Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 84072 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84072 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
“Wherever you fell, they left fucking finger marks on you,” I mutter, dropping her arm. I’m insulted that she would bother lying, especially since it’s such a pathetic lie.
Somebody wrapped a hand around her arm tight enough to leave finger marks, and now she’s trying to get a dorm room. Is somebody at home hurting her? As far as I know, she doesn’t have a dad in the picture—how could she? No self-respecting man would stick around a woman like her whore of a mother, even if there was a baby involved. Maybe especially if there was a baby involved, since that’s at least eighteen years of association. It would take a man with a death wish to subject himself to that kind of torture.
What the hell is wrong with me? I should be glad somebody is out there when I can’t be, putting her in her place, making sure she remembers she’s nothing.
But damn it, I’m supposed to be the one doing that. If somebody is going to leave marks on her, it’s going to be me. I’m the one who lost my mother. It would’ve been bad enough if she’d just died, but that’s not what happened. She would be alive now if it wasn’t for the fucking affair with that filthy bitch, who could never be even half the woman Mom was. Just some wet hole for Dad to stick his dick into, that’s all. He probably doesn’t even remember what she looks like.
But I do, just as clearly as I remember Mom. I won’t let her be forgotten. I won’t let her death end up meaning nothing.
If I have to remember my dead mother—and the reason she died—every goddamn time I set eyes on Wren. I’m going to make sure Wren pays for that. I’m not leaving her punishment up to some random asshole.
“Are you finished asking for details of my personal life that are none of your business?” Somehow, she still has the nerve to say shit like that to me.
She shakes her head and turns around. Only instead of going to the Liberal Arts building, she walks to the parking lot instead. “Calling it an early day?” I ask. I’m parked a few spots away from her car, where a big, ugly patch of ruined paint running the entire driver’s side is a reminder of whoever spray painted it. I should find out who did it. I would like to buy them a beer.
“I just want to go home, okay?” The problem is, she doesn’t look like she actually wants to go. Not with her head hanging the way it is. Not when she sounds so defeated.
“You know I could follow you, right?” I ask as she gets behind the wheel of the piece of shit that somehow still gets her around town. I can’t imagine how it does, but it got here. “I could also have this trash towed out of here. It’s a fucking insult, having to see a car this ugly sitting around.”
She slams the door, shaking her head, then jabs the key into the ignition.
And nothing happens when she turns it, beyond a flat clicking noise.
I can hear her in there even with the window closed. “No. Not today. Come on, baby…” She tries again, then again, but all she gets is the same clicking noise.
“Looks like you’re going to need a ride,” I call out, propping an elbow on the roof of the car and watching while she tries again and again. “You’re wasting your time.”
She didn’t lock the door, so I throw it open now and lean in until she has to lean away from me. “Let’s go. I’ll take you home if that’s where you need to go so bad.” I want to see where she lives—no, I need to. I need to see for myself.
“No. You don’t have to do that.” She’s holding onto the wheel with both hands like that’s going to help her. Like I couldn’t rip the fucking wheel off the column if I felt like it.
She yelps when I pull her out of the car—not that it’s hard to do, since she weighs practically nothing. “Stop! Why are you doing this?”
“Shut up,” I mutter in disgust, throwing her on my shoulder before kicking the car door shut. “You’ve wasted enough of my time today.” I must be feeling merciful because of those bruises. I can’t believe I let myself feel sorry for her even for a minute.
She tries to fight as I carry her to my truck, but it’s a waste of time. “Now. Here’s how it’s going to happen.” Once I have the passenger door open, I throw her inside. Right away, she makes like she’s going to kick me because she has obviously lost her mind.
With both hands, I slam her against the seat hard enough to make her yelp again. “Either you’re going to sit here and behave yourself, or I’m going to tie you the fuck up. And I’ll decide when you’re untied, got it? Which way is it going to be?”