to work in these.” I pluck at my plaid button-down that I got from the charity bin. It’s the “nicest” thing I own since everything else in my pack is worn jeans and hand-me-down T-shirts.
“Fine. Do that,” Mary orders. “Violet, while Wesley makes the bed, you can put away the dishes from lunch. After that, go out and finish weeding and then pick all the green beans and whatever else is ripe in the garden.”
Both of us get our duties done quickly. I meet Violet at the back door.
“It’s Weston, actually. Not Wesley,” I tell her because for some reason it’s important she know my real name.
“I’m Vasey.” She holds out her hand. “Not Violet.”
“Ah, so that’s how it is?” Mary exerts control over her charges by changing their names. How fucking annoying. “How long have you been here?” I ask as we make the trek to the decent-sized garden plot in the back yard. A small boy is crouched between rows of greens.
“Six months. It’s not so bad. We get three solid meals. Mary’s a decent cook, and she doesn’t mind if I take the reins now and then. Bill likes to watch, but he doesn’t touch any of the kids. Could be a lot worse.”
I point a finger at a circle of bruises around Vasey’s wrists. “How do you calculate those? Part of the worse or the not so bad?”
“I’ll take a little squeeze around my wrist over being scared someone’s coming into my room at night.”
“Fair.”
”How about you? What happened at your last home?”
“Kicked me out because I was too old. It was a good place, but I guess I wasn’t cute enough. I don’t know really.” Saying it out loud brings back some hurt. I was disappointed—no, to be honest, crushed—they were done with me.
A small hand slides into mine. “I think you’re pretty cute.”
My gaze flicks from our interlocked fingers and to her big beautiful eyes, full of warmth and sincerity. I fall in love with her right there. “You probably haven’t seen more than five dudes in your whole life.”
She grins at me. “And what about it?”
She looks the same. Beautiful, like she was birthed by the sun itself, but the cheerful disposition she held all her teen years despite never having a stable home, fighting off assholes, and dealing with me is gone. Weariness is etched into her forehead and in the drooped slope of her shoulders. Her light has gone out, and it makes me insane. Even though I know this is partly my fault, red washes over me.