Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 72021 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 360(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72021 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 360(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
His eyes were pathetic saucers. His jaw slack, even though it was still swollen from its run in with my fists just a few nights previous.
“Drake can spout all the demands he wants,” I continued, “but I don’t jump to demands. Not for anyone. Least of all that piece of shit.”
He tipped his head towards the bedroom behind me. “She in there? With you?”
“None of your business, as per,” I told him. “I’ll handle the sixty-day goods however I deem fit.”
Saucer eyes kept their stare right on my face. I hated what I saw there shining across at me. His next words came out dry. Weak. Alive with honesty. “What’s happening to you, Bran? What’s the girl doing to you?”
I sneered and lit up, past giving a shit about heading to the porch. “Like the girl’s doing anything to me, jackass.”
“You know that’s it, right?” he asked as I took a drag. “You know that’s why the world’s going crazy?”
“Enlighten me,” I jeered, and leaned my weight against the balustrade. “Tell me, oh wise brother of mine, why is the world going crazy over sweet Miss Emmerson?”
“Because you are,” he hissed. “Because you’re going crazy over sweet Miss Emmerson, Bran. You’re out of your fucking mind over sweet Miss Emmerson.”
I laughed.
It was cutting.
Vile.
Barely more than a jeer.
And fake.
Because I knew there was truth in his words. I knew it as well as he did.
“Don’t give me that shit,” I told him. “Like I’m going crazy over some sorry little sixty-day purchase from the back end of beachville. Fucking please.”
“It’s true.” He folded his arms, self-assurance bristling. I could have pushed him over the bannister for my distaste at him holding up a mirror to my insanity. Sent him tumbling without a second thought for the pile of crumpled misery he’d be at the bottom. “You’re losing your shit over her, Bran. I can see it. Drake can see it. Hell, fucking everyone can see it. And that’s why they’re bidding… don’t you see it? That’s why they want a go on the action themselves… because if she’s good enough to make you lose your fucking marbles after a couple of days messing about with her, then what’s she gonna do to them, hey? What’s she worth to them?!”
I took another long drag before gritting my jaw. “They’re bidding because she’s a good proposition, Eric. Nothing fucking more than that. I told you she would be.”
It was his turn to laugh. Unlike mine, his was real. One hundred percent fucking genuine.
“You need to look at yourself, Bran. How many girls have I seen you with? How many girls have they seen you with? None of them made you break a sweat. None of them made you bat a pissing an eyelid beyond making them suffer for the cameras. You didn’t give a shit for any of them.”
“Stop this crap,” I snapped, but he shook his head.
“Seriously,” he said. “This is for you, not for me. Because you’re my pissing brother. Because you need to know what’s happening to you. You need to sort your shit out before it eats you up whole.”
“This is what Drake told you to tell me, is it?” I tossed my cigarette butt over the railings, manners be damned.
“Drake told me to tell you to check your messages. That and click accept and get the scheduling pings out to the people who want them.”
“And if I don’t?” I snapped. “Did you run along and skip all the way up here, kissing Drake’s ass over the phone all the while?”
He held up his hands at the accusation. “I’m on middle ground. This shit storm is between you and him.”
“Yeah, sure it is,” I scoffed. “Like he isn’t bringing you under his wing with some promise of deputisation at my expense. Is that it, Eric? Is that what he’s promising you for chasing me down like a rabid dog on a fine December morning?”
I was wrong.
It was obvious. His brows pitted hard, eyes hurt in a way I hadn’t seen them before.
Or maybe I had.
Maybe I’d just chosen to ignore every scrap of genuine emotion I’d seen in him since we were teenagers and our father was still head of our household and I was vaguely human. Maybe I’d chosen to ignore every scrap of everything in him since I’d stopped giving a shit for anything in existence other than where the next pay check was coming from.
“Don’t do this,” he said. “Go up against him and he’ll take you apart.”
I couldn’t hold back another sneer. “You were busting to be in charge of this place a few nights ago. Why the sudden concern?”
And then I saw that too.
My gut lurched afresh. My intuition spiked in a way usually reserved for knowing when girls were teetering on the edge of their limits.