Series: Like Us Series by Krista Ritchie
Total pages in book: 177
Estimated words: 174544 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 873(@200wpm)___ 698(@250wpm)___ 582(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 174544 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 873(@200wpm)___ 698(@250wpm)___ 582(@300wpm)
They could have.
I didn’t see Joana’s car.
Liam unlocks the phone by hoisting the screen at my face. He checks my recent texts. I’m not an idiot. I deleted most threads before we arrived.
Then he throws my phone on the scratched floorboards. Screen shatters, and he stomps his boot on the device. Cousins laugh in the background, and others come over to kick it into the wall like a soccer ball. Pieces break off.
I control my breathing and speeding heart rate. I’m only moving my eyes. Where is she?
“That’s good enough,” my dad declares.
Liam locks gazes with me. “Strip.”
My dad glares. “Come on.”
“Most of us haven’t seen your kid in over a decade, Sean,” another man sneers, descending the staircase. Is Luna up there? Can’t see beyond the darkness of the stairs, and I’m rocketed back to a memory. The townhouse in the Rittenhouse-Fitler district.
The fire.
I ran into the burning house. I ran to the staircase and looked up.
I was looking for Luna.
Back then, I was ordered in another direction and I couldn’t go find her. I couldn’t make sure she was okay.
Staring at this darkened staircase now, the urge to race up the steps throttles me. Find her. I gotta find her, but I can’t alarm them. Can’t make it seem like I’m against them.
“Paul,” the man snarls, forcing my attention on him. He’s reached the bottom few stairs and assesses me from head to toe. I can’t place this guy at all, but he’s around my dad’s age. Looks more like Uncle Raff with the chocolate brown hair. His scruff hasn’t grayed yet, and his surly expression is souring on me.
“Hugh,” my dad greets with bite. “I just thought your kids were up to this shit. You really got in this mess too?”
“You want me to talk? He needs to strip down.”
I’m not wasting more time. Quickly, I shed my old Van Halen shirt, each boot, each sock, and I step out of my jeans. They’re gonna want me buck-naked, so I take off my boxer-briefs and cup my dick and balls.
“Turn around,” Hugh orders.
I do a three-sixty. Hurry.
Colin comes at me with a laugh. “What’s this shit?” He tries to rip off my kyber crystal necklace, and I expose my cock to shove him.
“Don’t touch me,” I warn.
“Jeezus.” He glares like I bitch-slapped him again. “You’ve got serious problems, you know that?”
“You kidnapped a Hale,” I sneer. “You’re the one with the serious fucking problem.” The living room tenses. Cousins exchange panicked glances.
“It wasn’t kidnapping,” someone says.
“Yeah, she came willingly,” another guy says. “That’s what you’ll convince her to tell everyone. Won’t you, Paul?”
I grind my teeth, tasting acid in my mouth. “No one in her family is gonna believe that.”
Voices jumble, everyone throwing in their two cents at once.
“Time is of the fucking essence here,” my dad cuts in harshly.
“Let’s go to the kitchen,” Hugh says and motions to Liam. “Pick up his clothes. Someone get Paul some underwear.”
Just like that, we’re in the cramped kitchen. Linoleum floors are peeling, and pizza boxes are stacked on a cheap plastic table. It stinks like spoiled milk, and sugar ants march up broken cabinets.
I’m putting on someone’s boxer-briefs. Smells clean, otherwise I’d rather stay naked. They throw my clothes in the sink. Instead of running the faucet, they squirt lighter fluid on my oldest shirt. I watch them torch the Van Halen tee, and I feel nothing.
Absolutely nothing.
She’s all that matters to me.
“Where’s Luna Hale?” I ask them.
“Hold on.” Hugh extends a hand. “Why do you think this is going south?” He’s talking to my dad. “No one tracked us here.”
“We heard they did. Through one of his security buddies.” He turns to me to confirm.
“They know you’re in the vicinity,” I tell everyone. “We came here to warn you.”
“We never shoulda taken her, Hugh,” Roark chastises. “That wasn’t the plan.”
“You think I don’t know that?” Hugh retorts angrily.
“Plans change,” someone defends. Don’t know him.
“What was the plan?” my dad asks. “Because this one was dumb as fuck. What’d you think would happen? They’d come looking for her. They’d find you. You’d all get slapped harder than you’ve ever been.”
“I wasn’t there,” Hugh glares at Liam, at Ryan, at two others I can’t name.
And then I hear a thud above us. My eyes shoot to the ceiling. “Is she up there?” I ask, and when no one answers, I can’t help myself—I can’t stay stationary—I run.
I bolt out of the kitchen and back towards the staircase.
“Paul!” they yell and chase after my breakneck speed. I’ve run away from that name most of my life, and I don’t turn back.
I never turn back.
As I reach the banister, a cousin at the stairs tries to grab me, but I jerk out of his hold and thrust him against the wallpaper. He’s skinny and coughs like I gut-punched him. Letting him go, I race up the stairs. No one else catches me.