Total pages in book: 150
Estimated words: 136791 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 684(@200wpm)___ 547(@250wpm)___ 456(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136791 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 684(@200wpm)___ 547(@250wpm)___ 456(@300wpm)
I don't know how much more I can take.
"Suck it up," I growl, pushing myself to my feet. I did the crime. I'll do the time. That's my fucking mantra these days, the only thing that keeps me going.
I cross the room to the brick. A message is scrolled there in a jagged hand: "Tick Tock, motherfucker."
That stupid son of a bitch. I told him that he'd pay if he fucked with me. Either he didn’t hear me or he’s testing his fucking luck.
I jog back to my room and snatch up my phone, dialing Roman's number. He picks up on the first ring, sounding like he hasn’t been to sleep.
“I’m going to kill Kaleo," I growl into the phone. “As painfully as fucking possible.”
Roman is silent for a beat too long. "What did he do?”
"Sent a fucking wake-up call straight through my window.” Sighing deeply, I run a hand through my hair, gripping it hard at the roots. The pain helps ground me, keeping me from getting lost in the nightmare of January again.
"I'll handle it," Roman says after another beat of silence.
"No," I snap back, taking quick strides over to the brick and the glass shards scattered over my living room floor. I put the call on speaker and snap photos for evidence before I clean it up. "This is my fight."
“What are you going to do?”
“Burn his shit to the ground.”
"Literally or figuratively?"
"Both, probably. I haven't decided."
"Well, let me know if you need help from this end," he says, and I think he actually means it. If I asked for help destroying Kaleo's world, he'd be there, no questions asked.
I clear my throat when my chest pulses with something suspiciously like gratitude.
Fuck. I think I might actually like his overgrown ass. But he doesn't need a friend like me. Especially not if this goes south and Kaleo makes good on his threat to spill my secrets. The last thing Roman needs is to be tied to this shit.
“Will do,” I lie. “Do me a favor?”
“Name it.”
“Put a car outside the school where January works. And don’t feed me any bullshit about a School Resource Officer. If he makes a play for her, an SRO won’t stop him. I want one of your people on it, someone you trust.”
“You think he’ll go for her?”
“He’s spent my entire fucking life trying to get to me through her.” I laugh without humor. “Do I think he’ll try to go for her? Hell no. I know the stupid motherfucker will try.”
I just don’t know where or when. And that fucking nightmare has me scared shitless. But I don’t tell Roman that. It’s not his business. That’s my cross to carry.
“Fuck,” he mutters. “I’ll make sure we have someone parked outside the school.”
“Thanks, man.”
“Anytime.”
I disconnect and shove my phone into my pocket.
My eyes catch on the warning scrawled across the brick again.
Tick tock, motherfucker.
What’s he trying to say? Time’s running out until he spills my secret? Time’s running out on me? My reign here is over? There are ninety different ways to read his message. Frankly, he can shove every single one of them up his ass, brick and all.
I’m not scared of him. I wasn’t when I was a kid. I’m certainly not now. He’s been a bitch my entire life. Some shit never changes. He was born a bitch. He’ll die a bitch. At this point, the other question mark is whether or not I’m the one who pulls the fucking trigger.
Everything in me wants to be that man. It’s what he deserves. It’s what I should have done seven goddamn years ago. But I’ve tried like hell to become something different. I burned everything down back then, and I’ve fought to rise from the ashes, to be something better.
Back then, it was easy to convince myself I was doing the right thing, that I was the good guy. We didn’t sling dope. We didn’t sell pussy. We did the shit we did to protect what belonged to us. I figured that meant it all washed in the end.
Except…when the end came, nothing washed. It was all stained in blood. You can’t get that shit out. I know because I’ve spent every fucking minute since trying to atone.
I can’t. I fucking can’t.
I killed my best friend, and I’ll never fucking forgive myself for it.
When January knows the truth, she’ll never forgive me either. She thinks she hates me now? She has no idea what real hate is. I see it every goddamn time I look in the mirror.
I gather the shards, the glass biting into my flesh as I clean up the destruction. But the pain is light, a fucking caress compared to the shit storm of guilt and remorse that pounds against my skull. It's always there, a steady tattoo of fuck up and failure that never, never stops.