Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 88215 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88215 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Bear and King laugh as Preppy leaps into the air, heading straight for me. I sidestep, and he goes crashing onto the couch. Rebounding without missing a beat, he rolls onto his back. Smile still in place.
“You’re way too happy for someone who’s been tortured the way you have,” I point out, taking a drag of my smoke. Bear pours out another whiskey and hands it to me. I down it in one burning gulp and hold it out for a refill which Bear obliges, this time filling it almost to the brim.
“I know, sickening, isn’t it?” Preppy asks. He winks at me and sits up, lighting a joint. “Sometimes all you need is a smidge of torture to put shit in perspective.”
What was really sickening was what had happened to him. Preppy should be dead. For a long time, everyone, including his friends, thought he was dead, but he survived and rejoined the land of the living. If Preppy is still smiling after all that happened to him, I should be able to smile, too. To let Frankie in. To make this shit with her more…permanent.
“I recognize that look,” King says. I hadn’t realized I’d been staring into my whiskey.
“What look might that be?” I ask, staring out the window into the courtyard below at the closed door of the room Frankie’s in.
“The look that says she’s gotten to you,” Bear says, downing his own whiskey. His grin is of the shit-eating variety.
“Some people say that a good woman can tame a man. Train him. Make him less violent,” King says. He chuckles. “It ain’t true. It makes you more violent. It makes you more everything.”
“Ain’t that the fucking truth,” I say, taking a drag from my smoke. “Something I’ve recently learned.”
“Says the man covered from head to toe in what I assume is someone else’s blood,” Preppy says.
I look down. “Kind of forgot about that.”
“Been there,” Bear says.
“We all have,” King adds.
“Ditto or trippilo, or some shit like that. Me, too, is what I’m trying to say,” Preppy chimes in.
The three of them laugh, and as hard as I try not to, I can’t help the slow tremor growing in my chest and shoulders until I’m laughing right along with Bear, Preppy, and King.
And damnit it feels good.
Motherfuckers.
When the laughter dies down Bear’s expression turns serious. “We’ll get this son of a bitch, Smoke. We’ll plan our attack on the compound. You’ll get your revenge, brother, and we’ll help you,” Bear says.
I nod because I don’t know what else to say. Shit feels overwhelming. I cough into my hand.
“We’re working on a way to get on the inside. Got our tech people examining the blueprints. We’ll burn that motherfucker down and everyone in it,” King pipes in.
“Shit, haven’t killed anyone in a while,” Preppy purses his lips and shrugs then begins to stretch like he’s preparing to run a marathon, running in place. “Sounds like a fucking good time to me.”
“We got you,” Bear says. “We all do.”
The thought of finally getting my revenge and getting to keep Frankie makes me smile.
I down another whiskey then Bear walks with me back down to the room where Frankie’s asleep. I push open the door and the smile on my face dies a quick death. My heart falls from my body.
Frankie’s gone.
Chapter Fifty-One
“Okay, let’s do this,” Rage says, pulling out a long knife. She’s standing behind me in her room at the club. I’m sitting down, facing the mirror above the dresser. She turns the knife over, inspecting it. After a few seconds, she seems lost in the glint shining back at her as she rotates it again and again.
I clear my throat, and she glances up at my reflection.
“So how do we do this?” I ask. “Should we do a count to three? I think that’s the best waa—ouch!”
“Or I can just do it now,” Rage sings, having already made the thin slice into my skin below my ear.
“That works, too,” I mutter, trying not to wince in fear she’ll take the whole ear off for shits and giggles.
Rage twists her lips while she works to shove the small device just below the skin under my ear. When she’s done, she covers the wound with a flesh colored patch that matches my skin. “That should do it.”
“Any words of advice?” I ask, feeling terrified. I don’t want to think about the look on Smoke’s face when he realizes I’m gone. I don’t want think about anything other than the plan and what lies ahead.
Think now.
Feel later.
Nothing else matters.
Rage lifts her large blue duffle bag that says LEE COUNTY HIGH SCHOOL on the side and throws it over her shoulders. She shrugs. “Don’t die?”
Rage opens the door, and I follow her out into the darkness of night. We reach the back gate, and she crouches down, tossing her bag through a hole in the fence before crawling through herself. “Don’t die,” I repeat to myself on a whisper. I get on my hands and knees and follow her through. “I’ll try to remember that one.”