Total pages in book: 171
Estimated words: 170885 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 854(@200wpm)___ 684(@250wpm)___ 570(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 170885 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 854(@200wpm)___ 684(@250wpm)___ 570(@300wpm)
It was an exaggeration on Bran’s part to emotionally prepare me.
Again, no one can be worse than Killian.
Those were the thoughts I had before I went to bed last night, and I woke up today in a proper fantastic mood.
Until now.
Or, more accurately, since I walked into the kitchen and saw the motherfucking gangster who’s built like a fucking wall, standing beside my son.
I knew it was the little fucker Nikolai before Bran even introduced him. It doesn’t take a genius to figure it out when Bran’s lips were all swollen and the bastard’s long hair was finger-raked.
Dear fucking God, I know you’re out there somewhere and I beg you, take this arsehole and give my son a normal lover. Just once, I want fucking normal.
First I get a psycho son. Okay, fine. Love that. Best challenge of my life and pretty sure I passed it. I didn’t need to have my daughter with a psycho boyfriend.
And now, it’s the psycho’s psycho fucking cousin.
What the fuck have I done to deserve that? Was I a mass murderer in a past life or something?
“Levi!” My wife pulls on my shirt’s sleeve from her position on the table beside me. “You’re staring.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I was supposed to be fucking glaring,” I say loud enough for everyone to hear.
We’re sitting around the dining table for breakfast. We had to order takeout from the local bakery because I’m not in the right headspace to cook anything.
And it’s all because of the fucking wanker on my left, right beside my son. I narrow my eyes at the full sleeves of tattoos decorating both his arms. Motherfucking gangster. A delinquent bastard who’s in no way fit to be with my well-mannered, completely selfless son.
My son who’s hidden himself so as not to bother us—his own parents. His closest flesh and blood.
Why would he end up with Killian’s more unruly cousin? At least that waste of space is presentable. This one looks like he was chewed up in a tattoo gun, broke the fucking thing, and got spit right out.
Don’t get me wrong. I have tattoos and so does Lan, but we’re not covered in them like damn mafiosos.
Astrid clears her throat and smiles at Nikolai, who had the decency to put his fork and knife down when I spoke.
Even with his hair tied back, he still gives a major creeper vibe.
Just what the fuck does Bran see in him? He looks like one of those violent wankers. Aka me when I was young. I know an adrenaline junkie when I see one.
“So how old are you, Nikolai?” my wife asks in a soft tone. “You look about Bran’s age.”
Bran swallows the mouthful of toast and grimaces. “He’s actually four years younger.”
“Shut the fridge.” She gasps. “He doesn’t look a day younger.”
“Thanks, ma’am. That’s what I’ve been saying.” He slides his fork and knife on either side of his plate again. “Also, it’s only three and a half years. I’m going to be twenty in a couple of weeks.”
“Don’t ma’am me. Just call me Astrid. Make yourself comfortable and treat this like your home.”
“I wouldn’t recommend that.” I cut my toast with scrambled eggs and glare at him.
To give him credit, he doesn’t hold my gaze or glare back like his fucker cousin.
He lowers his head and says, “Once again, I’m sorry for showing up without previous notice. I thought I’d see Bran and leave.”
“Aw, such good manners.” My wife smiles. “And don’t worry, you’re welcome here any time.”
“I wouldn’t use the word welcome.”
“Dad,” Bran mouths pleadingly and I resist the urge to roll my eyes.
There he goes defending the little fucker. I’m losing my children one by one to a bunch of wankers.
“So where did you guys meet?” my wife asks, battling against my every attempt to scare him away. Hopefully, he’ll act up and Bran will realize Nikolai is not for him.
Let’s cross all fingers for that very happy ending.
“It was at a…” Bran trails off. “Party.”
Nikolai smirks. “Yes. A party. I was all over him in no time.”
“You were what?” I snap.
“I mean.” His smirk disappears. “I was the one who noticed him first.”
“And you couldn’t keep your attention to yourself?”
“Levi.” Astrid pinches my thigh beneath the table.
“I’m afraid not, sir,” he answers with a straight face. “It was my destiny to meet your son and I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
There it is. The same arrogance that courses through Killian’s veins instead of blood.
Bran ducks his head and smiles as he spreads an unhealthy amount of apricot jam on some toast.
My heart kind of fucking bursts.
I haven’t seen my son smile so broadly since…well, his pre-teenage years. Puberty changed him into this overly responsible, slightly depressed man. Where Lan grew into his obnoxious, too outward self, Bran turned inward.
Last night, when he told us it was because he didn’t want to come off as abnormal, it made me feel like a shitty father. I often tried to make him feel as special as his brother, but that didn’t matter if he himself didn’t believe in that fact.