Total pages in book: 161
Estimated words: 147673 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 738(@200wpm)___ 591(@250wpm)___ 492(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 147673 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 738(@200wpm)___ 591(@250wpm)___ 492(@300wpm)
As he was finishing up, the giant briefly disappeared out of the room, only to return with a bundle of fabric. “I’m still waiting. We have all fucking eternity, if you want to stay with us.”
Laurent was torn between talking back to the rude creature and being polite to appease him. At least he finally felt clean. “I don’t know about the brand. I’m still… confused as to where I am.” He gently pushed on the door, but only then remembered to pull down the lever that stopped the water from falling. Without the remains of Fane on him, he felt more like himself again.
The giant passed him the bundle of black fabric. It felt off to the touch, soft, with tiny strings sewn onto the surface of it, as if it was to imitate animal fur. “You are in the clubhouse of the Kings of Hell motorcycle club, twenty miles away from Portland.”
Laurent covered himself in the fluffy blanket that soaked up water off his body. It was so nice to the touch he even patted his face with it before looking up into the giant’s face, now wondering if he wasn’t just a large human after all. He would still not reveal his poor eyesight to the man, in case he used it against Laurent.
“That is… in the District of Maine?”
The giant slumped against the wall. “We’re in the state of Maine.”
Laurent hugged the blanket tighter around himself. “I’m sorry, I’m very confused. Would you possibly have a piece of cloth to wrap my hand in? I would hate to stain your blanket.”
“What blanket?” the giant asked, sounding confused. “You’re not wrapping yourself naked in any of my blankets. I don’t know you.”
Laurent cocked his head and held up the edges of the fluffy black cloth he’d wrapped himself in. “This one. It’s surely not a sheet, is it?”
The giant exhaled. “Oh, so now you don’t know what a towel is? Very funny. I’m having such a great time dealing with your shit. Come here,” he added gruffly and opened a drawer in the cupboard.
Laurent sighed. He tried, he really did, but it seemed like nothing he knew was valid in this… place. That wasn’t even hell? He didn’t understand anything. He was wary, but the giant hadn’t hurt him so far, so he did step closer.
The monstrously large paw pulled on his forearm and made him rest the hand on the edge of the washbasin. Only then Laurent noticed there was a hole in it. Before he could think, the giant splashed a cool, stinging liquid on his injured hand and wrist, causing it to ache as if the substance contained spirit.
He yelped and tried to pull away, but the giant held him in place as if Laurent’s strength was comparable to the wings of a butterfly. “It hurts!”
“Someone branded you and you didn’t even notice. This should be a piece of cake for someone as thick-skinned as you,” the giant said, but started quickly wrapping Laurent’s hand with an unusually papery-feeling cloth.
Laurent bit his lips to keep from whimpering. He had to stop thinking about the man as an inhuman being, even if he was monstrous. He hugged the towel with one hand. This was no normal place, whatever this club was.
“So rude,” he mumbled in the end when the pain subsided.
“I am rude?” asked the giant, adding yet another layer of cloth and tying the ends to secure the wound dressing. “You’re the one who came here uninvited and won’t even admit what he’s doing here. And you keep lying to me even as you’re using my bathroom.”
“I would have found my own way,” Laurent said, but it didn’t sound as convincing as he’d have wished. He despised being a prisoner, but on the other hand, he only had the bloodied clothes, the pretty pin, and nothing more. Not a coin to his soul.
The giant let out a growl and shoved more cloth at Laurent. “Put this on. If you won’t talk, then dress like a prisoner. Just imagine those are orange.”
“No! Am I not a guest?” Laurent squinted at the man, trying to see his facial expressions better, but only got confused by all the blurry writing on his face. He did grab the clothes though, which ended up with his towel falling to the floor.
“Not until you talk. We can’t have a stranger spying on us. It’s all your choice.”
The clothes were of a baggy fit, too large for Laurent, particularly the trousers, which felt oddly soft to the touch. With a fastening at the ankles and a string to tighten them on the hips, he managed to put them in place, although with so much loose material around his legs, Laurent likely looked like a beggar straight out of the One Thousand and One Nights. The shirt, shapeless and with sleeves so short they only reached his elbows, didn’t flatter him either, but at least he would be covered.