Total pages in book: 200
Estimated words: 189898 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 949(@200wpm)___ 760(@250wpm)___ 633(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 189898 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 949(@200wpm)___ 760(@250wpm)___ 633(@300wpm)
Betrayal flitted across Loren’s beautiful features. He’d offered those words to me in comfort and encouragement, and I used them as a weapon against him. His lips curled, and I told myself that I deserved the punishment that followed.
“Hard facts, Fawn.” My soul felt like the imaginary lint he’d flicked off his shirt moments ago. I thought I hated his pet name for me until he cruelly deprived me of it. “You’re not our equal. You’re barely a step above a groupie, so don’t kid yourself.” Turning on the heel of his expensive shoes, my heart trapped underneath, Loren started to leave the room. Stopping at the threshold, he looked over his shoulder. “And just so we’re all on the same page, Houston doesn’t respect you any more than I do. He wants you, too, but he tells himself he can’t have you. And if he can’t, no one can. Your savior is just a selfish bastard.”
Loren was gone before my mind could untwist itself. He couldn’t fuck my body, so he’d settled for my head. Houston stood there, watching the space where Loren had just been, his fists balled and muscles bunched tight. I patiently waited for him to turn and deny Loren’s claim.
He never did.
They had a lot of goddamn nerve.
Even though Houston was a hypocrite and Braxton was a tease, I wasn’t angry at them. I fucked up. I reacted in the heat of the moment only to regret it later—story of my miserable life. A girl didn’t want to sleep with me? Big fucking deal. Someone was willing on every corner.
Braxton was different, but she was no less willing, and if Houston hadn’t intervened, I’d be rearranging her guts right now. What irritated me most was that I’d lashed out like a prepubescent boy when I didn’t get my way.
I wasn’t going to apologize. I doubt either was expecting one, and it wouldn’t change the fact that I wasn’t a nice guy. Unlike Houston and Jericho, I wouldn’t pretend to be noble.
We’d been on the road for a couple of hours now with six or seven more to go. Vegas was the third city of the tour and our fourth and fifth shows. I was just eager to get there. If nothing else got me excited, gambling, music, sex, and now Braxton fucking Fawn did the trick.
I was lying in my bunk with the curtain closed, trying to drown out the sound of her voice as she goofed around with Rich. I hated that he knew how to get a smile out of her. It wasn’t just because I was jealous.
She was the enemy.
A sexy little insurgent.
If it were up to me, I’d drive her ass to the deepest part of the desert and leave her there. Braxton was trouble, and we caused enough on our own.
My phone began buzzing in my pocket, and I planned to ignore it until I heard Braxton laugh at something Rich said. I’m sure she hadn’t meant it to sound sexy…just like Cain hadn’t meant to kill Abel.
Shoving my hand in my jeans, I pulled my phone out of my pocket and accepted the call without opening my eyes. I didn’t care who was on the other end. I needed to drown her out.
“Son.”
Fuck.
I’d been hoping for a telemarketer. Since I couldn’t talk to my friends, it wouldn’t be the first time I gabbed the ear off a nameless, faceless stranger. So far, I haven’t had any complaints. Shit, they called me.
As for my father, I hadn’t heard from him since he kicked me out on my ass and emptied my bank account six years ago. If he hadn’t, I’d be married to some white-stocking deb who only spread her legs for me if the lights were out. Standing on my own had been harder than it looked. A few months more and letting my parents decide every facet of my future would have seemed like a small price to pay.
“Loren James speaking.” I refused to acknowledge that I was his kid.
I heard his heavy sigh and cracked a smile. “We need to talk.”
“Yeah, the phone call clued me in. Besides, we both know you don’t give a shit how I am.” It was evident in the fact that he hadn’t bothered to ask. I’ve only ever known three types of people: those who cared, those who pretended, and my father.
“You know I’m not one to mince words, boy.”
My jaw tightened, and the only thing restraining me was fear of cracking a tooth. I didn’t spend years keeping my smile flawless to waste one on him. “It’s been six years, Father.”
“Precisely. It’s been six years. It’s time you stop goofing around with your friends and come home.”
“Hard pass.”
“Loren,” my father said on a sigh as if he were weary already from our thirty-second talk after six years of silence. “Son—”