The Bad Boy and the Badder Girl

and the dinner

I, being the incredible time-managing super human I am, spent so much time (which in the case that I only had an hour) showering and doing makeup and drying my hair, I didn't have any time left to really do anything nice to my hair. So I just threw it up into a bun and prayed that it held together, with the help of hairspray of course. I would've used pins, but no matter how many I buy they always go missing.

I bet Dylan steals them.

That is the only logical explanation.

I quickly zipped up my dress, most likely looking like an orangutang trying to contort my arm to reach the stupid thing.

The only stupid thing here is y-

Okay that is quite enough.

Slipping on my heels, I grabbed my phone and my leather jacket and went as fast as I could down the stairs. I was in five inch heels remember.

"And she lives." My father greeted as I came down the stairs. I expected the whole family to be waiting, but of course the precious princess (Dylan) has to do his hair.

"Hi dad." I gave him a one armed hug.

"Hey Cailyn, I thought you died up there." He joked.

"Me too." I smiled back. He looked over my face, then stopped once he reached my ear, pulling his eyebrows together in confusion.

"Another tattoo." He sighed, he didn't like me getting them, but he didn't really care either.

"Yup." I replied, popping the p.

"Another one? His many is that now a million?" Dylan said as he bounded down the steps. I rolled my eyes, he's acting as if I have a tattoo sleeve or something. I mean God Dylan I'm not Tyga, or Ronnie Radke, or Andy Biersack or Trey Cyrus.

"It doesn't matter, let's just go." Dad hated it when we fought, it reminded him too much of him and his brother. They were never on good terms their whole life, then when they started getting along more he was shot in a mob war. It was difficult for all of us, me and Dylan always had a tight relationship with him, especially me. I was a wreck when he died.

What people don't understand about this business is that it's not something to ever take lightly. People die for this business, people risk their lives and their families lives just working near my father. The second dad gets close to anyone they are immediately in danger because the revival mobs will do anything to get what they want. Even kill.

That will be my life some day. Well I mean it already is, I live with bodyguards, sleep with a gun, and could beat any police officer in a shoot out, I had also mastered the art of impassiveness and lying. But soon I won't be on the outskirts anymore, I'll be running it, me and Dylan. Until we die. Which for us, the expected lifespan was 40, maybe 50 if we're lucky.

"You got your guns?" Dad asked the second we were out the front gate.

"Yup." Me and Dylan said simultaneously. We were always supposed to carry our guns every where, just in case. For Dylan and Dad it was easy, for me I had to have dresses specially made so that I could hide one. The best that I could do was cut a slit in the back and stick half of it there, then cover the handle with a jacket. We didn't have to take them to school (even though I did), but basically every where else.

As we walked through the doors of their mansion, I was immediately hit with the mouth watering smell of steak. Steak was the only red meat I ate, and I loved it so much I would sell my soul for it.

Oh please, like you have a soul.

I swear my brother is my conscience.

"Jason! Welcome." A man, presumably Sonny, the man that my dad does business with.