Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 106284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 531(@200wpm)___ 425(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 531(@200wpm)___ 425(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
Dad straightens in his chair, steepling his fingers on the desk.
“Nicolas Carnell,” Callan informs him. “Michael Senior’s youngest son.”
Dad shoots to his feet, sending his chair skittering out behind him. My stomach knots. My heart punches wildly against my ribs.
“Kitty, go to your room,” Callan demands.
“Fuck you.”
“Kitty,” Dad barks, not in anger but urgency. Then I notice they’re both looking through me to the screens behind me.
Callan moves so fast I flinch back and raise my hands. He’s never laid a finger on me before, but it’s reflex. He grabs the tops of my arms and holds me in place, still looking over me to the monitors. Turning my head, he ushers me toward the door before I can see what the hell has them spooked. Opening it, he shoves me out and follows. “Go straight to your room. Don’t stop or detour.”
“Or pass go and collect two hundred dollars,” I scoff. “What the hell is going on?”
“Now, Kitty,” Dad orders, joining us in the hallway. “Cops are at the gate. Don’t come out until me or your brother come for you.” I don’t hear the alarm that usually goes off when cops are at the gate, but the strain on his face is enough for me to nod and take off. Something’s happening, and if it’s making Dad and Callan worried, it’s bad. Really bad.
CHAPTER 7
ACCIDENTS HAPPEN
CUTTER
I scour the hallways and every room I pass, searching for the little prick, trying to sniff him out and coming up empty. I’d walked in on too many brothers buck-ass naked for my liking. Diamond is in the kitchen cooking what smells like fried chicken when I stumble in.
With her full face of dated makeup—poufy hair and an apron over her party dress—she looked like something straight out of the fifties if those housewives dressed like an eighties hooker. I grab a piece of the chicken from a wire rack and bite into it, immediately regretting it as the hot grease burns my mouth.
“That’ll teach you for not waiting.” Her bright pink lips crease at the edges, turning up in a snide smirk.
“Have you seen the kid who came back with Kitty?” I ask around a mouthful of white meat.
“Weird choice of company for our Kit, that one,” she muses, rolling a drumstick in flour and dropping it in a pan of bubbling oil, the sizzling like firecrackers going off. “I did see him head down toward the game room with Claire. About time someone got use out of that equipment.” One dark, drawn-on brow raises.
“Pres’s girl?”
“Yep.”
This kid has a death wish. Shame we can’t fulfill it.
“Save me some chicken.”
Tutting, she smiles and grabs a plate, loading it up. “Take it. You know once Grease smells me cooking, he’ll come clear it out.”
“You really are a Diamond, Di.”
I almost collide with Grease as I exit. His eyes narrow on me before dropping to the plate in my hand. “There more of that?” He blocks my path. The greedy bastard.
“Diamond made some especially for you.” I grin, biting into another drumstick. He lets out a satisfied grunt, and moves around me.
More brothers file in like animals sniffing out injured prey. I guard my plate, ready to knife anyone if they try to grab for it, as I make my way down the hall to the game room.
This Nicolas problem needs to end. I just want to drink a beer with my chicken and berate myself for considering showing up at Kitty’s room.
Hopefully Nicolas is passed out. We can stick him in a sleeping bag and dump him at a motel. Or shove him on an air mattress and send him down the river. I chuckle to myself at the image in my head as I push open the door to the game room, my laugh dying in my throat as I take in the disturbing sight.
Claire cowers, her shirt gaping, blood dripping from her nose, and mascara streaming down her cheeks. Wild-eyed, Nicolas whips around, saliva coating his lips and chin.
“What the fuck is going on?” My commanding voice breaks through the chaos. The crackle of danger electrifies the air, sending all my hair standing on end. A slither of apprehension snakes through me. How the hell am I going to calm this asshole without putting my hands on him?
I dump my plate on the nearest flat surface and take a step forward. Nicolas is almost vibrating, his expression swimming between confusion and rage, his fists clenched tightly at his sides. “She’s a cheating whore,” he belts out, making Claire flinch. Pres is about to be extra pissed.
“I swear, I didn’t mean to knock the table. He’s fucking crazy,” she protests, scurrying to my side. I take a step forward, maneuvering her behind me.
“I think you’ve been snorting too much of your own supply and need to calm the fuck down,” I warn him, straightening my shoulders and dominating the space.