Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 113272 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 566(@200wpm)___ 453(@250wpm)___ 378(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113272 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 566(@200wpm)___ 453(@250wpm)___ 378(@300wpm)
I pressed my shoulder to the wall and watched him, my hands tucked in my pockets, waiting for him to get to the point. “That’s it? Not even ‘sorry that your dad passed away’?” I mocked.
Dean turned to face me, tossed back a full glass of whiskey, then pointed it at me. “You’re forgetting you had endless meetings with my dad at his office. You think I didn’t do the math? I know the drill, Vic. You hate your father. You hate Josephine. You hate the whole world. Came here for the money and the estate, didn’t you?”
Wrong, asshole. I came here for revenge.
Dean refilled his empty glass. “Where’s our little friend, Millie LeBlanc?”
“Where she belongs. In New York at the penthouse. In my bed,” I lied. “Well, technically your bed.” I tucked the half-smoked blunt between my lips and lit it casually. “Don’t worry, though. I’ll reimburse you for the mattress and frame, which we broke, by the way.”
He didn’t look surprised. Why would he be? He knew I wanted her. Wanted her body. Wanted her virginity. Wanted it all. He took it from me, and it was a dick move. That was common knowledge. Trent and Jaime still gave him shit about it when we got drunk. And let’s not forget that if Dean and Emilia were truly meant to be together, Emilia wouldn’t have been so fast to pull the breakup trigger every time I blinked her way.
Truth was she didn’t want him. She wanted me.
“She was mine,” Dean said gruffly, downing his second glass of whiskey.
Jesus. I threw my head back and laughed. There was no way he actually believed that, right? “Come on. Don’t lie to yourself.”
Dean slid his eyes over my face, contemplating his next move. He wanted to get to me. To hurt me without punching my face and making a mess. I didn’t say a word. Didn’t move. On some level, I did deserve to be punched in the face for this. Just like he deserved it when we were in high school. It was my time to take a hit for my betrayal.
Finally, he opened his mouth, a sly smile playing on his face. “Does she know you’re a heartless bastard?”
I shrugged. “She went to school with me for a year.”
He downed a third glass, and I hoped he wasn’t going to pass the fuck out on the carpet. I actually wanted to keep my relationship with his father intact.
“Did she ask about me?”
“No. Why would she? Did you ever try to find her?”
“She told me not to.” Dean’s eyebrows collapsed into a frown.
“Yeah, well, thanks for keeping her entertained until I came along,” I said, waving him off.
I just wanted the conversation to be over with. He was going to beat me up, obviously. And I was going to take it, because I deserved it. We were just wasting time. But Dean didn’t make a move toward me. Not yet. Just when I thought he was going to pass out on the bed, he turned around again and chuckled.
“Wait, do I not get a ‘thank you’ for breaking her in for you?”
Fuck it. He was asking for it.
I was the first to swing a fist at him. I slammed my knuckles into his nose, and this time I hoped his doctor wouldn’t be able to fix his pretty face. He grabbed me by my shirt and flung me across the room. I flew backward, crashing into the TV mounted on the wall. Dean tackled me, planting his shoulder in my stomach, pressing against me until I heard the screen crack behind us. I groaned and threw a jab to his jaw, but held myself back from doing more.
I fucking deserved it.
And I knew it was going to hurt.
He poured punches to my face, and I took them all. Then he hurled me on the floor and hammered my ribs with his pointy shoe. Again, he was no Daryl. He was a friend, and I’d fucked up. I’d certainly given him a piece of my mind and my fist when he was the one chasing Emilia.
Writhing on the carpeted floor with him, I bit my lip to stop a moan of pain. Everything throbbed. But hey, I had this shit coming.
“You really fucked my ex-girlfriend?” he roared from on top of me, his voice laced with fury and disbelief.
It was easier to forgive an enemy than to forgive a friend. I knew that all too well.
He was hurt. So was I when I’d found out they’d started dating.
Truth was, he was a dick for going out with her then, and I was a dick for doing her now. But she wasn’t his obsession. His vice. His fucking Achilles heel.
“I did. If I were you, I’d squeeze in a few more punches before you go because I’m not going to stop fucking her. I’m going to own her.”