Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 88736 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 444(@200wpm)___ 355(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88736 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 444(@200wpm)___ 355(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
“Yeah,” Finn said thoughtfully.
“When you get a girlfriend, many, many years from now, she’ll be her own kind of pretty, bud,” I assured him. “And she’ll think you’re awesome, and she’ll laugh at all your stupid jokes. She might even let you kiss her.”
He wiggled his eyebrows. “Not that many years.”
“Wait until you’ve got some game to try to get a girlfriend,” I advised him. “Now, turn on your movie.”
Fifteen minutes into the movie, Dylan came lumbering back into the room and fell back onto the couch.
“She actually let you off the phone?” I asked in surprise.
“She was goin’ to the mall with her friends.”
“Oh, so she can go do shit, but when you do—”
“Just drop it, would you?” Dylan snapped. “Fuck.”
“Fine.” I lifted my hands in surrender and turned back toward the TV.
“My mom says she’s just, like, insecure or whatever,” Dylan said after a few minutes. “That she’ll calm down if I just reassure her.”
“Your mom’s an idiot,” I grumbled.
“Fuck off.”
“It’s been months,” I said, throwing up my hands. “You really wanna do this same shit for the next year? How much reassurance does she fucking need?”
“Would you guys shut up?” Finn asked in exasperation. “I’m trying to watch a movie.”
“You’ve seen it like fifty times.”
“So?”
“You don’t know what it’s like,” Dylan said dismissively. “You didn’t leave anyone behind when you moved.”
My mouth dropped open in shock. “How the hell would you know?”
“I…” Dylan’s eyes were wide as he backpedaled.
“Maybe I did, but she just doesn’t insist on talking to me every fucking minute,” I growled, getting to my feet. “Maybe she has her own fucking life and doesn’t feel the need to make things harder on me when I can’t fucking control where we live. You ever think of that?”
“Jess,” Dylan said, hopping up. “I didn’t—you never said—”
“Why the fuck would I tell you?” I snapped nastily.
If we hadn’t been arguing, maybe we would’ve heard the sliding glass door open, but we’d never really know.
I wasn’t sure why I looked to the side when I did, whether I’d noticed something in my periphery or if I’d heard their footsteps, but the moment I saw the two men in our house, I knew.
We’d lived under the shadow of his threats for as long as I could remember. David Granger. Finn’s grandfather. The monster in the dark.
The men were there for Finn.
A bone-deep instinct to protect my baby brother rose up inside of me, and it was the only thing that mattered. I didn’t care that the men were twice my size. The terror would come later.
Not then.
With a scream, I flung myself past the end of the couch and threw myself at them. Surprise was the only thing on my side as I barreled into the first one, knocking him to the side as I went for the next one. My nails raked down his face as he realized what was happening and shoved me to the floor.
Something was happening behind me. I could hear the noises, but all of my attention was on the man above me. As he swung his leg back to kick me, I wrapped my own around his opposite leg and forced his knee to buckle, taking him down to the ground. Something crashed in the living room as I scrambled on top of the man, going for his eyes.
I didn’t make it there.
With one swing of his meaty arm, I flew backward, my face exploding with pain. I wasn’t even sure where he’d hit me because my entire face felt like it had been crushed. Blinking, I tried to see past the darkness encroaching on my vision.
The man was rising, and I couldn’t let him. Moving blindly, I wrapped myself around one of his legs and tried to pull him down to the floor again. My muscles seemed too weak, like they wouldn’t move the way they’d been taught to.
I let out a whoosh of air as he kicked me in the side, but I didn’t let go.
Finn was in the living room. I couldn’t let the man get past me. It was my one job. I just had to make sure that he couldn’t get to Finn.
“Little bitch,” the man muttered.
I cried out as he wrapped a fist in my braids and yanked, wrenching my head back so far it felt like my neck was going to snap.
Then he hit me. Once. Twice. The third time, everything went black.
When I woke up, I didn’t know how long it had been, and I wasn’t sure I could move. It felt like someone was sitting on my chest, making it impossible to breathe, and my left eye wouldn’t open.
“Where’s the kid?” one of the men said, his voice low and vicious. It was coming from somewhere behind my head, but when I tried to look, black spots danced in my vision.