Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 64222 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 321(@200wpm)___ 257(@250wpm)___ 214(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64222 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 321(@200wpm)___ 257(@250wpm)___ 214(@300wpm)
“You fucking little shit.” My brother’s face pulls tight as my words are aimed right at him, and he shakes his head. Then, seeming to remember where he is, he looks back to the table and continues on with what he was doing—serving drinks. I stand there shocked that he’s proceeding but watch as he sets a drink in front of every man, then bows and backs away when he’s finished.
“You should lose the dress,” a man with a wicked gleam in his eyes comments, his eyes traveling the length of my body before settling on my face. I hold his stare, unmoving. He smirks at my reaction and shakes his head, looking away.
“You should, though. Otherwise…” He doesn’t finish but looks at my brother, who is now standing at the back door, with a tray in hand. I take in the words he just uttered—and those left unsaid—and bite my lip. I’ve done worse, so taking off my dress would seem so simple, but that’s not why I’m here.
“I came for him, and we’re leaving.” I glare at my brother. “Brody.”
He glances down, then places the tray on a table and makes his way over to me.
“Not so fast. His services aren’t finished.” The one who said ‘otherwise’ is the main talker, it seems. He has long hair tied back in a ponytail and a sneer that appears to just sit over his face.
“They are! He’s underage,” I reply, refusing to be intimidated, pulling my stupid brother closer to me by the sleeve of his dress shirt.
“I’m eighteen in like two weeks,” my brother grumbles next to me.
I can’t help the scoff that leaves my mouth. “He’s leaving.” I announce to the room and step back toward the door, my hand gripping my brother’s arm with no respite.
“You open that door, I’ll put a bullet in your brother’s head.”
My hand stills over the knob, and the gruff, irate sound of that voice hits me hard.
I know who it is without having to turn around while everyone else goes deathly silent.
I may have never met Lucas, but everyone on the streets knows who he is. You’d be stupid not to know of him.
While he isn’t the leader of the mafia—his cousin, Keir, is—Lucas is feared down here even more so than Keir. Keir doesn’t usually bother to come to this shitty area where the scum live to play with us. Because, trust me, playing is what he does.
The stories I’ve heard, the marks I’ve seen, we all know better than to piss where he eats. Yet, here I am, walking straight into his bar, like I have not a care in the world.
While Keir stays in the better part of the city and in his nice houses, Lucas is the exact opposite. He will slum it and not give a fuck.
He’s the only person in this shitty little neighborhood just out of New York who drives a car worth more than any house you’d find here—probably double the price—yet, no one, and I mean no one, would touch it.
We all know our place.
Though, it seems for family, I’ve forgotten mine. I glance at my brother.
“You seem to be under the impression you can walk in here and take what you want.” He pauses. “My things.”
“He’s my brother,” I bite back, and a small hiss leaves someone at my outburst. I can’t see him, since he’s sitting at the end of the table where no light shines directly above him, but I know he can see me. Every inch of me as I stand under the main light near the door.
“I don’t give a fuck if he’s your son.” Brody tenses next to me. He damn well should be uneasy, making me come down here to get his ass. “Now, do as the man said and lose the dress.”
I look over at Brody.
“I’ll do it, if he can go.”
“You’re negotiating with me?” His voice is stern. “Stupid woman.”
I hold my ground. Brody knows what I do to make ends meet, but that doesn’t mean he has to see it.
“If he goes, I’ll do as you want,” I repeat, my tone even and agreeable. I can hear the sound of tapping on wood. Squinting, I see one of his hands is on the table, holding cards, while the finger of the other taps repeatedly. A ring he’s wearing catches my eye as those strong hands continue to tap, tap, tap. I wonder how someone’s hands can be so attractive. Because his certainly are.
“You can go, boy.”
I open the door, yanking Brody through the opening, then lean in so only he can hear me. “Go straight the fuck home and lock yourself in,” I order, shoving him farther and closing the door in his face. The last thing I see is the shock of his gaping mouth, ready to speak, as I slam the door behind him.