Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 81018 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81018 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
I yanked off my T-shirt, dropped it on a kitchen chair, and made my way to the small shed where we kept our mower. An hour and ten minutes later, I had the yard mowed and edged, bushes trimmed, and all clippings bagged at the curb for the upcoming yard waste pickup. Despite the evening hour, the heat hadn’t waned, and sweat poured down my bare chest from my head. Good thing Ryder wasn’t here. He’d be too distracted and trying to get the rest of my clothing off, which, of course, I’d be able to resist because I had far more self-control than my self-indulgent boyfriend.
I quickly glanced at the sky to make sure lightning wasn’t about to strike me dead.
As I trudged up the stairs, my phone chimed from my back pocket.
He there yet?
Nope. Got the yard cleaned up. I’ll hang here until 8.
A heart and an eggplant emoji were all the response I got to that. Chuckling, I stowed the phone back in my pocket and headed in through the sliding glass doors at the back of the house. One of those beers sounded terrific, and Kenny was late enough that I didn’t feel bad not waiting for him.
I washed my filthy hands in the kitchen sink, then bent over and splashed cool water on my overheated face. Relief flowed over me as my body temperature returned to normal. As I grabbed a clean dishtowel and patted it against my face, the creak of the front door announced Kenny’s arrival.
“In the kitchen.” The towel somewhat muffled my shout, but he’d figure it out. I tossed the towel on the table and grabbed my shirt as his footsteps drew closer. “Hey, Ken,” I called as I pulled the T-shirt over my head.
He didn’t respond, which could be a bad sign for how this chat might go. So much for my foolish dream of a smooth and mature conversation. I tugged my shirt down as the footsteps stopped. The fabric cleared my eyes, revealing a man standing in my kitchen who was not my brother.
“What the fuck?” I stepped back on instinct, colliding with the counter at my back.
“Where’s Kenny?” The guy was tall, at least six feet, and moderately muscled, wearing black jeans, a similarly colored tank top, and heavy combat boots. Who the hell wore combat boots in eighty-five-degree weather? He had countless tattoos and dark, buzz-cut hair with scruff to match, but what gave me the chills, despite the heat, was the menacing violence in his gaze.
And the baseball bat. The fucking guy carried a metal baseball bat in his right hand.
What the hell did you get yourself into this time, Kenny?
“I asked you a fucking question?” The guy strode toward me with long, heavy steps that reverberated through the quiet house.
There were multiple ways to play this, but I immediately clocked that my usual surly attitude would get me in a world of shit. “I don’t know,” I said, raising my hands in surrender.
The guy’s dark eyes narrowed with disbelief.
“I’m serious. He was supposed to meet me here, but he, uh, he never showed.”
Fifteen minutes late, never showed, same difference. Whatever got this guy to leave without destroying my house.
Or breaking my bones.
The guy looked me up and down with a sneer that did nothing to settle my racing heart.
“You his brother?”
The truth? A lie? My mind spiraled as I tried to decide which was the better answer.
“Uh… yeah. I am.”
“Hmm.” He stood so close I could smell his damn deodorant and see a thin, faded scar transecting his left cheek.
I cleared my throat. “I don’t think he’s been here in a while, so…”
So you should get the fuck out of my house.
He stared.
“If I see him, I’ll let him know you’re looking for him.”
The guy laughed as though I’d said something hilarious.
A bead of sweat rolled down my spine, leaving an itchy-as-hell trail, but I didn’t so much as squirm.
“Yeah, that’s not gonna be good enough.” The guy turned his back and strode across the kitchen, farther from me.
I blew out an unsteady breath and sagged against the counter. As a poor gay teen with no father figure, an unwell mother, and an enormous attitude problem, I’d been in fights. I’d been bullied and picked on in my middle and high school years, but it had been a damn long time since I’d used my fists to make any point. And I’d certainly never gone toe-to-toe with a man wielding a weapon.
On the other side of the kitchen, he turned back and glared at me while he slapped the bat against his palm. “Your brother owes me money. A lot of fucking money.”
My stomach bottomed out.
Fuck, Kenny.
“I’ll make sure he knows. And pays.”
The guy smirked and started toward me at a slow clip, still thwacking the bat against his palm. He looked so menacing, I could barely keep my knees from trembling.