Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 67465 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 337(@200wpm)___ 270(@250wpm)___ 225(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67465 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 337(@200wpm)___ 270(@250wpm)___ 225(@300wpm)
Annoyingly enough, he has the audacity to cock a brow and step in front of the driver’s door, blocking my way. He crosses his arms, which are all big and bulgy, and god, I don’t want to notice how attractive he is right now, standing there, towering over me. He’s still so beautiful that I could cry. I could cry because he’s a jerk, and now this means war. Kimmy is going to be so hurt, and I’m so hurt, and nothing is going to be okay.
“I wasn’t plotting anything with my mom, I promise.”
I want to stomp on his toes, but that would get me nowhere in flip-flops. Now I see why Kimmy chooses those huge stiletto heels. Those would do some damage. If she were here, she’d call her brother an unwashed ballbag and try and kick him in the junk. Then, she’d get in her car and calmly drive away, and he wouldn’t be able to stop her.
“I heard you!” I screech. “I heard you freaking talking about the will and those clauses and how she wants to get everything fixed for you.”
“Remi.” He’s saying my name in that way that means calm down and let me explain. Nope. I’m not calming down, and I’m not going to let him explain. I’m not going to listen to any more of his lies.
“Get out of my way.”
“No. You’re upset. Don’t drive off like this.”
“Get. Out. Of. My. Way.” He shakes his head, and I want to charge at him and—and what? Beat him ineffectively on his big huge, rock-solid chest? Watch his abs tighten as he flicks me off like a fly? Grab his face and punish him with kisses that let him know just how angry I am because they would be kisses with bites, and god, what if he liked that? What if I liked when he bit back? The heat in my body isn’t just an angry heat any longer, and I don’t like it. Not one bit. “Fine.”
I move fast, storming over to the passenger side of the car. I jam the key into the door, get the lock popped up, and launch myself in. But I’m not quite fast enough to get the door shut. It stops halfway, with Van’s leg blocking it.
Whatever. I can work with this anyway.
I scramble into the driver’s seat, jam the key in the ignition, and crank the car to life. It literally sounds more like car engine death, but whatever. It fires up, and I’m getting out of here. If Van doesn’t want to get run over, he’ll get out of the way.
I start to back down the driveway, and that’s when he plops into the passenger seat and shuts the door. I let out a cry of rage and quickly slam the car into park. “Get out!” I yell. I slap the steering wheel with an open hand. “Just get out right now! I don’t want to talk to you anymore.”
“Remi—”
“Don’t fucking Remi me. Get out of my car with your forked tongue and slithering lies and your freaking kiss and lips and–”
“The will states that the company shares can only go to a full-blooded, biological son of my dad.”
I whip my head around, staring right into Van’s whisky dark eyes. The amber flecks are really glowing, and he might be playing it calmly, but I can see how wrecked he is and how his face is crumpling up. Oh my god, are his eyes misting over? I swallow the hard burn in my throat and the nasty wrecking ball going through my chest, telling me that everything is not fine. Everything is so fucked up, and this, this is why he left.
“Why is that a problem then?” I choke out, half understanding, hoping against hope that I’m wrong.
I’m not.
“Because, Remi, I’m a bastard. I know that’s old school, but I really am, in the sense of how that word actually used to get used. I’m not and never was my father’s son.”
CHAPTER 12
Van
Well, now I’ve gone and done it. I’ve wrecked dinner, worked my mom up, and thrown down archaic terms like “bastard.” And fuck me sideways; I can feel my face getting wet. On top of everything, I’m going to sit here in Remi’s car and freaking cry because it doesn’t hurt any less right now than it did when I was sixteen and I found out. It’s just a little less shocking for me now. The pain level is still the same. No, I think it might actually be worse because, at sixteen, I was still processing. None of the horrible things that happened had actually taken place yet. I didn’t know anything about being alone, not like I thought I did. I had no idea what it would be like to lose my entire family. To have to give them up because they were basically taken away from me. I had no idea what it would feel like to have my dad dead and buried when he should still be alive and have him reach beyond the grave to give me one last middle finger salute with his will.