Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 56410 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 282(@200wpm)___ 226(@250wpm)___ 188(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56410 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 282(@200wpm)___ 226(@250wpm)___ 188(@300wpm)
Molly had her hand a second later and pulled her back out to the living room in search of a place to sit. Several people stopped to talk to Molly, and as Keira stood there feeling all sorts of out of place, she closed her eyes and just breathed.
Of course it didn’t help her anxiety, or the fact that she felt everyone staring at her, as if they shouted asking why the hell she’d even shown up tonight.
She brought the cup up to take a drink, the bitterness a shock to her tongue. God, people drank this shit? And enjoyed it?
She tried to keep her expression a mask of indifference as the sour-tasting liquid hit her tongue and slid down her throat, the foam that had been at the top making it an even more unpleasant experience.
Soon, it was as if Keira faded into the woodwork, no one noticing her, like she was invisible in a houseful of bodies. But deep down, she thrived off that… not being noticed, being no one and nothing.
She moved out of the way so her back was now to the wall, and as she glanced around, drinking the nasty-ass beer, hoping that eventually it would start to taste better, start to give her some of that liquid courage she heard about, her body tightened when she saw him.
Reese Trenton.
A boy from the “wrong side of the tracks.”
A guy you wouldn’t want to bring home to meet your parents, because he screamed “bad boy” delinquent. A boy who was so smart the academy wanted him to attend badly enough they’d given him a coveted scholarship.
And the one person she wanted more than anyone or anything else.
2
Fucking Black Mountain Academy.
A damn prep-fest of socialites, the elite and wealthy, and everyone who wasn’t him. He fit in like a fucking sore thumb amongst all these assholes, and they all knew it.
He wasn’t like them. Never would be.
He was poor where they were rich. They had solid families. He had a piece-of-shit, abusive father.
The only reason he was even a part of BMA was because he was smart enough to earn a full fucking ride to the private school. And the only reason he was even here socializing with these people was for purely selfish reasons.
They helped numb the darkness, and they didn’t even know it.
Anyone on the outside would have seen the people parting for him and thought he was someone special. But the truth was far from that. They parted for Reese, because they were afraid of him, because he didn’t belong in this crowd.
The music was loud, and the steady thump of the bass filled every part of him. He absorbed it, let it tune everything and everyone out. He wanted to be invisible in a sea of bodies, because the truth was, being in a houseful of people who didn’t give two shits about him had him feeling more invisible than if he was alone in his room.
And how fucked up was that?
So he came to these fucking parties Alistor threw, because it was a steady stream of free booze and loud noises to drown out everything else.
Everyone thought they knew who and what he was—trash who had only gotten into BMA because they needed to fill a spot for the “less fortunate.” But he’d gotten in because he was smart, and it was that intellect that secured him a spot. And he wasn’t going to fuck it up.
He was an outsider, a “townie.” He had lived a hard life, didn’t have Mommy and Daddy’s money to fund spending sprees. He had to work for every little fucking thing he got, and he’d beat anyone’s ass who rubbed him the wrong way.
Yeah, that’s why they stayed away, because he’d have no problem popping some fucker for looking at him cross-eyed.
Reese supposed his size aided in the fear department. At six-foot-three inches, he prided himself on being healthy and in shape. He didn’t have a whole lot of control of many things in life, but that was one of them. But it wasn’t just that. Having a drunken, abusive father who came home from benders more times than not and tried to use him as his personal punching bag tended to make anyone want to be able to protect themselves.
But those fucking days ended two years ago, right after Reese put up with enough shit and showed his old man exactly how it felt to get knocked around.
A “hardened life”—that's what these little BMA bitches murmured about him. He snorted at that thought. Fuck the lot of them. They’d never know what real struggle was.
He weaved his way through the bodies and headed into the kitchen. He needed a beer and a shot, and not in that order. After getting the shot first and tossing it back, he grabbed a red plastic cup filled to the brim with the amber liquid and guzzled it down. He needed to be drunk to hang out with these assholes. He got another refill, ignoring the way the girls looked at him.