Total pages in book: 157
Estimated words: 150968 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 755(@200wpm)___ 604(@250wpm)___ 503(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 150968 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 755(@200wpm)___ 604(@250wpm)___ 503(@300wpm)
And Riley Johnson?
She’s a broken pretty thing.
Her brokenness entices me; it feeds the venom in my soul.
She gets to her feet, taking her blanket and book with her. Riley tries to silently push past me, and I find that amusing. That’s all it took to shut her up? She’s making herself an easy target, and what she doesn’t realize is that boys like me — we see vulnerability and we pounce on it.
C’mon now, Riley Johnson. Where’s the fire in you, the one I saw just a minute ago? I know she’s more than this pathetic weakling.
My hand snakes out, and my fingers brush against her blonde hair. I wrap a silky strand around my index finger, before using it to tug her to me. Riley wobbles toward me, before standing her ground. But she’s still not looking me in the eyes.
I cock my head, feigning innocence before spewing venom that I know will hurt the princess even more. “Little Miss Popular got dethroned.”
Her lips part with a silent gasp, and she takes in a shuddering breath before her gaze finally darts up to mine. There are specks of gold in her brown eyes. “You find that amusing, don’t you? Laughing at someone’s downfall? Mocking their defeat? That’s very typical of you, Bennett. I’m not even surprised.”
“Are you though?
“Am I what?” She grits sharply.
I tug on her hair again, just because. “Defeated.”
“Weren’t you there?” Her exasperation bleeds through her words. “Didn’t you see what happened?”
I saw, alright. But that was only the outside shell of Riley Johnson. Because even pretty girls like my nemesis harbors dark and dirty secrets. So, what are hers? My eyes roam her face and her body, lingering longer over her tits and the sway of her hips. The yellow dress molds perfectly to all her curves.
“You know what you remind me of?” My lips twitch with a half-smile at the memory. “An injured bird I found once. The wing was broken.”
Her pink lips form a silent ‘O.’
“It died,” I tell her.
She jerks back, and her lips twist angrily. “I remind you of a dead bird? Let go of my hair, Colton.”
I don’t. I wonder if she’s always this defensive and on guard. “Do you know why it died?”
“No.” She growls, but it’s barely even a kitten growl. “I don’t care, now let me go.”
“Because the bird lost its will to survive. That’s why you remind me of it.” I lower my head, bringing our faces closer. Her breathing is ragged, and I know I’m starting to piss her off. My lungs fill with poison, breathing in her wrath.
This is where my enjoyment comes from — I piss off people, because their anger feeds the hate inside me. Addiction comes in all shapes. This is my drug of choice.
“It was a dead, fallen sparrow. You’re a dying, fallen princess. Weak prey in a world filled with dangerous beasts,” I say, taunting her.
Her hand snakes out so fast, I barely catch on until she’s got a full grip of my hair in her fist. She pulls hard, forcing my head back. “Let. Go. Of. My. Hair. Bennett. That’s the last time I’m telling you.”
I tug on the silky strand.
She tugs harder on my hair.
My lips twitch with a knowing smirk. There we go. There’s the fire I had seen earlier. Now, now, what do we have here? Riley Johnson is finally somewhat interesting.
I release her hair, letting the blonde strand unfold from my index finger. Riley lets go and takes a step back. “Stay away from me, Bennett.
I raise my hand, the one that’s holding my clementine in a mock cheer. “May our paths never cross again.”
Her brown eyes flicker anxiously to my face before she straightens her spine and then stalks away. Popping another piece of clementine into my mouth, I lazily chew as I watch her ass sway back and forth in her yellow dress.
Yeah.
May our paths never cross again, Nemesis.
CHAPTER TEN
Riley — 16 years old
I’m livid.
Dr. Bailey says that when anger festers, we start to look for someone to blame. Anger is that petty devil on your shoulder, reminding you of your own misery, she’d say to me during our weekly therapy appointment. She would tell me to think outside of the wrath that holds me captive, to look beyond the weakness that traps me.
But right now, I can’t do that.
Who does Colton Bennett think he is? To compare me to a dead sparrow, with a broken wing. He knows nothing about me. But I know why he made that comparison. Birds are normally free creatures. But Colton was indirectly reminding me that I am caged — a sparrow who has been defeated. What is a bird without its wings? What is a bird that cannot fly?
A dead bird.
A dead sparrow.
A dying Riley.
My fists clench as I remember his taunts. I have to say, you puking all over your father’s expensive shoes sure made my night more interesting.