Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 70940 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 355(@200wpm)___ 284(@250wpm)___ 236(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70940 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 355(@200wpm)___ 284(@250wpm)___ 236(@300wpm)
I stare at him and whisper, “She just hates me so much. I’m tired of it.”
“Then you learn how to deal with it in the right way. What you did tonight wasn’t right, it was wrong, and I know you don’t feel good about it.”
He’s right, I don’t.
I hang my head and say, “I don’t. I just got so angry ...”
“Learn to control that anger. It’s the only way you’ll ever get through life.”
I exhale. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s not me you should be apologizing to.”
I stand and growl, “I’m not saying sorry to her.”
He stands and puts his hands on my shoulders. “Remember what I said about you being a better woman than her? Don’t let me down, Briella. You know what the right thing is.”
Dammit.
Why does he do this to me?
Always make me think about what I’m doing.
Sometimes I want to be a brat.
Sometimes I just want to fight back.
But he’s right.
I’m not that person.
“I’ll say sorry,” I mumble.
“Good.”
He walks toward the door and looks back at me before saying, “I know my sister can be a pain in the ass, but she will grow out of it one day. You just have to hang in there.”
“Flick?” I ask, just before he steps out.
He glances back.
“Do you see me as your sister, too?”
His eyes flicker with something I’ve never seen before and in a low, very deep voice he says to me, “God no. You’re something far better to me.”
Then he’s gone.
Leaving me wondering, as always, what he means.
I guess I’ll have to figure it out on my own.
After I apologize to Sissy.
6
NOW – BRIELLA
“I found Brock,” Karen tells me, walking through Cohen’s front door like she owns the place.
I guess she’s rather familiar with it, considering she has been on and off with Alarick for a while. He spends a good deal of time here when he’s not at the club, so it makes sense that she would feel like she can just walk in.
I put down the cup I just finished drying and walk around the kitchen counter, stopping in front of her. “You did?”
“Yep. My friend had his number, and I managed to track him down. I know where he works. Do you want to go and check it out?”
I grab my purse and phone. “Yes. I am getting more and more anxious as the days go by. I really need to know where Magnolia is."
“Let’s do this.”
We both walk out, and I lock up with the spare key Cohen gave me. He’s been super kind to me, even though I’ve only been here a couple of days, and it means a lot. He doesn’t have to be, nobody does, I mean I did disappear and leave them all like they mattered little to me.
I think about the other guys in the club, and I make it my mission to go and see them later this afternoon. Screw Alarick, I’m not going to avoid seeing those guys; they’re as much my family as they are his. I spent as much time at that club growing up as he did. King might be gone, and my mom might not be here, but I know that place is part of who I am now.
Those guys are my family.
I owe them a visit.
“Where does Brock work?” I ask Karen as we get into her car and set out to find my sister’s mysterious boyfriend.
We arrive at a warehouse about ten minutes out of town. It’s old and run down, surrounded by thick trees and cars that are now growing their own bushes they’ve been left so long. Other than a few newer cars parked by the door, you’d think this place was abandoned. What the hell are they doing in there? It doesn’t look like a functional workplace.
“Are you sure this is it?” I ask Karen, narrowing my eyes and leaning forward to get a better look.
“Apparently it’s like a packing company or something. Oh, look, there on the sign.”
“Brock’s Packing,” I murmur. “How original.”
The sign is old, rusted, and hanging by only one hook. Whatever Brock is packing in there, he’s not making a hell of a lot of money out of it because my god, I’d never come here for anything. Ever.
We get out of the car and walk toward the warehouse door, which is only small in comparison to the large building. I take the handle, feeling more than icky, and push it open, stepping inside. The inside is surprisingly clean and tidy, not at all what the outside looks like. There are rows and rows of boxes, a few trucks and a small desk at the front where a woman is doing something on a computer.
We walk over and she looks up when she notices us. She reaches for her glasses atop her head and pulls them down over her eyes before saying, “Can I help you?”