Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 82094 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 410(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82094 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 410(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
Six-foot-three, covered in muscles, and barreling down like a locomotive.
I don’t move, too stunned to do anything but stare at him, at the muscles in his arms and chest and the way he’s smiling, the way he’s absolutely freaking grinning like a madman, and it happens so fast.
One second, he’s sprinting to second base and I’m in the way, and the next he’s slamming into me like he’s playing football, and the world goes upside down as I smash into the ground with Carmine on top of me.
I don’t hear anything, only the steady thud of my heart and a high-pitched ringing. I have a headache suddenly, and lights bloom at the corners of my eyes. I have no clue what’s happening or how we got here, but I can’t seem to move. Carmine’s on top of me, breathing deeply. His heavy, bulky body holds me down on the infield, and I squirm to try to get out of the dirt, afraid that it’ll stain my clothes and ruin my hair. I smell his sweat, sharp and acidic, and the minty tang of his breath as his lips move against my neck.
His hands come up my flanks and I don’t know why but I’m breathing fast as his right palm takes hold of the side of my face, and he shoves my other cheek into the dirt, grinding my face into the sandy soil.
I sputter in shock, try to struggle, wriggling and pushing, but he pins me down and shoves my face harder. I feel the dirt grains in my cheek, in the corner of my mouth, on my tongue, god, it’s in my freaking mouth, in my hair and the corner of my eye, and I groan in disbelief and disgust and overwhelming revulsion.
“There you go,” he whispers softly, eyes so wide they look white as I panic and try to get away, but he’s too freaking strong. “God, you’re so much prettier with a little dirt on you, you filthy fucking girl.”
I nearly scream, but hands grab him a moment later and haul him away, and Robyn’s there and Sara’s there, and they want to make sure I’m okay, but all I can do is try to clean the grime off my face, No matter how many times I wipe, I can’t seem to make it go away. Tears well up in my eyes, not because I’m hurt, although my back aches and my head’s a little dizzy, but because I feel so disgusting, so freaking contaminated and messy, and I can’t stand it.
His voice echoes in my mind. Nobody’s ever, ever spoken to me like that before. Filthy fucking girl.
I shove my friends away, crying like an idiot, mortified. All I can see is Carmine grinning at me as people shout angrily at him, but he doesn’t seem to mind, not one bit.
He’s too busy staring at me.
Chapter 2
Brice
Present Day
It’s all over the news. Daddy’s going to prison for a very long time.
I sit alone in the dark of my childhood bedroom, knees pulled to my chest. I haven’t been back in Rowe Manor in a few months—I’ve been too busy having my own life in Dallas—but the second Grandpa called and told me something very bad was about to happen and I had to come home, I jumped in my car and drove fast.
I didn’t drive fast enough though. My father’s arrest was everywhere by the time I pulled down the manicured driveway and greeted the staff at the door.
My childhood home looks so much smaller than it used to. It feels tiny now, even though it’s a massive, sprawling complex of wings and floors and subfloors and terraces. Maybe I’ve gotten bigger, or maybe I’m seeing the place with fresh eyes. The lace around my four-poster bed is going off-white with age and sun damage, and the fading color makes my spine squirm. The carpets are pristine, the mantel is dusted, the paintings and pictures are all as I left them—perfectly level and aligned—but something feels off.
Probably because Daddy’s never coming back.
My phone buzzes. It’s Robyn texting, checking to see how I’m feeling. Earlier, on my drive, Sara sent me a few dozen messages, and Cassidy called a few times and left a message checking in, but I haven’t responded to anyone.
I can’t bring myself to face it, not yet.
There’s a soft knock at the door. It opens and Louisa pokes her head inside. She smiles at me and I smile back, shimmying myself off the bed. “How are you doing?” the head of the household says as she steps into the room. She’s small, round, with dark hair turning gray along her temples, and her lined face crinkles with a smile that makes me feel warm. “Your grandmother sent me to make sure you’re okay with all this craziness.”