Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 75578 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75578 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Right. Of course. The whole reason he’s doing this is to get driving me off his chore list. Lift the burden from him and the whole family.
Because that’s clearly what I am.
“I don’t know if I’ve had the permit long enough,” I say, even though it’s not true. I don’t know what possesses me to even say it. It can’t be that I want more time being driven around by Wilde.
In fact, freedom from him–being able to drive–is exactly what I need.
“Let me see it.” He digs through my purse. “Where’s your wallet?”
“I don’t have one. It’s in my phone pocket.”
He slides the permit out and examines it. Then he turns to me, his upper lip curled in a snarl. “Today is your birthday?”
Chapter Eight
Wilde
My hand closes into a fist around Rayne's permit. It breaks into a half dozen pieces. One of them digs into my palm gouging it. The rest fall into the center console.
Rayne stares at me with big bug eyes and starts to drift off the road. I reach across her to steady the wheel.
“Eyes on the road,” I growl.
I have to hand it to her, though. Even when she is scared, she gives it back to me. “What's your problem?” she snaps.
I don't even know. At least, it takes me a second to realize why I'm so pissed.
“Where's the fucking party?” I demand as if she's having a birthday bash and failed to invite me. But that's not it, of course. I already know there's no party, and that's why I'm furious.
Her mom didn't say a word to her this morning about her birthday. Rayne didn't remind anyone. I don't know why I even care, but it seriously pisses me off.
“Seriously. What's. Your. Problem?”
“I just want to know why I haven't heard a word about it.”
“Why would you?” She's pissed too. Her eyes flash, glinting in the sunlight through the windshield.
“Because I'm living in the same house as you, that's why. Your mom didn't say anything to you this morning.”
“Yeah, well, she has a lot on her mind,” Rayne says, but I see her lips trembling.
I have to suppress the urge to smash the window beside me.
Her nostrils flare in a distinctly wolf-like manner. “Are you bleeding?”
I don't say anything else. My head is telling me this is none of my business. I shouldn't give a shit anyway. But for some reason, my body is still a riot of rage and firing impulses. Although what they're firing to do, I'm not sure.
When we drive past a grocery store, I point across Rayne. “Pull in there,” I order.
Miraculously, Rayne obeys without giving me back talk.
“Park.”
She does.
I throw open the door and hop out. “Let's go, Runt.”
She drops lightly to her feet and follows me through the parking lot and through the front doors. “I really don’t know what your problem is, Wilde.”
“Okay.” I swing on her. “I’d like to know what your fucking problem is.”
She draws back like I’ve slapped her. Her forehead wrinkles in confusion. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She throws her hands out.
“When are you going to start taking up a little space, Runt?”
Her face flushes a deep red. “Shut up, Wilde. You’re such a–” She bites off the words and whirls to march down a grocery aisle away from me.
I catch her elbow, and she rubberbands back. “Such a what?” I lower my voice because we’re making a scene. And because her anger somehow calms mine. This is what I needed from her. Some kind of righteous indignation.
“Cocksucking bastard.”
I grin.
Probably the wrong reaction, but for some reason, I love when she gets feisty with me.
“There you go.”
Her eyes narrow as she searches my face. “What in the fuck do you want from me?”
“I want you to take up some goddamn space. Stop tiptoeing around the house like you don’t belong. Speak up when it’s your fucking birthday.”
Incredulity scrawls across her expression as she stares back at me. Our gazes are locked in some kind of battle of wills although I’m not sure what we’re even battling about.
Apparently, I win because her big baby blues suddenly swim with tears.
I’ve never hated winning more.
But I keep holding her gaze and just shake my head slowly. “No tears, Runt. This is your day.”
One of her tears escapes the confines of her lower lid and skates down her cheek.
I grip her face in both hands, too roughly.
She gasps and stumbles forward, her body colliding into mine. I mop the tear with my thumb.
“I said no tears, Runt.” There’s intensity in my whisper. Threat. Danger.
She blinks rapidly, like she’s trying to obey me, so I release her and tip my head toward the bakery.
“Come on. Let’s go get you a cake.”
More tears fall down her cheeks as we walk, but I ignore them, and she quickly brushes them away. When we get to the bakery counter, I drop my hand on her nape, squeezing and releasing. Massaging out the tight knot of muscles at the base of her neck.