All the Pretty Lies by M. Leighton Read Free Book Online Page B

whether you approve or not.”
    After I finish ranting at him, I turn to face
Hemi, ignoring the fact that my heart skips a beat when our eyes
meet. “And you, this is none of your business. You don’t have time
for a girl like me, remember?” Hemi raises one dark brow. Other
than that, he doesn’t move a muscle. Doesn’t say a word. Just
watches me. “I appreciate the gesture of you trying to protect me,
but I don’t need protecting. Even from my asshole of a
brother.”
    His eyebrows draw together in a frown. “This
is your brother?”
    I glance at Steven over my shoulder. “Yes.
Unfortunately.”
    When I turn back to Hemi, his brow is even
more deeply furrowed.
    “Now, I hope you two have the good sense to
drop this rather than go act like jackasses out in the parking lot.
I’m leaving.”
    With that, with my head held high and my
spine ram-rod straight, I do my best to walk away without
stumbling. And, as far as I can tell, I do a pretty damn good
job.
     

CHAPTER EIGHT- Hemi
     
    Holy shit! He’s her brother? I can’t
decide if this is the best turn of events—an unexpected gift to a
man trying desperately to do the right thing—or if it’s the
absolute worst—life handing me the very means by which I could
destroy myself. Either way, it’s a game changer.
    I have a difficult decision to make. Do I let
her in? Do I do the unthinkable and let this girl into the
shitstorm that is my life? Or do I let opportunity pass me by?
Either way, I’m a thoughtless asshole and it all boils down to one
question: Who can I live with hurting more? My family? Or an
innocent girl?
     

CHAPTER NINE- Sloane
     
    I hear the doorbell ring, but I ignore it.
It’s probably a salesman. Someone stole the NO SOLICITATION sign
from the front of the neighborhood about a year ago. Not that it
worked. Solicitors kept coming anyway. Every couple of months,
someone would buy another sign and stake it in the grass near the
entrance to our subdivision. And every couple of days after that,
someone would come by and steal it. Neither the signs nor the
stealing of the signs interrupted the flow of solicitors. I just
wonder if one of them makes signs. That would be pretty
brilliant.
    The bell rings again and I roll over to look
at the clock. Twenty minutes before ten.
    My head throbs like my heart has migrated
from my chest cavity and taken up residence between my temples. I
moan into the quiet, glad that all the men in my house are either
at work or are at the gym on their way to work. The last thing I
need on top of my raging hangover is a bunch of arrogant
I-told-you-sos and smug looks.
    I hear the annoying ding dong sound
for the third time. Gritting my teeth, I throw back the covers and
stomp down the stairs to the front door. I yank it open, ready to
unleash unholy hell on some poor unsuspecting vacuum cleaner
salesman, but I’m brought up short when I see Hemi standing on the
stoop. He looks like a breath of fresh air in his low-slung jeans
with a hole in one knee, his black The Ink Stain t-shirt
with the fabulous art on the front, and his aviator sunglasses,
shielding his eyes from the harsh light.
    I squint as I look up at him, the sun driving
a thousand tiny needles straight through my eyeballs and into the
center of my brain.
    “What are you doing here?”
    I see his lips curve into a wry smile and,
when he lifts his hand, I notice for the first time what he’s
carrying—a cup of coffee.
    I reach out and take it in both of my hands,
holding the steaming brew to my lips and taking a careful sip. Even
the smell makes me feel a little better. Like there’s life inside
the cup.
    “Come on in,” I say absently as I turn and
walk away from the door.
    It isn’t until I’m seated on the couch in the
living room with my legs curled beneath me that I realize what I
must look like—plaid pink shorts, tiny pink t-shirt that says KISS
ME on the front, hair in a ponytail, last night’s makeup
undoubtedly smeared all over my