Total pages in book: 160
Estimated words: 163089 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 815(@200wpm)___ 652(@250wpm)___ 544(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 163089 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 815(@200wpm)___ 652(@250wpm)___ 544(@300wpm)
As Jude slips ahead of me into the dim tunnel, I throw a glance behind me.
Osborn is being patted and hugged and praised all the way to Sunday by his teammates. Treated like a fucking god. And yes, sure, it makes sense. He stopped me, and that gave the Wolves their win. It’s as easy as that—cripple the Vipers’ left wing—my highness—and it all goes to shit.
In the midst of the celebratory fuck-fest, Osborn catches my eye, and there’s that grin again—small, private, like we’re sharing a joke no one else gets.
“My offer still stands,” he mouths.
Something in my chest pulls tight. Not pain, exactly. More like the slow burn before realizing I’m bleeding.
What offer?
The…gay sex?
I could swear he’s not gay. Right?
I’ve only ever seen, well, heard of him with girls. He’s known to change girlfriends faster than his dad changes mistresses.
Not to mention that time he stole my fuck buddy.
Yes, I’m still salty about that.
He definitely made those distasteful remarks just to provoke me.
But how did he know it’d work? How could he have figured out that those exact fucking words would get so far beneath my skin, I’d need some real purging to expel them?
Because he seems to know more than he should.
But how?
Why the fuck…?
I remove my helmet, narrowing my eyes at him as my teammates slide past me.
And even though every one of the Wolves seems to be vying for the rat’s attention, Osborn’s gaze rests on me, a subtle smile unfurling as if meant only for me.
It’s not a smirk, but more of an intense appraisal and…what?
A promise? A threat?
Is that walking corpse threatening me right now?
My own lips curl in a wide grin as I make an “I’m watching you” gesture.
Oh, you’re so fucked, Mr. Nobody.
You’ll soon be cooked and served to my dogs.
Kane said that Osborn might be taken into the main family now that Lance died. He might be illegitimate, but he’s the only male heir they have left. From what Kane mentioned, this is definitely something the Osborn elders want to make happen.
Our fathers don’t—or at least Kane’s dad doesn’t, because he told him to get rid of the pest.
I’ll take care of the nuisance myself.
Consider it a selfless humanitarian effort to rid the world of the vermin.
I’m basically a saint at this point.
3
PRESTON
So I lied. I’m nowhere near a saint, because what the fuck is this?
Torture. That’s what it is.
Listen, I’d rather be licking my wounds by playing games with Jude and watching Tom and Jerry—hey, don’t judge, they’re funny.
Better yet, I’d rather be pestering Jude and Kane like the goddamn parasite I am, but my father said, “Not today, bitch.”
I mean, not in those words, since he’s a robot and only speaks in monotonous sentences, but the intention is there, because I see his chauffeured car waiting for me at the arena’s parking lot.
“Fuck,” I say, making the smoothest U-turn known to man, but then I’m blocked by a literal giant who shakes his head at me.
Lenin.
Daddy dearest’s muscle, so to speak.
“Double fuck,” I whisper.
Lenin has no reaction, looking like he crawled out of a tax audit. Tall, stiff, permanently unimpressed—the human equivalent of a bruise you forgot you had. He doesn’t talk much, just stands there with that “time for your punishment” stare, like I’m his full-time disappointment. Honestly, if people came with return policies, I’d send this one right back.
With a sigh, I trudge to the back seat of the car, and greet the driver, “Yo, Nelly.”
She nods at me through the rearview mirror but doesn’t remove her hands from the wheel, her white gloves as crisp as the night air. “Tough luck tonight.”
“Don’t talk about tonight. We don’t talk about tonight.” I stare at Lenin. “Unless I can go?”
He doesn’t reply.
If a ghost, a prison warden, and a wet blanket had a baby, that’s Lenin.
My very own personal nuisance.
“Your father really wants to see you,” Nelly says with an apologetic look, smoothly pulling out of the parking lot.
“Can you drop me off at Jude’s? Thanks. I’ll buy you ice cream. Or maybe the latest drugs on the market. I know a guy.”
Lenin and Nelly aren’t amused, though Nelly smiles at me because she’s cool like that. What’s uncool is that, like Lenin, she can’t be bribed, and unfortunately, my chirpy suggestions fall on deaf ears. So, what do I do?
What I do best, of course. Annoy the fuck out of them.
I spend the entire drive whining and talking nonstop about the most random shit.
What? You make my life difficult, and you can sure as hell expect that I’ll reciprocate.
An eye for an eye and all that poetic bullshit.
Unfortunately, we arrive at the dreaded place, and that’s how I find myself in hell on earth.
Just kidding. It’s only the Armstrong estate.
Sprawling at the top of Ravenswood Hill, this is where my ancestors decided to start the witch coven after immigrating from Europe.