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Lust (The Elite Seven #1)
Author/Writer of Book/Novel:
The Elite Seven.
I was born with wealth, athletic ability, and looks that could melt the panties off a nun.
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These violent delights have violent ends ~ William Shakespeare.
—Romeo and Juliet.
The clock on my dashboard mocks me. Late is an understatement.
Punishing the throttle, I will my tires to stick to the wet road as the storm rattles the sky above me. Like it’s releasing the fucking Kraken.
I love living in New Orleans but the weather in hurricane season is a bipolar bitch. Soaking rain with high winds that could blow the skin off a gator one minute, hotter than Satan’s asshole the next.
My wipers battle to give me visual as I pass the sign telling me half a mile to my turn off.
Static white noise crackles through the radio, breaking up the vocals of Post Malone’s new track, and smacking the thing doesn’t seem to fix the problem.
This night has turned to shit fast, and it’s only going to get worse when my mother finds out how late I was picking up my kid brother.
Groaning at the time ticking by, I try to focus, my speed eating up the pavement.
Blue and red lights flash through the smog of the rain in front of me, and I slow the car to a roll before I can even reach the exit I need to take.
Slamming my hands on the steering wheel, I squint through the rivulets of water pouring all around.
Orange cones block the road, forcing me to idle the car.
The rain punishes the windshield, blurring my sight, making it almost impossible to make out what’s going on outside.
Like I need this shit.
All I can think about is Robbie waiting outside his Karate class alone, soaking wet and no doubt starving.
I’m a shit big brother, selfish. The guilt is building, and whatever the fuck’s happened here is bad. I’m not going to get moving anytime soon.
Ignoring the constant beeping of my cell phone with texts from our anxious mother, I open a message from my best friend asking me to bail on the party tonight and go dragging with him instead.
He’s got a death wish to risk drag racing in this weather. Hard pass.
I shoot him a message back, telling him to come to the party for a few hours first, then chuck my cell in the passenger seat.
I’ll get him drunk tonight—which is all too fucking easy with him—and take his keys away. No racing and dying tonight.
I roll down the window and try to flag down one of the officers laying out cones to prevent traffic from coming through on the other side.
“Sir, I really need to get through here,” I call out, waving my arm in an attempt to get his attention.
Thunder rumbles from above, followed by a lightening show dancing in the clouds.
This storm wasn’t supposed to hit until tomorrow.
Rain instantly begins pouring in through the open window, soaking me and the leather interior of my new dodge charger. The selfish prick I am, it irritates me I’m even in this situation.
I should be getting ready for the house party on the other side of town.
Our dad was supposed to pick Robbie up, but once again, he had to work late. It wouldn’t be that bad if his office weren’t five blocks over.
Most boys admired their father, but not me. Mine was a pretentious prick who hated that I chose to pursue a football scholarship instead of taking his money and following him into the world of finance.
He made it no secret that Robbie was his favourite kid, and hell, I didn’t blame him. Just because we’re related, there are no rules that say we can’t clash—and clash we do.
An officer approaches my window wearing plastic overalls that do nothing to prevent the fierce winds from blowing the rain sideways into his face. Poor bastard.
“You’ll need to turn around, sir,” he instructs, and irritation grinds my bones.
I can practically see the building through the gathering of magnolia trees lining the opposite side of the road.
Inhaling a frustrated breath, I look to the grass border on my side, then nod to the officer. “Fine”
I watch him walk away in my wing mirror, making his way to a car pulling up behind me, no doubt giving them the same instructions to turn around.
Fuck it. I’ll have to jog the rest of the way and get wet.
Pulling my car over to the side of the road, I jump out and immediately regret my choice of not wearing a coat today. My boots slap on the asphalt that’s becoming more like a river than a road.
The officer jogs back toward me, hurried and pissed off, pointing at my car.
“You can’t leave your car there,” he shouts, shaking his head.
I look past him to an ambulance stopping by two police cars parked at an odd angle in the road. Squinting my eyes, I make out a truck just beyond them. Looks like it collided with a tree.