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)
But the worst part of it is…I loved so much of it. Loved seeing his response. Loved hearing his groans. Loved making him come.
Not only because I wanted him. But because I was so angry, and so tired of feeling helpless. So I took out all my rage on a man in restraints. A man who didn’t want me touching him. A man grieving for his friend.
No one comes out looking prettier than they went in.
I knew I wouldn’t. I knew this place would change me.
But I never thought I’d become so ugly.
* * *
By that evening, I’m so exhausted that squeezing my way through the bars above my stall takes everything I have left. Despair and grief are a constant burn in my throat—emotions that only thicken when I glance across the aisle at Crash’s empty stall.
Matt pulls himself up. “Hey, sis.”
He sounds as torn up as I feel. Though he doesn’t know what I did to Stone. Maybe he knows what I was ordered to do—give a reward—but not how I became so angry and took my rage out on a helpless man.
I wish that anger had lasted. Instead only grief and despair are left.
“Hey,” I whisper.
“You all right?”
No. But I nod.
He knows I’m lying. His face hardens. “It was Stone?”
I nod again.
“Did he hurt—”
“No.” I stop that train before it goes any farther. “He’s a good guy.”
A humorless laugh shakes through him. “No, he’s not. But if it makes you feel better, keep thinking that.”
Knowing he’s a good guy doesn’t make me feel better. The knot in my throat thickens. “It’s my fault he’s here.”
“No.” It’s flat, unyielding. “No.”
“But I should have tried harder to—”
“No.” His fierce whisper cuts me off. “You remember when we first got here, you told me that it wasn’t my fault that you got caught up in this—that it was all on Papa and the Eighty-Eight? This is the same damn thing. So if Stone’s being here is your fault, then you being here is my fault.”
I’m trapped by that argument. Voice thick, I tell him, “It still feels like it’s my fault, though.”
“Yeah.” His face softens. “It never stops feeling like that.”
And might get worse. I whisper raggedly, “With Crash gone”—my throat closes for a long, long second before I can continue—“and Flack gone, they’ve got too many empty stalls. They’ll send me out again as bait. But after last time, they’ll watch me even more closely. I won’t get a chance to escape.”
He sighs heavily. “Probably not.”
“But I’ve got another plan.” Breath shuddering, I tell him, “I’ll get into the control booth and kill whoever’s on duty, then I’ll open all the doors.”
Matt’s lips twitch. “Will you?”
I nod. “I’ll tell the guard that I want someone to take my virginity before Tusk wins his tenth fight. Then I’ll slit his throat.”
“With what? Your fingernails?”
“I’ve got a scalpel hidden in my stall.”
The amusement flees his expression. Because he hadn’t thought I was serious. Now he shakes his head.
“Hold up—”
“It’s a good plan.”
“Except for the part where you kill someone. That shit has consequences.”
“No jury would convict me.” Not after everything we’ve been through.
“I’m not talking about that. I’m talking about what killing does to the person you are.”
Sudden tears fill my eyes. On a sobbing breath, I tell him, “I don’t know who I am anymore. I’m not the person I thought I was.”
“Because you’ve had some extreme reactions to some really extreme shit?” Gently he brushes my tears away. “That’s just called being human.”
“A bad one.”
“You couldn’t be bad if you tried. And what you’re doing is the best you can do—you’re owning up to the shitty stuff you’re doing to survive, how it affects other people…and how it affects you.” He draws a deep breath. “Killing someone will affect you. Especially killing in cold blood like you’re talking about. And I don’t want what happened to me to happen to you.”
After the Cage? “I don’t see you any differently.”
He’s still the brother who does everything in his power to protect me.
“I do. I fucking hate myself,” he says, his face tormented. “For getting you into this. For not finding a way out of it. For falling in line every damn time. And the only reason I’m holding on is because I’ve got you to love me.”
My tears fall faster. “Nothing you did could change that.”
“You couldn’t change how I love you, either. And if it comes down to you being Tusk’s prize and killing a guard, then you kill the guard. But wait until you have no other choice. Wait until the night before the next fight, before Tusk gets in that ring again. And all the time in between, keep looking for another way out. At least then you’ll know you did everything you could.”
Whatever that’s worth. “Everything I do turns into shit.”