Crave Me (The Good Ol' Boys #4)(37)

It didn’t matter. He was alive.

“You know what?” Uncle said, bringing all of our attention back to him.

The men holding Esteban spun to face him.

My uncle turned around and narrowed his dark, daunting, soulless eyes directly at Esteban.

“I changed my mind,” he simply stated.

And before it registered what he just said. He lifted his gun and shot him.

“NO!” I yelled out, placing my hand over my mouth.

Hearing him groan out in pain, it was then I noticed his leg was gushing blood and my hand fell to my heart.

Relieved.

“The next time you f*ck with what's mine, Esteban, the bullet will go in your f*cking head.”

With that the men turned and left, leaving a trail of his blood on the floor.

“Briggs,” Uncle announced and I glanced over at him with nothing but hatred in my glare.

He was lost in thought, staring at my shed innocence that stained the sheets on the bed. He walked over to me, every step precise and calculated with the same vicious expression on his face. He roughly gripped my chin, making me look him dead in the eyes. He looked at me like I had been reborn, like I was no longer a little girl and said,



“You’re a Martinez now.”





Chapter 10





<>Austin<>



One thing I knew for sure…

I f*cking hated school.

I sat in my freshman Psych class not paying any attention to the lecture, too distracted checking out the chick sitting one row below me in the auditorium. Her tits were on full display, making me want to bury my face in them and motorboat the shit out of her.

I grinned, biting the edge of my lip.

The best thing about college was the * and parties. The rest was just kind of a blur. I barely ever went to class, too hungover from the night before to give a shit about anything before noon.

That’s when my day started, most of the time I woke up alone, but I never went to sleep that way.

Not that we slept…

After the accident, I had a lot of time to make up for staying in the goddamn hospital for a month. Not to mention the countless f*cking hours of physical therapy that followed shortly after my stay. I wasn’t miraculously cured, my back still hurt like a son of a bitch whenever I worked out.

Thank God for pain pills.

My hair had grown back, covering the massive scar I had from surgery. I grew out my facial hair to cover the ones on my face. The only visible scar was a small one down my eyebrow, glass sliced right through the hair and left me with a missing patch. I had some wicked marks on my arms, back, chest, and legs, which I was self-conscious about at first. They were my motivation to start a daily regimen of working out at the gym like my life depended on it.

I accepted the fact that they were a part of me now, forever etched into my skin.

A daily reminder that I’d f*cked up.

To my surprise the scars got chicks all hot-and-bothered, something about making me look like a bad boy. They were on me like bees on honey.

College was like sex Heaven on steroids. Chicks liked to experiment, they wanted to embrace their sexuality or some bullshit and I had no problem being their f*cking subject.

I had missed so many days of my senior year after the accident that I had to take summer classes to graduate. They let me walk with my class though. I didn’t give a shit about any of it, I did it because it made my family and Half-Pint happy to see me walk across the stage and receive my diploma. My mom hung it proudly in her office, saying that my college diploma would go right next to it someday.

It was just another piece of paper that I could wipe my ass with as far as I was concerned. That’s how much school meant to me.

The boys and I saw each other here and there, but not nearly as much as we used to.

So much had changed.

So much had happened.

I spent my freshman year in the dorms instead of living with them. The plan had been to move in with them after graduation since they planned on getting a bigger apartment for all of us.

That was shot to shit real quick.

“Jacob and Dylan may have forgotten what the f*ck you did, Austin, but I haven’t. And I won’t,” Lucas argued during my graduation party.

I didn’t say anything because what could I say to that. He was right.

“Lucas, calm the f*ck down. He f*cked up. He knows it. With the hours of community service, the legal fees, and his license being suspended for a year, not to mention the physical scars, I think it’s enough of a daily reminder for him,” Dylan intervened, holding him back with his forearm.

“He almost f*cking killed her! She was in a goddamn coma!” He shoved Dylan’s arm away, pointing at me. “You stay the f*ck away from, Alex. Do you understand me? Stay the f*ck away from her!”

“I can’t do that,” I countered, not backing down.

He stepped closer to me. Our faces were an inch apart. Dylan and Jacob standing right beside us, waiting to step in.

“You may not remember what you did. But that doesn’t change the fact that you’re a f*ck up,” he gritted out. “We give you one thing to do! One f*cking thing! Take care of her. Just take care of her. It was f*cking simple! You couldn’t even do that! I’m tired of making excuses for you. You’re lucky I don’t bury you alive.”