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)
With Crash and Handlebar, there was no need to threaten their families. All the leverage Papa needed was right there between them.
And the only positive thing about this whole situation is that—if the best that Crash can hope for is to die surrounded by the people he loves—at least I can give him a few hours a day with the person he loves the most.
His deep voice has a ragged edge to it when he says, “You’re a good one, Cherry.”
Not good enough. But I do what little I can. And since Victor’s attention is on the guard who’s about to enter Lissa’s stall, I mutter under my breath, “Maybe this time don’t encourage Handlebar to snap a guard’s neck, so they won’t separate you again.”
His grin and swift glance at Victor say that, given a chance, he’d do the neck-snapping himself. “No third in our group?”
There’s nine fighters left in the barn, and the groups are usually made up of three fighters. But one of them—Tusk—doesn’t play nice with others. So he exercises alone.
“No third yet,” I say. “But that’ll change. They told Lissa that she’ll be heading out today or tomorrow to bring in a new guy.”
Unless we’re rescued by then. Hopefully we’re rescued by then. And without Lissa to use as bait, maybe it’ll delay that plan.
We’ll find out soon. The sound of her door buzzing open and Elton’s “Tiny Dancer” accompany me to the next stall. Victor’s close behind me, but his attention is on the guard entering Lissa’s cell.
My attention is on the fighter waiting for us. Matt. Sheer emotion clogs my throat, as it does every time I see him locked behind those bars. Love and horror. Anger and fear. They all combine and form the blade that Papa holds against my heart.
Looking into his emerald eyes is like looking into a mirror. If his hair wasn’t bleached to a pale blond, it’d be the same light auburn as mine. He’s tall—not as overall big or as heavy with muscle as Crash is, but still strong and quick, and that’s what has kept him alive these three months.
He’s already dressed in his sweatpants, too. Not because he’s modest. He just doesn’t want his sister getting an eyeful of his junk.
His gaze searches my face as he approaches the bars. I keep my eyes on his face, too, but for a different reason. Swastikas and other white supremacist symbols decorate his neck and arms. It sickens me to see those emblems inked into his skin. Everything they represent is the opposite of who he is and what he believes in.
But they’re a costume, the same way my nurse’s uniform is. Four years ago, in an effort to help bring down a sex trafficking ring, Matt went undercover with a motorcycle club and began working his way up their ranks. Then something went wrong with one of the jobs he was in charge of—and before the FBI could pull him out, he got tossed into this stable as punishment.
And me… I’m here thanks to some really bad luck. Maybe that luck’s about to change, though.
Matt’s gaze narrows as I tell him cheerily, “Good morning, Hatchet.”
I use the road name that he was given in the motorcycle club. He’s got a fake identity to go along with it, and a name that he used while undercover—Billy Miller—but I pretend not to know it. Only Papa and the doc are aware that he’s my brother. It’s safer that way. These guys fight to the death, and if one of them tried to use me to gain an advantage against Matt…it might work. So we don’t even risk it.
“G’morning, Furiosa.”
Considering what ‘Cherry’ is in reference to, Matt refuses to use the name Papa gave me. But he also doesn’t risk using my real name. Furiosa is as close as he comes to the nickname he called me when we were kids.
As far as Papa knows, my name’s Christina Miller, because that’s what Matt said it was. No one bothered to check if there actually is a Billy Miller with a sister named Christina.
I’d die before telling anyone my real name. Because if they looked me up online and saw I have a brother who’s in law enforcement, that would be the end of us. He’d be dead within the hour—and I would be, too.
Instead we’re fighting to keep each other alive, and as safe as anyone in this barn can be.
No doubt my safety is uppermost in his mind when he demands, “Why the hell was Bravo in your room last night?”
He doesn’t keep his voice down. Immediately Victor swings his attention from Lissa’s cell to me. “Bravo went into your stall?” he asks sharply. “Why?”
I tell him the truth, because the head start Lissa had is over whether I say anything or not. But if they try to get the story out of Bravo first, it might give her a little more time. “He wanted to know if Lissa was accidentally locked in with me last night.”