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)
“You wanna know why we met without you, you dumb shit?” Richard demands. His footsteps ring out on the hardwood floor. I can imagine him pacing in front of Dad’s desk, while Dad sits slumped in his chair like the miserable bastard he is. “It’s because of shit like that! You’re irrational. You’re a greedy, irrational drunk who has burned every last shred of trust in this town. I’m supposed to rely on you? The rest of us are supposed to bring you into the fold and keep you abreast of issues when we can’t trust you not to spill your guts to whatever wino you’re drinking next to this time?”
“Wait a second.”
As always, Richard steamrolls over him, as if he never spoke. “Things happen. You had our support. But there are limits, especially when it comes to business like ours. We can’t have someone so unpredictable in our ranks. Do you understand what I’m telling you? No more of these public scenes. No more throwing your pissy temper tantrums. And while we’re at it,” he adds, “I have fulfilled enough of your questionable whims. I got Wren Delaney into Wicked Falls University at your request—a full ride—but it ends there. Don’t drag me into any more of your personal shit. Got it?”
Hearing her name has a strange effect on me. My blood heats, but somehow my body goes cold at the same time. Of all names I wouldn’t expect to hear come out of Richard’s—the Headmaster of Wicked Falls University—mouth. He’s one of the few people I can think of with the power to hook Wren up with a full scholarship. I knew there had to be more to it than what’s on the surface.
But the request came from Dad. My fucking father is the reason I have to see that girl every day. Why the hell would he go out of his way to secure a spot for her? It wasn’t enough for him to fuck her mother and cause my mother’s suicide? No, he had to double down and make sure to destroy every last part of me. He had to destroy everything that was ever good about our family.
“Don’t make me come out here again.” I’m almost too late by the time I realize Richard is storming toward the door. Before he reaches it, I run down the hall, past the kitchen, through the living room and up the stairs. I’m on the landing at the top by the time Richard’s footsteps ring out.
I want to stop him and ask if he knows why Dad made him accept Wren. The impulse is almost too strong to ignore. I have to grip the banister and bite my tongue while he marches out before slamming the door. Then it’s a matter of forcing myself to my room, instead of going back out and finding my little bird.
The little bird who must have worked her way into Dad’s pants, the way her slut mother did. But no, she was inexperienced before I entered her life and her pussy. Then she has something on him and is blackmailing him with it. I can’t imagine another reason why he would ask a favor like that, not to mention for her, of all people. It’s the most random thing imaginable.
Everything around me goes red in time with my heartbeat picking up speed, pushing boiling blood through my veins. I should’ve known it was something like this. That she had something to do with getting into my school, a school where she doesn’t belong.
Obviously, she deserves much worse than I have given her so far.
But that’s going to change. Starting now.
17
WREN
Sometimes, the universe pulls through for me.
Dragging my ass out of bed this morning after barely getting any sleep last night was practically heroic. I wanted more than anything to stay where I was, with the blanket over my head, to shut the world out. Buck was up all night with his friends—I’m really starting to wonder if any of these people have apartments of their own. Why do they always have to come here? And why do they have to be so damn loud? Then again, with paper-thin walls like the ones in this apartment, it’s kind of impossible not to hear everything, even if a person is trying to be quiet.
I’m so tired, I’m sick to my stomach, though that could also have to do with knowing I’ll see Briggs in English class. I tried to work a little on our project last night since what else was going to do, really? It’s not like I was going to sleep with what sounded like a wrestling match happening in the living room. I know Briggs chose The Scarlet Letter for our project as a message to me. Any little thing he can do to remind me who I am, or who he thinks I am.