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)
Mr. Miller. Because they still don’t know his real name. So he’s Billy Miller.
Jaw hard, Matt nods. “Understood. I’ll go quiet.”
Both worry and relief fill my chest. Worry because I’ll be alone. Relief because he’ll be okay.
And the sick realization that Tusk’s next fight will probably come before he’s back. Before we can escape.
But I smile up at him. Because there’s nothing else to do. “Be good, okay?”
His throat works but he smiles, then pulls me into a tight hug. Against my ear, he whispers urgently, “Don’t wait for me to come back. Use the scalpel, then get out, contact my boss.”
So the FBI can track down the doc’s clinic and free Matt, too. I nod, hold him tight.
“Let’s go, then,” Victor says. “I want to get a move on.”
Reluctantly, I let him go.
“You’ll be all right, sis.” Matt slides down from the examination table, cups my cheek. “Just keep on loving me, okay?”
Tears blur my eyes. “Always,” I swear to him.
17
Stone
Another day, still the same—except with Hatchet injured, my exercise group is down to one. And since Cherry’s helping the doctor with the new guys, there are just two guards watching me.
And Victor, walking Hatchet out behind the barn. I see them as I head into the backstretch of the track, slowing as I realize where they’re going. Why they’re going.
Fuck.
Cherry said Hatchet’s arm was broken bad. I’ve got no love for any of the Eighty-Eight, but the asshole went to the mat for her. Now they’re putting him down like a horse with a broken leg. So this is some fucking bullshit.
Hatchet’s trying to talk Vic out of it. I can’t hear a word he’s saying but the body language is clear enough. Maybe the asshole doesn’t know that the Eighty-Eight is everything Victor says he hates about motorcycle clubs. Maybe Hatchet’s so desperate he’d say anything.
He’s still talking even as Victor urges him onto his knees and points a pistol at his head. I round the curve that’ll take me into the final stretch, and lose sight of them behind the barn. Then there’s a long fucking delay. Maybe Victor is feeling generous enough to let the guy say his last words. But in the end, whatever Hatchet told him must not have made any difference.
The gunshot comes just as I hit five miles. Both of us crossing the finish line at the same time. But there’s no winning here.
Only losing.
* * *
I’m wondering where they keep the guns when Cherry checks in on me, like she has each night before bed ever since I got kicked in the head. A guard stands a few paces behind her, but not paying close attention like they do when Victor’s around. Their whole operation went slack as soon as he went on leave.
I’ll take advantage of that, if I can. Either to get to Tusk or to get the fuck out—and take Cherry with me.
She asks her questions about whether I’m sleepy or dizzy or any of that shit. I’m not. And I’ve got my own questions.
“How much new blood came in?” There’s someone over in Handlebar’s stall. I haven’t seen him yet, but he’s spent most of the day crying.
A shadow moves through her eyes. “Three,” she says quietly.
“Not lured in by your pussy this time.”
She doesn’t say anything to that. Just shines her little penlight into my eyes.
“Still pretty empty in this barn,” I say. “And I saw another stall already opened up.”
“Hatchet’s?” She shakes her head. “He’ll be coming back. They sent him out for surgery.”
Surgery? Is that what they told her?
And she believed it?
But…hell. The asshole broke his arm helping save her from Tusk. So I won’t lay that guilt on her. If she wants to believe he’s out for surgery, I’ll let her go on believing it.
“They put the third one in the other barn?”
“Yes.”
“How’s Handlebar holding up?” I know the answer, but I ask anyway.
Her gaze meets mine, worry darkening that emerald. “He’s giving the guards a lot of trouble. And says he won’t fight in the Cage again.”
Of course he won’t. Crash is dead, so he doesn’t give a fuck anymore.
I don’t either. Except for two things.
“When’s the next fight?”
Her lips tremble. “Four days.”
Four days until Tusk’s tenth win. “What are the chances they’ll put me up against him?”
The look in her eyes says it all. Zero chance.
“On the benches, then.”
They unchain us before we’re ushered into the Cage. But Tusk will still be chained. I’ll do it quick.
Alarm sparks in her eyes. After a quick glance back at the guard, she whispers tautly, “You can’t. The guards will shoot you.”
They probably will. Not that it makes any difference. I was a dead man the second that I laid eyes on this woman.
Urgently she leans in closer to the bars. “I can’t let you do this for me.”