Turning Tables

Chapter 2

Heya, thanks for checking out chpt 2 of my story :D

Thanks alot :D

Again, just to let you know I type as things come into my head so there are likely to be grammatical mistakes and misplaced comma's.

Enjoy

xxx 

Picture of 4/5 of the step-brothers ->

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Recap:

 I felt adrenaline start to seep through my veins as I got angrier and more determined to get this right. Fluffing up my hair and straitening out my clothes, I fixed my face into a smooth look of determination and narrowed my eyes to make me look fierce. I closed my eyes and flung open the door, stepping inside, in one swift movement. All chatter immediately stopped and I raised my eyes to come face to face with five blonde ‘angels’, an old hag and a tired-looking man:

 ‘Hello Francesca’ 

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Chapter 2 - Turning Tables.

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My eyes thinned as I glared at the accuser. Who would dare to speak my full name? Coming face to face with my deranged father, I hissed,

‘It’s Frankie you halfwit,’ lacking any self-control to stop any insults escaping my mouth, like word vomit. He looked haggard, his face drawn and frown lines etched into his aged face. He was dressed up in a fading brown suit, a dull, striped blue, tie knotted tightly around his neck. He looked as dull as brick wall. He winced at my words, he still had no backbone.

‘How dare you speak to poor Johnny-poo in that way?’ the old hag said accusingly, hugging him around the middle. I turned to look at her, my face morphing into a look of disgust. There was no other way to explain her other than a blond bimbo. It was obvious she was a gold-digger with her slutty sense in fashion and obvious attraction to men 20 years her senior. She made my skin crawl. Turning to face my ‘father’ I jerked a thumb in her direction.

‘So you’ve kept the slut then’ I stated.

The whole room was filled with growls. Gulping, my heart race increasing, I turned to face the last five people left in the room. There they stood, looks of pure hatred plastered across their angelic-looking faces. I had to suppress a whimper at the size they had grown to, they were huge, all of them surpassing six foot. As I turned to face them I heard a gasp escape the youngest lips’, and I narrowed my eyes at him. Then turned to look at all the others, they had changed a lot, they were all still stunning but in a manly way, they had all grown up so quickly.

The youngest, Aaron, had dark floppy hair that covered part of his face, dark brown eyes and a slim body and looked at me as if calculating me to see if I was dangerous. He wore a blue chequered shirt and tight skinny jeans. And had a pair of dark sunglasses tucked into his shirt pocket, like he was the next big thing. His nose was no-longer crooked from the time I had punched him and then been beaten into a coma by all five of them.

Next to him stood Jared, my third brother, the one that had beaten me to within inches of death, practicing for boxing tryouts. His blonde hair had been cut short and his dark brown eyes glared at me with clear distain, a challenging look plastered across his smug little face. It took a lot of strength not to just slap him there and then. Her wore a, tight-fitting, plain white shirt, his six pack clearly defined. He had a stuck up air about him, almost as if he was God’s gift to women. 

Then there was Ryan, the second ‘angel’, who lay draped across the settee. He glanced up at me, his shining blue eyes travelling to my smooth, wavy hair. I automatically felt conscious, as if he was about to cut off all my hair again. His blonde hair was styled up into a small quiff and he looked like a good boy gone bad.