More Than Enough (More Than Series, Book 5) Read Online Free Page B

murder. Or at least in my case.
    I pace the sidewalk, focused on finding the source of the music. But it’s not a car. It’s a house. My next-door neighbor’s house. The same neighbors who shined their headlights on my house on my return home from my fucking war.
    And now I’m back to insanity.
    My strides are long, bare feet stomping through the grass of my neighbor’s front yard, my anger rising with every step. I bang on the door, not caring how I look or who I upset.
    Bang. Bang. Bang.
    Nothing.
    I knock harder.
    Still nothing.
    I peer through the window next to the door, feeling it shake from the base against my hands.
    I knock again.
    Louder.
    Stronger.
    Whatever the fuck the song is, it sounds like a drowning cat, clawing its way out of a chalkboard bathtub.
    Insanity is an asshole.
    “Yo,” I shout, along with more banging.
    Finally, the door swings open, the volume doubling.
    There’s a girl who I kind of recognize. Her feet are bare, just like mine. So are her legs—long and lean and pasty white. Her dark blonde hair’s a complete mess. So is everything about her. She’s wearing an over-sized shirt that goes past her hips and nothing else. She’s holding a bottle in one hand, a cupcake in the other. She’s older than I remember, not that I had a lot of interaction with her before. “Riley?”
    She pulls a phone from somewhere inside her shirt and taps it a few times. The music stops. “What?” she snaps, dropping the phone onto the hardwood floors. She takes a sip from the bottle and cocks her hip to the side, her eyes on mine the entire time.
    It’s barely nine in the morning and the girl’s drunk off her tits.
    And it just makes me pissed. Or pissder. More pissed? What the fuck ever. “Turn the music down. Or off . Preferably.”
    She takes one final swallow before pulling the bottle away and holding it to her chest, her eyes unfocused, lids heavy. “Can you go away? Or fuck off . Preferably.” She slams the door in my face.
    “What the fuck?” I whisper, banging on the door again.
    The music returns, louder than it was, and I’ve fucking had enough. I kick the shit out of her door. And I’ll keep kicking the shit out of it until the music is off and I can finally sleep.
    The door opens again. “What?!” she shouts, spitting food out of her mouth. Half the cupcake is gone. Half the icing is smeared on her lips. “Who the fuck do you think you are?”
    I ignore her question and step into the house, pushing her to the side as I search for the source of the sound. It doesn’t take long. A few steps down the hallway, second door on the left and I’m in a bedroom. Her bedroom. Whoever is singing now sounds like she’s drowning while strangling the clawing fucking cat. I find the speakers set up on her nightstand and try to switch it off but I can’t fucking find the power button. Now Riley’s yelling from behind me, asking me what the hell I’m doing. I find the cord, follow it to the outlet and yank until the music dies.
    Silence.
    Sweet, sweet, silence.
    “What the fuck are you doing?” she yells.
    I pick up the speaker, lift her window, and throw the source of my insanity outside.
    “You can’t do that!”
    I slam the window shut and finally face her.
    Her eyes are wide. So is her stance as she glares up at me, her nostrils flared, her lips pursed. “I hope you die a rotten death and go to hell for all of eternity.”
    As weird as a time to think it—she’s real pretty. Not that it’s relevant. In fact, the irrelevance of it makes me even angrier. Because pretty girls have ugly hearts, and I’ve had enough of both. “I asked you to turn it down,” I seethe, towering over her.
    “You didn’t ask me, asshole. You told me. And no. Fuck off. It’s my house. My rules. Now get out!”
    “My pleasure,” I yell back, walking around her toward her door.
    “Wait!”
    I don’t.
    “Fucking wait!” she yells again.
    I still don’t.
    Then something soft hits my back.
    I turn