Total pages in book: 57
Estimated words: 54059 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 270(@200wpm)___ 216(@250wpm)___ 180(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 54059 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 270(@200wpm)___ 216(@250wpm)___ 180(@300wpm)
“You Andy?” His deep voice causes my skin to break out in goosebumps. I don’t answer right away because I’m unable to form words at the moment. How the heck does this guy know my name? And why the hell is he here looking for me? So many thoughts and questions race through my mind.
“Who’s asking?” I question, my brain finally remembering how to form words.
“Shit, Niki, it’s a fucking girl?” Another man shuffles into the room, almost as big as the first. This one is less rough around the edges but prettied up in designer shoes and clothes. He's definitely not using super glue on them.
The bigger of the two shifts, I think about to push the other one back out the door, but he sidesteps, entering the classroom more. The giant gives a slight shake of his head before shutting the door and blocking off the only exit.
A few things start to click into place. I should have known this was coming. I want to take a step back, but I'm already up against the desk. I drop my foot down so I'm at least on both feet.
"I'm asking."
"It's best you just answer him," the flashy, pretty boy tells me. My eyes linger on the big guy's hands. His knuckles are red, the skin torn. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to know he's roughed one person up today already.
"I'm handling it." He shoots Pretty Boy a glare, and he merely shrugs. That glare alone scares the crap out of me.
"Are you Andy?"
I nod, knowing there is no getting out of this. The man's eyes roam down me and then back up. I shift on my feet, pulling the strap of my backpack tighter. The thing almost weighs more than I do. That's what happens when you can't trust your locker and you actually care about your books and education.
"She doesn't look like she uses. Must be new to it."
"I don't use," I clarify. I drop my eyes to my feet, my cheeks flushing with embarrassment. Never in a million years would I have thought I’d be in this situation.
"You buy." The big one takes a step closer.
"Once," I whisper, hating to admit it.
"Still counts," Pretty Boy clips, running his hands through his short, wavy hair. I don’t know why that’s annoying, but it is. Possibly because his hair is shiny and nicer than mine. I’m guessing girls fall at his feet. No thanks. He doesn’t do anything for me. Dark and dangerous over here is a different story. There’s something about him that I find alluring. But now’s not the time to be thinking about any of that.
These two really are a contrast. Muscle’s hair is shaved close to his scalp, making it easy to take care of. His clothes give off the same vibe. He’s not trying to be attractive, which only makes him all the more attractive.
"Bam, I said I'm handling it." He cuts him off again. "But you didn't pay," he directs toward me.
"I paid half, that's all I had." I didn't know drugs cost so freaking much. I guess inflation really does hit everything. Next thing you know, there will be tariffs on them.
“You use it all or only use half?” He folds his arms over his massive chest, making his muscles show more. Is he trying to scare the crap out of me? Because it’s working. I try to keep my composure. Don’t predators smell fear? This man is definitely a predator. There’s no doubt about that.
“I didn’t use it,” I clarify again, wanting to make sure I get that point across.
“You bought it for someone else?” His brows furrow together, and I notice a deep cut through the right one. It's not one of those stupid ones people are doing to themselves; the scar is jagged.
“Yes.”
“Who?” He takes another step closer.
“If you give me tonight, I’ll have the rest of the money tomorrow.” I’ll bust my ass tonight for tips, but hopefully when my mom comes home from her shift, she’ll top up my savings with some tips too.
Mom makes way more than I can in a night, but she does have to be topless while she serves drinks to men. It’s not much different than what I do really. I just serve pie, soda, and burgers to some creepy men, but I get a cheap polyester uniform to cover me up, even if it’s a size too small.
“Who? I don’t like repeating myself.” Right, why did I think I could dodge that question?
“I bought it for a friend.” I know my mom got me into this mess, but I don’t want to send these men—I’m calling them men even if I think they are only a few years older than me—her way.
He clears the space between us in two strides, his hand gripping my chin, forcing me to stare up into his dark eyes.