Page 139 of Releasing 10
The door was locked.
Since when did we use locks?
It felt strange to ring the doorbell of a house I knew the alarm codes to, but I did it and waited impatiently.
After about twenty-five rings of the doorbell, it finally opened.
When my eyes locked on the asshole in front of me, I felt my blood run cold.
Mark Allen.
I swear, this prick set my teeth on edge.
“Where’s Gibs?” I asked, not bothering with formalities. I knew he didn’t like me, and the feeling was mutual.
Mark Allen had a god complex and couldn’t stand that someone younger than him could trump him intellectually. That someone was me, and I took great pleasure in kicking the shit out of him with my mind.
“How the fuck am I supposed to know?” Mark seethed, standing in the doorway in a pair of low hung sweats and nothing else. “What’s with ringing the doorbell a hundred fucking times. I was trying to work out, asshole!”
“Hopefully your brain,” I shot back dryly, trying not to heave at the sight of the creature. “Because, evidently, your rectus abdominus are a lost cause.”
“Hold up.” He narrowed his eyes. “What did you say about rectum?”
I smirked, feeling amused. “Case in point.”
“Biggs, you better tell me what you want right now or get the fuck off my doorstep,” he snarled, taking a menacing step toward me. “Because I am in no mood for your hotshot lingo.”
Instead of flinching, I laughed. “You really are thick as shit, aren’t you?”
“Just you wait.” He pointed at my face and nodded grimly. “Another couple of years and I’m going to kick the living shit out of your smart ass.”
“I’m right here,” I laughed back. “Give it your best shot.”
“Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t ya?” he sneered. “Clever little bastard like you would probably have a camera filming.”
I grinned. “Why don’t you try it and see if you’re right?”
“Why don’t you climb back up the hole you came out of,” he roared before unceremoniously slamming the door in my face.
“Actually, I’m the product of a caesarean section, asshole,” I goaded. “So your attempt to insult me is a futile one.”
The sound of the lock clicking filled my ears.
The fucker.
“I hate that guy,” I muttered to myself, glaring at the closed door.
Well, he couldn’t keep me out that easily.
Skulking around the side of the house, I scaled the old oak tree outside Mark’s open window, the room that used to be Beth’s, before launching myself at the window.
Easy peasy.
Climbing through the window, I landed lightly on my feet, only to scowl at the absolute pigsty that was his room.
Graphically explicit posters of naked girls adorned the walls, and he had a bunch of instant photos littered on his nightstand. I didn’t bother investigating those because whatever piqued Mark’s interest would be of zero interest to me.
He clearly used the floor as his waste bin because there was more rubbish scattered over it than inside our wheelie bin. He didn’t even have a sheet on his mattress, and there was an obvious—and very large—urine stain in the middle.
