Total pages in book: 133
Estimated words: 130221 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 651(@200wpm)___ 521(@250wpm)___ 434(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 130221 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 651(@200wpm)___ 521(@250wpm)___ 434(@300wpm)
The four of us have barely gone a day without working together or running into each other, but unlike me, they’re not still in contact with their real families and helping to support siblings. I have a family, just a mother who doesn’t want me.
Axel’s hand drops to the girl’s knee, and I narrow my eyes.
“Addresses are programmed in.” Hugo slips the paper and burner phone into my palm and then hands me the car keys. “Take the Cherokee. And as usual, you get twenty percent of whatever you come back with, and don’t…”
He grabs my wrist, and a gasp escapes from me as he squeezes it.
“Don’t come back empty-handed again,” he warns. “I can get her to do it for free.” He gestures to the kid sitting with Nicholas and Axel. “I keep you on because we’re family, but it’s getting harder to justify to Reeves that you’re not better for other work now.”
I clench my teeth together, yanking my wrist free and knowing exactly what he means by that. I’m eighteen now. If I want to keep making money, they may decide there’s only one way I can do that and collecting rent and running stolen merchandise isn’t it.
“That’s not what I want to see, Aro,” he tells me, his eyes softening, “but…” He hesitates, and I stuff the shit into my pocket, keeping the keys in my hand. “Maybe it’s better, you know? More money, a lot less risk…”
I shoot him a look.
“You’re going to get caught,” he states as if there’s no doubt. “It’s only a matter of time. And then, what happens to Matty and Bianca?”
I turn to leave, but he takes my arm, pulls off my hood, and yanks me in by the back of the neck.
I stiffen, but I don’t fight. I don’t fear him. Not him.
“He’s coming tonight,” he says.
I stare into his eyes, unfaltering, except for the tiny coil in my stomach.
“He wants an assortment of young and pretty.” His eyes don’t leave mine. “It’ll suck, and it won’t feel good, but it’ll keep you out of jail and you’ll have a wad of cash in your fist when it’s over.”
I would rather walk into oncoming traffic. I can get a wad of cash without taking off my clothes.
He lowers his voice, but I know the trio to my left is watching. “You don’t even have to smile for him. A él le gusta cuando a las chicas no les gusta.”
He likes it when the girls don’t like it.
“Let me go,” I say.
But I don’t wait for it. I whip out of his hold, pulling up the hood of the sweatshirt I wear underneath my jacket and spin around.
“Believe it or not, I do care about you,” he tells my back.
Yeah, cares about me enough to turn me out. Fuck you.
I reach over, grabbing a fistful of the girl’s purple and white tie-dye sweatshirt, and haul her ass out of her seat. Drinks topple as the table nearly falls over, saved only by Nicholas.
“Hey!” she yells, stumbling to my side.
“Aro, what the hell?” Axel barks.
But I ignore them, swinging us around and tossing Hugo a look. “I’m taking help.”
If Reeves is coming, then she’s leaving. I push her in front of me, following her out and not sure why I give a shit. I guess I wish someone had done the same for me years ago.
I push through the door, hearing Hugo shout behind me, “And stay away from those little Pirate shits!”
The steel door falls shut, and the kid spins around, but I grab her arm and pull her forward again before she has a chance to run.
“Let me go!” she yells, her white hair falling into her face, the blue chunks vibrant like she just redid them. Technically, she’s one of those little Pirate shits—a resident of Shelburne Falls, that clean, picturesque, All-American, CW lobotomy, seven miles away that loves to rub their money, cars, and Jared Trent in our faces, because he is their only bragging right, as far as I’m concerned.
But for some reason, they didn’t want this girl, so she came over here to Weston to find people who did. I shove her toward the Jeep. “Get in the goddamn car.”
I round the rear of the old navy-blue vehicle, the remnants of a My Kid Is an Honor Student at Charles A. Arthur Middle School bumper sticker hanging on for dear life on the bottom of the back windshield. Who knows how many owners ago that was, and I have no idea where Charles A. Arthur Middle School is.
I climb into the car and slam the door. “Tommy, right?” I ask. She’s only been hanging out at the garage for a few weeks, and we’ve never spoken until now.
She throws me a look but doesn’t answer.
I start the car. “So, what’s up, Tommy? You got a family to support? Drughead parents? Are you starving?”