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)
Every single plan.
“No,” he says softly. “You do everything right. It’s the world that’s shit.”
But it isn’t shit now. In this one moment. Reaching through the bars, I hug him tight.
He hugs me even tighter. “I love you so damn much, sis.”
And that’s what keeps me holding on, too.
15
Stone
Every day that passes is exactly the same. Wake up to Elton. Run on the track. Work the heavy bag. Jerk my cock to the memory of Cherry’s mouth when it’s lights out.
And every day that passes, I’m thinking that Anna didn’t get enough of my message. Not enough to connect them to Strawman. Or maybe those wheels are turning. They just aren’t turning fast enough.
Because every fucking day that passes, the hole in me deepens. And I just gotta keep filling it up, reminding myself of what’s important now. Kill Tusk. Burn down the Cage.
Don’t fill up with Cherry.
Though I couldn’t help myself, if she let me. I keep looking for that rage I liked so much. Maybe hoping that it’ll rub off on me, give me some of my own anger to fill me up instead of this aching rot.
But there’s nothing to see, because in four fucking days, she hasn’t even met my eyes.
For the best. Just gotta focus on what oughta be filling me up. Focus on getting whoever’s in charge of the Cage to put me in that ring with Tusk.
One of the guards raps on my stall bars. “Ready?”
That’s one thing that’s changed—no Handlebar, no Crash. And with Flack dead and Airbag mostly confined to his bed while his broken ribs heal, our exercise groups got shifted around. Now I’m first to go out, with Cherry and Hatchet.
She’s waiting now with him, wearing that bright red smile and her emerald eyes averted away from me.
Fuck, this rot in my chest. The door buzzes open.
Hatchet’s frowning at the two guards. “What the hell are you fuckers coming down with?”
The guard frowns back. “What are you talking about?”
“You aren’t supposed to be on duty until tonight.” Hatchet points to the other one. “And he’s already pulled a shift. So are half of you all laid up with some crap? Because I don’t want to catch your fucking germs if you are.”
Huh. The neo-Nazi’s watching shifts as closely as I am. And apparently he’s been here long enough that he’s lost track of the days.
But he’s got a point.
I head back into my stall and rip the blanket off my bed. The guard frowns at me. “You can’t take that.”
“It’s not for me. It’s for her.” I nod to Cherry, whose gaze darts to mine. “Because you all might not be sick, but if she’s out there freezing like she usually is, it ain’t going to be long until you’ve got a goddamn plague passing around this stable.”
The guard glances at his partner, then says into his shoulder radio, “You all right if Cherry takes a blanket out so she doesn’t get sick?”
Victor’s voice comes through. “Do it.”
There’s no rage when she looks at me now. Gratitude comes through as she turns and lets me drop the blanket over her slender shoulders. She should be fucking pissed, the way these assholes have her freezing out there.
“We set, then?” the other guard says irritably.
Hatchet’s giving me a look that I can’t interpret, and don’t fucking care to interpret. But it’s to the guard he says, “So what are you all passing around?”
“They’re not sick. It’s Thanksgiving,” I tell him. “So some of these assholes are on holiday leave.”
“Not all of us,” a guard mutters.
The neo-Nazi turns disbelieving eyes on him. “Are you fucking shitting me with that whiny bullshit? To us?”
The guard flushes and ushers us ahead, with Cherry between Hatchet and me, but that fucker Tusk is up against his bars and after her as we pass by. In four days, he hasn’t shut up about earning his reward. Just seeing her sets him off.
She puts her head down and draws that blanket tighter around her shoulders.
Outside, the cold air slaps at my chest. The sun’s bright but there’s no warmth coming from it.
Hatchet’s looking at her. That’s one fucker I can’t read, despite the racist shit inked all over his skin. He’s always looking at her. But not like Tusk does. Or even like I do. Stealing glances. As if making sure she’s all right.
Maybe he’s like some of the other guys in here. Like Handlebar, calling her an angel. Because she takes care of them. Though at the fight, he was an asshole to her.
Just a goddamn asshole in general.
Then he says, “You think we’ll get some turkey and stuffing in our healthy shit meal?”
Cherry smiles slightly. “Maybe the turkey. I’d rather have the pie.”
“Yeah, me too.” He tilts his head back. “My grandpa used to make a pecan pie that would knock your ass off.”