Total pages in book: 192
Estimated words: 182641 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 913(@200wpm)___ 731(@250wpm)___ 609(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 182641 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 913(@200wpm)___ 731(@250wpm)___ 609(@300wpm)
His hair is all over the place, no strands brushed any which way but lying in crisscrossed curls where they may. It’s as if he runs his hands through it often but switches off which one, maybe even using both sometimes.
Giant headphones hang around his neck, they’re brandless and bulky, and there’s a wire attached, tucked beneath his shirt, but he doesn’t seem to mind it. The cut on his lip is gone, but the swell I assumed it caused is still there, pressing against that same silver ring.
My attention falls to his knuckles. While they haven’t healed completely, they did a little and now reveal a permanent dark mark, almost a shadow along each, one too many tears of the skin if I had to guess.
His fingers fold then, fist flexing, stretching the scarred skin taut before opening once more, and my eyes lift to find his frown pointed at his hand.
“Didn’t have to use ’em much this week.” Slowly, he looks my way.
I don’t know why, but I nod.
We stare at each other for several moments, and then he cocks his head.
“What are you doing out here, Rich Girl?”
“I have no idea.” The response leaves me instantly, and I realize it’s the truth.
I have no idea why I came out here.
I didn’t plan it, that’s for sure.
Bastian is watching me, something swimming in his light eyes I can’t name. What’s worse, I don’t feel an incessant prickle beneath the ribs, the one that triggers my mind to spin, demanding I dig dagger deep to find out what it is, as it does when I meet the eyes of most.
My life is complicated, one issue after the next, one worry that trickles into ten.
Someone is always trying to earn their way into the Greysons’ good graces or befriend the Revenaw heir, or catch the eye of the team captain. If it’s not those things, then they’re searching for a slipup, waiting in the wings with a secret camera disguised as a new brooch or family crest or something else as equally unoriginal, trying to come up with the smallest scrap of dirt they can call home to Daddy with—everyone wants to know if Rayo Revenaw’s prize daughter is all she’s said to be.
I’ve never claimed to be a damn thing, though the expectation has always been there, and the target branded into both mine and my sister’s back from simply being born, then I started beating everyone … at everything. And so the red ring grew.
Bastian isn’t looking at me the way my peers do, though. There’s no calculation in his gaze, no triumph. Curiosity, yes. Attraction, duh, but if I told him to get out and go away, he wouldn’t try and find a way to stay. He’d laugh and then he’d leave, probably without looking back.
He wouldn’t be upset, though, and he’d still text me when he thought to. I shouldn’t be so sure of this, but I am.
I have a feeling he’s hard to offend. Actually, I’m not sure anything I could think of would offend this guy.
It’s … interesting. Intriguing?
Everything offends people in my world. Look at them too long, they’re insulted. Don’t look at them at all, double the insult. There’s a fine line to tread when surrounded by formidable people. It’s exhausting.
“How did you know I was here?” I break the silence.
He makes himself more comfortable in my passenger seat. “How do you think I knew?”
“The man in the store.” Obviously. “He called you.”
Bastian nods.
“This is neutral territory,” I warn, my voice snappier than intended.
His brows bunch together. “Neutral territory. You’re not talkin’ off the path, are you?”
Shit. Okay, so he’s either a bottom-feeder, low in rank or clueless that an organized crime ring owns this city … and everyone within a three-hundred-mile radius.
Pivot.
“How did you find this place?” I ignore his question.
“Heard about it.”
“From who?”
“Nobody.”
My eyes sharpen. “Do you know a lot of nobodies?”
He shrugs unapologetically. “Everyone I know is a nobody, Rich Girl. What’s with the twenty questions?” he asks but tells me more without waiting for my answer. “Buddy of mine came across this place after a cabin trip, said it was dark and quiet and hard to find, so I came down and talked to the owner. If I show up, he turns a blind eye, and in exchange—”
“You pay him for his silence.”
He scowls slightly. “I power wash his dumpsters twice a month and show up on his restock days. The man’s pushing seventy with a bad knee. He can’t lift shit over ten pounds and can’t stand for more than twenty. I help him out; he helps me out.”
That’s … sweet.
He could simply threaten the guy since he’s not under anyone’s protection, and it wouldn’t be an act against a powerful family to do so, but no. It’s an even, fair trade, and the man hasn’t been backed into a corner he’s not allowed out of without penalty.