Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 126096 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 630(@200wpm)___ 504(@250wpm)___ 420(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 126096 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 630(@200wpm)___ 504(@250wpm)___ 420(@300wpm)
Knowing he’s bound to drive over here and kick my ass if I don’t do what he says, I let out a sigh and scoot down in my bed.
Ocean - Night.
Nic doesn’t respond but I didn’t expect him to. He’s not the kind to send sweet little goodnight messages. He only gets emotional when it’s important and seeing as though it’s well into the middle of the night, he’s probably more interested in taking some girl home and having his dick sucked until he passes out.
I pull the covers up over my chest and try to get comfortable. I turn off the TV and try my hardest to sleep but it’s impossible. No matter what I try, I can’t seem to find that sweet unconsciousness.
I stare out the window, watching as the soft breeze sweeps across the top of the pool and makes the smallest ripples in the water. The morning staff has already arrived so there’s a glow over the backyard from the staff quarters and without that, I wouldn't be able to see the figure cutting through the backyard.
I sit up, feeling a chill shooting down my spine. This shit used to happen all the time in Breakers Flats. It’s not exactly new for me, but here? No, this shit isn’t supposed to happen here.
I watch the figure move, narrowing my eyes at the pained way he slinks through the yard. There’s something … familiar about him.
The guy moves closer and I fight the urge to sound some kind of alarm. I don’t know what it is but my gut tells me to keep quiet.
I watch him as he moves closer to the main house, letting out a breath of relief when he sails straight past the doors of the pool house–doors that are most likely unlocked.
The closer he gets, the more light that shines upon him and as he crosses the window of the pool house, I see his face.
Colton.
I suck in a gasp, taking him in. He got fucked up fighting at school today, but this is worse. So much worse. He looks like he’s just taken a few rounds with a professional MMA fighter.
I throw myself out of bed and race through the living room, skipping over my suitcase which I’ve neglected to put away since the boys first moved us in here. Reaching the door, I tear it open and throw myself out of it, unsure why I seem to care so much.
“Colton,” I hiss through the night as he goes to reach for the back door of the main house.
He whips around, surprised to see me awake at this time of night but in doing that, he shows me exactly what his night has been like. “Go to bed,” he demands, mimicking the last words I got from Nic, only from him, they don’t seem quite so sincere.
I trail my eyes over his face and body. Someone tried to fuck him up but judging from his bloodied and bruised knuckles, Colton might have been the one doing the fucking up. “What happened to you?”
He shakes his head so slightly that for a moment, I wonder if I’d imagined it. “It’s nothing.”
Colton turns back and reaches for the door handle but I race after him, determined not to let him get away with this. “It’s not nothing,” I say, moving in beside him and reaching the handle before he can. “You’re hurt.”
“Don’t worry about me, Jade,” he says as I swing the back door open.
I step through the door first, making him wait his damn turn before looking back and ushering him through. “Sit your stubborn ass down. I’ll patch you up.”
Colton’s eyes come to mine and they narrow in suspicion, but what does he have to be suspicious about? It’s not like I’m purposefully going to poke and prod him harder than necessary. Though, now that the idea has wriggled it’s way inside my brain … damn.
I couldn't possibly be that mean, could I?
Seeing I’m not about to give him any other choice, he walks through the door and I follow him through to the bathroom. He walks right up to the sink and shoves his hands under the cool water. He sucks in a hiss and I watch through the mirror as his face scrunches in pain.
I hand him a towel and cringe as he pats his hands dry, leaving blood all over the white, expensive towels. If I’d done that back home, mom would have whooped my ass, but it’s a different world here, and replacing a towel isn’t even something to blink at.
The towel gets dropped into the basin and I watch as he reaches over his head and shrugs out of his shirt. The fabric trails up his skin and I try not to get turned on by the raw emotion on his face. He’s in pain but goddamn, that body. Every time he puts it on display, the need to touch him intensifies.