Total pages in book: 192
Estimated words: 182641 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 913(@200wpm)___ 731(@250wpm)___ 609(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 182641 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 913(@200wpm)___ 731(@250wpm)___ 609(@300wpm)
“Come on now.” I bend my knee, pressing the bottom of my foot against the fence as I slide my eyes her way. “You know how this shit works.”
She nods, frowning forward. “No singers.”
“No fucking singers, Rae.”
The girl snags my cigarette from my hand and takes a drag, dropping her head back.
I frown her way as she blows the smoke into the air, watching it until it disappears.
She looks up. “Guess there’s no chance you’ll add me on then, huh?”
My phone beeps in my palm, and when I look toward the road this time, Hayze is pulling up at the edge of the school parking lot. I take my shit back, and with one final drag, I stomp it beneath my foot, pushing off the fence. “See you around, Carver.”
I don’t look back, and I’m out, sliding into the passenger seat a minute later.
“You know you could hit that, right? If you really wanted.” Hayze whips us around, heading toward the edge of the city.
He might be right.
Rae should be my type from A to fucking Z. She understands the world I come from, not as an eye on the outside, but from deep within. She’s tough as shit, jaded and pissed at the world, a self-sabotaging asshole with something to prove.
Too much like me.
“Rae’s good people. I’d have her back if she needed me to, but that’s where that dies.”
“Ain’t she fucking your boss anyway?”
“Probably.” I look in the rearview mirror, ensuring no one’s tailing us. “Turn right.”
He does, cutting me a quick glance. “So that girl’s too hard, but did my boy discover he likes something a little … softer?”
“And blonder.”
Hayze howls with laughter and my lips curve up on one side.
“Aye, eat that shit up, my boy. Rich girls love to play in the dark … until they realize we never step out of it.” He grins, turning the music up high.
He’s not lying. There’s a lot of money around here, and with that comes spoiled socialites who want a night with a guy they couldn’t—and wouldn’t—stand in the light with.
But Hayze said “something softer,” and when it comes to my new favorite blonde, I’m not convinced he’s right.
There’s something hidden behind this prep-school princess’s green eyes, a sharpness built like armor but worn like silk. A sly sort of sadist enveloped in a pretty fucking package that’s yet to be unwrapped. It taunts me, making my teeth ache with the need to tear into it. To shed the smiling shadows in her gaze, one sharp bite at a time until I peel her back enough, the real her shines through.
Spoiled socialites don’t have that, and they sure as fuck aren’t surrounded by armed guards. My smirk deepens at the thought.
Straight-up TAC team fuckers were all around that building and I still got to her, left her pissed and pantin’ the last time, and I enjoyed every fucking second.
The girl’s used to getting what she wants when she wants it, so I had to show her who the boss would be, and it ain’t her. Her frustrated little growl replays in my head, and a low chuckle leaves me.
Pulling out my phone, I shoot her a quick message.
Me: What’d you use?
Not long after I press send, her text comes through.
Rich Girl: Am I supposed to detect a hint of intellect behind such a question?
Damn, she even texts like a ritzy bitch.
Me: When you thought of me these last three nights. You use a vibrator or your pretty little fingers?
A grin curves my mouth, and I don’t have to wait more than a few seconds for a response.
Rich Girl: Bastian, if you would please …
Rich Girl: Fuck.
Rich Girl: OFF.
My tongue slips over my lip, spinning the silver ring there.
A frown pulls at my brows, and I shove my phone into my jacket pocket.
I shouldn’t have told her my real name. I never use my real name. Just Bass. Sometimes Bishop.
Never Bastian.
Maybe that’s why I gave her that name, so she couldn’t find me, couldn’t search for my secrets. When I moved to this town, I was told my file was erased, that what I did disappeared the same way I did, but I don’t know if that means completely. I used to trip, waiting for the day someone came banging down the doors with shiny silver bracelets, asking for me, be it the cops or even the dude who dropped me here. After a year or so, I stopped waiting and said fuck it. If they come, they come and they never did.
Took a while to prove myself and start getting paid, but the minute I did, I started saving. After a good six months, I bit the bullet and bought one of those hundred-dollar prepaid credit cards from the grocery store. I found a website that helps you find people, and after the ninety-nine-dollar fee, plus five more months of waiting, they found jack shit on my mom.