Total pages in book: 153
Estimated words: 148704 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 744(@200wpm)___ 595(@250wpm)___ 496(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 148704 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 744(@200wpm)___ 595(@250wpm)___ 496(@300wpm)
I have a feeling Crew knows what that might be, and I trust he’ll tell me, but I don’t want to think about that right now.
A stuttered breath bushes past my lips and I hold him tighter.
My parents warned me against seeking out my brother when he first disappeared without a word, only days after being released after the hit-and-run that almost killed him as well as the family he spun into.
Maybe I should have listened…
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Crew
The control it takes to walk into this fucking house with a calm bravado, something I don’t feel in the slightest, is damn near impossible to maintain. All I want to do is kick the door down, if only to make the bastard inside it piss himself in fear, but I don’t want to worry my girl, who is sitting in the passenger seat of my car, her eyes on my back, Drew’s resting on the hood of it, just in case—a bullshit task I shouldn’t have to fucking ask of him, not that he minds. He loves the girl like a sister, always has. He’d insist, but that’s beside the point.
There should be nothing to fucking ask.
Nothing to worry about.
Nothing threatening the safety of the woman I love.
But her brother’s name is Memphis Franco, and that in itself, is a threat.
His name is known in all the small cities around here, and not for anything worthwhile.
For his ability to charm his way into circles he doesn’t belong, and then proceeding to fuck shit up.
He robs Peter to pay Paul, and then he does it all over again until there’s no one else to screw, which is when he comes crawling to me.
I let the door slam with a little added force, but it doesn’t matter.
The asshole doesn’t even twitch.
He’s still out cold, slumped in the armchair, his chin dropped to his chest, clothes the same dirty ones he wore last night. He’s bloody and bruised, his face shiny with sweat, eyes sunk in, his body dehydrated and in need of water.
I take a cold bottle from the fridge and walk over until I’m standing two feet from him.
Looking at him makes me sick, and that’s a damn shame. The man had potential; he was smart with endless support, even long after addiction took him by the throat.
The problem? Support wasn’t what he was looking for. I knew at a young age what his family had to discover the hard way, what Davis may only now be on the verge of understanding.
You can only help someone who wants to be helped, and the only kind of help this man has ever been willing to accept is the kind that feeds his habit.
A lift to the liquor store.
A six-pack of seltzers.
A few bucks for a bottle.
Alcoholism is no joke. It’s a disease, a chronic sickness, a deadly poison, and when it works its way into the veins of those you love, all you can do is pray it doesn’t kill them. Them, or someone else.
I won’t allow Davis to become the “someone else.”
I hate this for her.
I hate him.
Uncapping the water bottle, I pour it over his head.
Memphis jerks, flying forward on instinct, but I shove his ass right back into the chair, my shoe coming up to stop it from rocking back and forth.
Disoriented, he looks around, his attention settling in on me.
The night comes back to him in a flash, or pieces of it, depending on how fucked up he was, or got after we left—wouldn’t put it past him to keep the binger going when no one was around to tell him to stop.
“Crew—” he begins.
“What happened last night?” I cut him off.
“Listen—”
“Why did it happen?” I fire again. “Who were those men?”
His silence says it all; he’s in fucking trouble. Again.
Things are different this time though.
He didn’t only bring problems to my door.
He walked them right through hers.
My blood boils beneath my skin.
“You’re just going to sit there silent, like a little bitch, after putting Davis in danger? Your own fucking sister?!” I’m screaming now, close to losing it and pummeling him until he passes out again.
Finally, he opens his mouth, but his words are pathetic. “I didn’t plan that!”
“They were with you, were they not?!”
“They found me and jumped in the car!”
“That you stole from your sister, who gave you a free fucking place to stay!”
“I only meant to borrow it!” He sits forward. “That’s it.”
“You drove it drunk and fucking crashed, Memphis. How you could do that when you almost fucking killed someone’s entire family doing the same damn thing, in my car you stole, I don’t fucking know!”
“I wouldn’t have crashed if they hadn’t gotten in the car.”
“You’re fucking pathetic.” I scoff, my fists clenching at my sides. “Who were they, Memphis?”
He shakes his head, throwing himself back in the chair and looking away.