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On one hand, I want to laugh because I know he’ll get his ass handed to him for this, but on the other, I realize this will set him off worse, and he’ll be even more of a dick to me.
Then again, he’s the baby of the family, the spoiled son who gets whatever he wants and never gets in trouble. Which is why I’m surprised to hear my dad’s voice when I walk into the house, his tone sharp and cutting as he scolds Dylan.
Closing the door as quietly as possible, I don’t move or make a sound.
I’m half expecting to hear him being grounded, and a little excited that my parents might cut off his constant partying as punishment for wrecking the car.
Instead, I hear something that makes no sense, a threat buried in my father’s words that confuses the hell out of me while causing my skin to crawl.
“You couldn’t even do that right, could you? What the fuck is wrong with you? I said I want her dead. Not injured. Not scared.Dead. And now it looks like I’ll have to handle it because you’re a fucking disappointment who can’t follow through with the simplest task.”
My brows tug together at that.
“She needs to be taken out. And all you managed to do was fuck this up.”
“Dad-“
“No! Don’t give me your fucking excuses, Dylan. You know how important this is. Pay to repair your own fucking car. I’m not coming out of pocket for this.”
“But you said-“
“I know what I said. I also know you’re a fuck up who parties too much to do anything right.”
Their voices die off as footsteps approach the foyer. I duck right into a small sitting room, staying completely still and hidden in shadow until my father walks through the wing and slams a door in the distance.
Thoroughly confused about their conversation, I make my way out of the sitting room and down the hall, pausing when I reach the open door to Dylan’s bedroom.
I know better than to bother him, but I love my little brother despite how badly he treats me. And seeing him sitting on the side of the bed with his head so heavy in his hands, I can’t help but reach out.
“Is everything okay?”
His head snaps up and his eyes narrow on me, so much rage in his expression that I flinch in response to it.
“Get the fuck out of here, whore!”
Snatching an empty glass from his bedside table, he launches it at me, the glass shattering into a hundred shards when it hits the wall.
Thankfully, I dodge fast enough to keep from being hit, confusion and fear for Dylan flooding me as I stare at him for a few silent seconds.
He’s so angry all the time.
Mostly at me.
And I have no idea why.
Rather than wasting my time arguing with him, especially after everything else I’ve already been through tonight, I sigh and turn down the hallway to walk to my room.
Once inside, I go through the process of stripping down and crawling in bed, my head so heavy on the pillows with the weight of my thoughts.
I’m nowhere near falling asleep when my phone buzzes from my bedside table, the screen lighting up with a soft glow, a groan falling over my lips because there are several people I don’t want to hear from at the moment.
Snatching it from where it lays, I thumb the screen and clench my teeth.
Of course it would be the worst of them.
Like the cherry on top of a fucked-up night.
Meet me tomorrow at 3.
