Total pages in book: 154
Estimated words: 148220 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 741(@200wpm)___ 593(@250wpm)___ 494(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 148220 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 741(@200wpm)___ 593(@250wpm)___ 494(@300wpm)
So she’s safe. There’s no doubt of it now.
But it’s knowledge with a sharp, jagged edge. Because she’s safe. And if I’d known that, if I’d been as certain in the Cage…I wouldn’t have let Crash sacrifice himself for me. I’d have gone out with him.
It doesn’t matter that means we’d both be dead. Better dead than betraying a brother. But it’s too fucking late now.
And a part of me is dead anyway. The part of me that used to be worth something.
But at least she’s safe. Now Papa has no leverage to make me fight again. Except I will fight at least one more time. Not for Papa, though.
I’ve got a goddamn hole to fill—and a promise to keep.
In the barn, it’s too early for Elton. It’s dark except for the recessed lighting that offers enough illumination to walk down the wide aisle between the stalls.
First cell on the left is Tusk’s. He’s awake, doing pullups using the bars over the stall with his dick hanging free. The sick fucker doesn’t look over and I don’t try to get his attention, don’t give him any reason to look at me. Better if he never sees me coming, never realizes I’m a threat.
Farther down the aisle, Cherry and a guard come out of Airbag’s stall. Even in the dim lighting, I see the way her eyes widen and relief fills her expression. Like maybe she thought they’d taken me out to put a bullet in my head instead of letting me make a phone call.
“You done in there for now?” Victor asks. When she nods, he says, “Then see to Mr. Wall’s injuries.”
Fuck that. “They don’t need seeing to.”
“The nurse will determine that,” the bastard says. “Get into your restraints.”
Goddammit. This is the last thing I want—Cherry touching me. Trying to heal me, to make me feel better.
Nothing could make this feel better. Nothing should make this feel better.
But I don’t have much of a choice. I step in the restraints, hands over my head, manacles on my wrists. Chains securing my ankles. They don’t let her come in until I’m locked up. She sets a little medical kit at the foot of my bed and comes to stand in front of me.
“Bend your head a little, please.”
Because even in those heels, she’s about six inches shorter than me. And standing so damn close, reaching up to skim her fingers over my scalp as if searching for lumps.
“Any tender spots?”
Not in my skull. And Christ, she looks like hell. Makeup mostly gone. Cried off, probably. The skin around her eyes looks tender and swollen, her face pale with exhaustion.
I’ve never seen her like this. Not even the first night at the tavern. She looked vulnerable then—but this is another level entirely. As if she’s not just vulnerable but fragile, on the edge of breaking.
And I’m such a sucker for it. Even now.
But the empty stall across from mine reminds me why I shouldn’t be. “Where’s Handlebar?”
“In the other barn.” She rips open an antiseptic pad and begins dabbing a deep cut over my eyebrow. Quietly she adds, “They thought it best to separate him from you.”
After his threat to kill me. That pit opens up in my stomach. But not as deep. Because she’s looking up at me with those big eyes, tending to my wounds just like she did in the tavern. And despite the sting of the antiseptic, her hands are so fucking gentle. That softness seeps in, tending to the ragged wounds inside me, too. Filling me up with her sweetness.
But that’s not what I want in me. When she opens up a butterfly bandage, I tell her, “Don’t close it up. I want to wear these scars.”
The marks Crash put on me. I want to wear these wounds for a long fucking time.
Her hand stills, her sad gaze searching my face. Then she nods like she understands. “All right.”
Even her fucking voice is gentle. So goddamn sweet. I don’t want that.
“I’ll add them to my collection—all the scars I’ve got because a woman was saving her own skin.”
Her expression tightens. But her touch never roughens. Neither does her voice. “Is that what these others are?”
“Yeah.”
Antiseptic burns my lip as she says, “You said that you went through a window.”
While telling her not to be smart and pretty. Because all that wounded vulnerability already got its hooks into me. Throw in the rest and I knew that I’d be fucked.
Got fucked anyway. “There was a window. But first there was a gorgeous girl who took me home. Back then, you might say I was real handsome myself.”
Her lips twitch. “Still might.”
“Only if you’re a fucking liar.” The way her amusement blinks out deepens the hole again, fills it with rot instead of her softness. But it only takes another second for her warmth to start seeping in again. “Long story short, her abusive asshole of an ex showed up with some friends, she got scared and saved her own skin by telling him that I’d slipped something into her drink. Cue a brawl, me going headfirst through a window, and leaving her bedroom not nearly as handsome as I went into it.”