Total pages in book: 142
Estimated words: 129955 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 650(@200wpm)___ 520(@250wpm)___ 433(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129955 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 650(@200wpm)___ 520(@250wpm)___ 433(@300wpm)
It cuts right through me and for a moment, I wish there was something I could do to have changed how the night had gone, but in the next second, he’s gone, closing the door between us and leaving me behind with nothing but my own traitorous thoughts.
CHAPTER 10
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Ember breathes for the twentieth time, still unable to wrap her head around Knox’s disgusting little side-hustle. “I can’t … really?”
“Right,” I say, still in disbelief as I dig into the pancakes Ember’s mom made for us, making sure to set out the cream, strawberries, and maple syrup, which naturally she paired with freshly squeezed orange juice. I don’t think I’ve ever had freshly squeezed OJ in my life. It’s always the bottled shit that costs way too much to bother. “I couldn’t believe it either. At first, he seemed like such a cool guy. No wonder he was so quick to want to know the new chick.”
“Fuck,” she says, shaking her head, staring down at her pancakes and letting them get cold. “What are you going to do?”
“What do you think I’m going to do?” I question, a sly grin stretching across my lips.
“Please tell me that you’re going to teach him a lesson? It makes me sick just thinking about how many girls he’s done this to in the past. Not to mention, the ones he’s going to go for next.”
I let out a breath. “To be honest, I haven’t worked out exactly how I want to handle it, but I can assure you, I won’t leave him a chance to do it to some other poor girl.”
“What about the uncle?”
I shake my head. “I … I don’t know. I want so badly to put an end to it, but this is so much bigger than me. What’s a seventeen-year-old foster kid going to be able to do? I mean, apart from calling the cops and giving them his name, how else can I help? As much as I want to fuck him up, I think I’m way out of my league.”
“What about the guys? How did they even know about this?”
My lips press into a hard line as I meet her questioning stare. “That’s the million-dollar question.”
Ember lets out a sigh and I get back to shoving my pancakes down my throat. Last night’s ordeal left me without an appetite, but when you don’t know the next time you might get a hot meal, you make every one of them count.
With Ember’s extended family due to come over for lunch, I get out of there as soon as I can. Don’t get me wrong, I would have loved to chill out and be anywhere but at Irene and Kurt’s place, but seeing a happy family all gathered around a table usually crushes something deep inside of me, so I start walking.
With every passing step, I groan. Ember lives on the opposite side of the city with the rest of the rich kids, and without my bike between my legs, I’m in for a nasty walk.
Ten minutes turn into twenty but I hardly notice it as my mind swarms with every little detail from last night. How did the guys know what Knox and his uncle were up to? But more importantly, why the hell haven’t they done something about it? I know I’m new around here, but it’s as clear as day that Carver and the boys have a power that normal kids just don’t have. Surely they could help in some sort of way. It’s not like they’re worthless; I’ve seen the way they fight. If they can’t do things the legal way, then I’m sure as hell that they could make a lasting impression by taking matters into their own hands.
The very thought kept me awake all night, and the more I think on it, the more it seems to piss me off. How many innocent lives have been ruined because of Knox’s uncle? How many young girls did Knox lure into his trap?
It makes me sick.
I get halfway through the city when the familiar rumble of my Ducati has my back stiffening. I stop walking and spin around to find Cruz roaring down the street, his shirt whipping in the wind, showing off his sculpted body as his mousy brown hair flies around, flicking back and forth and getting in his eyes.
The engine slows as Cruz brings my bike to a stop right beside me, holding out my helmet. “Get on.”
He’s in-fucking-sane.
“Here’s an idea,” I say, raising a brow and studying him. I drag my gaze up and down his body and find it impossible to deny just how good he looks straddled over my bike. “Why don’t you get off and give my bike back?”
He revs the engine, making it damn clear that he’s prepared to ride off without me. “Get. On,” he repeats, leaving no room for argument.