Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 75891 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 304(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75891 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 304(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
It wouldn’t have mattered to him if I’d dragged Dale naked through Main Street at high noon; the fact that he thinks I am hurt is all that matters in his mind and the minds of the rest of these criminals I call family. We’re all wired a little differently, I guess you can say.
So, you see why, when I realized my ex’s work friend was getting a bit too close, instead of reacting like a normal human being and throat-knuckling her, I propelled that poor, unsuspecting girl into the arms of a certified deadbeat. It’s because I was raised not to give a fuck, and maybe worst, not to take shit from anyone, no matter who.
Don’t get me wrong, Dad and the others didn’t teach us to start shit with anyone for any reason, but we sure were encouraged to end every fight that came our way. Our great uncles’ mantra is, ‘Don’t mess with anyone first, but if they mess with you, fight until we get there, we’re coming.’
When you’re raised by a father who has the hands of a surgeon and the heart of the most vicious mob boss, it can be complicated. Add in Grandpa, who, as the story goes, didn’t know about Mom until she was a teenager, and his brothers, who had no kids of their own and were only too happy to have a niece and daughter to fawn over with their billions and you’ve got a recipe for something that could’ve gone way south.
By that, I mean if it hadn’t been for Mom’s stability and her soft heart, all of us might’ve turned out way different. Dad, Grandpa, and the Uncles aren’t exactly the law-abiding sorts if you know what I mean, and it gets worse when it comes to us kids.
On the one hand, we were coddled like spun gold, and on the other, I have to admit, we were raised like thugs. When you’re six years old and a grown man trembles and sweats with fear while having a calm conversation with your father after mistakenly running over the bike you foolishly left in the street, you kinda start realizing some things, and I’ve always been smart.
Now, of all of us kids, Annabelle is most like him and the one we all have to adhere to at moments like this. I’d like to pretend that I don’t know how she got that way, but since I’m a mere eleven months younger, I know plenty. There wasn’t much difference between the two of us, except for my family’s archaic nobility system, where the eldest holds sway over everyone else in the line of succession.
The only difference is that most noble houses usually overlooked their female children, while my family went above and beyond to turn my sister into a cross between Cerberus and Queen Tiye. Not that any of us escaped being molded the same way, but there’s a difference that cannot be missed.
My brothers, who came after us girls, know better than to play that shit and were raised to defend us with their last breath, so there was no room for jealousy on their part. There are five of us; like I said, Annabelle is the oldest at twenty-five, then me at twenty-four, almost twenty-five, and then there’s Hunter and Blade, the twins who are twenty-two, and the baby, Zade, who’s about to graduate from high school.
It's a bit embarrassing when you become an adult and realize that the ages of you and your siblings pretty much mean that your parents were freaks. What were? They still are, but I’m not touching that shit with a ten-foot lightsaber. Gross!
Anyhow, I’m rambling in my thoughts because I’m afraid of what is waiting for me back at the family estate. As much as I despise Dale for being an ass, I don’t want his death on my conscience or his blood on my family’s hands. To some, that may seem a bit exaggerated, but with this bunch, there’s no telling. I’ve heard stories.
Dad, Grandpa, and the uncles might be winding down in the eyes of some, but this generation of freaks, aka my siblings, are even worse if you ask me. I don’t count myself in that bunch; I’m more laid back and understanding.
My weapon of choice is my mind, while these young thugs are still in the Stone Age. Only their clubs are Mac Tens and Damascus Steel. “Dad, why are you being so quiet?” I sat in the back with Mom holding my hand while he drove because neither of them would accept that I was truly fine and did not need monitoring.
If I wanted Dale dead, I would be playing this shit up for all its worth, and he’d disappear by morning for sure. But the fact of the matter is, though I was the one who made the way open wide for those two to cheat behind my back, I have plans on how to repay the disrespect that does not include my family’s brand of vigilante justice.