Total pages in book: 119
Estimated words: 113837 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 569(@200wpm)___ 455(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113837 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 569(@200wpm)___ 455(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
Where in the actual hell...I tossed my head back on a groan. If Hendrix had dropped some of his shit in my car, I was going to kill him.
Jacobs shoved me, face down, onto the cruiser’s hood, slapping cuffs on so tight that my fingers tingled by the time he forced me into the backseat.
“Zippity-fucking-doo-dah,” he laughed, then slammed the car door.
The lights flashed. Sirens sounded. And panic settled in. If I weren’t at home, no one would be there to watch Arlo. Mom couldn’t afford to miss a shift, plus she’d leave, thinking I would turn up late. Then my kid brother would be stuck with Dad. God, I’d fucked up. “Man, I gotta get someone to watch my brother, Jacobs.”
“Then I guess you better use that one phone call wisely, huh, shithead?”
I kicked at the back of his chair. “You fucking asshole.” Then I slumped against the seat, my heart banging against my ribs like a caged gorilla.
The patrol car pulled away from the curb, picking up speed until it rolled to a stop at the end of the street. Where I caught sight of Drew’s hourglass shape casually leaned against the side of her shiny TT. She threw up a pageant queen wave and that was enough to send me into full on rage. I had no doubt Drew had somehow planted that crap in my car. Then probably called the police. Then came to sit back and watch the entire thing unfold. And that was absolutely not the kind of retaliation I’d expected. It was her fucking fault my brother was about to be stuck with my drunk ass dad, and I wanted to literally wrap my hands around her throat until she choked. My hands were cuffed behind my back, which meant I couldn’t flip her off, so instead I headbutted the glass and shouted Fuck you, before the car drove off.
A series of texts buzzed in my pocket while Drew’s threat: “I’m about to be the worst thing to happen to you, pretty boy,” played on a loop through my head. This was unbelievable.
Earlier in the week, I’d found her comment cute, but now, as Jacob’s ushered me through the slums of Dayton, in the backseat of a police cruiser, while I worried that my little brother might catch his first busted lip from my dad, I didn’t find it anything but infuriating. .
* * *
Instead of the normal twenty-four hours that most people served for a dime-bag of weed—a rookie mistake on Drew’s part—the door to my cell opened after ten. Special treatment since everyone in the Dayton PD knew my father was a piece of shit. Plus, the guy doing the booking asked who had Arlo. Sometimes sympathy could get a guy places, even in Dayton.
The clerk highlighted my court date, then passed the paperwork across the counter and buzzed me through the locked doors.
On my way into the parking lot, I powered on my phone. A string of texts came through. Hendrix. Wolf. Then...
Beep.
Baby Girl: Abracadabra?
Beep.
Baby Girl: You know, you’d think breaking into a car would cost more than $20
Beep.
Baby Girl: Guess payback’s a bitch
I froze halfway through the parking lot. My thumb hovered over the letters, itching to type out some smartass response while my jaw tensed. But instead, I texted Hendrix: Ready to burn some shit tonight?
Hendrix: Fuck yeah!
Most people wouldn’t up the ante with me—especially not a girl. Girl or not, she’d fucked with the wrong guy because I would burn her shit to the ground.
A horn blared, and I glanced up from the text to Nash’s dented van idling at the crosswalk.
I hopped in, dragging a hand through my hair as he pulled off. Because this shit was unbelievable, and the longer I thought about, the angrier I became.
Nash dropped me at the impound. I paid the stupid fee—using the last of my money—then drove back home. I slowed to a stop in front of Nora’s house, staring across the street at my dad’s truck parked haphazardly in the drive. The front bumper touched the side of the carport.
If I had to guess, he was still half-drunk, assed-out on the couch from the poker game he’d probably lost his unemployment check to the night before.
He was the kind of man who played the villain in most made for TV movies, and I hated him.
I killed the engine and made my way up the monkey-grass-lined sidewalk, past the potted plants on the front porch, then I knocked on the door. And waited, staring at the wooden, hand-painted “Welcome” sign. Nora and I didn’t exactly get along, but her family were nice, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t envy that.
The door opened with a creak of hinges. When Nora’s gaze met mine, she rolled her eyes, then leaned back from the doorframe. “Arlo,” she shouted. “Your brother’s here.”