Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 98243 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 491(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98243 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 491(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
Cold. Convince. Lie.
Cucumber next.
I prefer these long or grated—did Jord get carrots? I turn to the fridge and check. A little bag of orange sticks out, and a smile spreads as I snatch them.
I bite into one.
“Ivy, you need to see someone.”
My chewing slows as chunks clog my throat. It would be my luck to die this way.
Tearing off another chunk, I lay it on the chopping board. “I’m fine.”
“I have someone. She’s in-house, so you don’t have to worry about weaving through the filters. It’s someone you can see for yourself. Truly. She’s spoken highly of within the circles.”
I stop chopping, focusing on the phone screen. My throat constricts painfully, tears threatening to spill.
No! You will not show any weakness. What he says is not true. You will not expose yourself to this.
Even if it is Leon who I share a bond with that runs deeper than blood—forged in gunpowder residue and the metallic taste of survival. The kind of connection that only forms when someone pulls you from the wreckage of your own making, piece by shattered piece, and doesn't flinch at the sharp edges.
Even if it is Leon who taught me that safety could exist in someone else's presence. Who showed me what it meant to have someone check the shadows before you entered a room, not because you couldn't handle what lurked there, but because they refused to let you face it alone. The same man who sat with me through withdrawal shakes and never once looked at me with pity—only steady understanding.
Leon, who became my anchor when I was drowning in my own violence. Who crawled into my bed at 3 a.m when the walls closed in and the nightmares inside my head would become too much.
Too loud.
Too weak.
Who learned which whiskey silenced the noise and when to pry the glass from my grip.
If the tears break loose, if my hands shake, then every bullet I buried in his chest becomes a confession. That I let someone past the barriers I'd spent years building. That I was foolish enough to believe I could have something pure without contaminating it with everything I am. My fingers tighten around the knife handle until my knuckles bleach white.
“I think I killed the only man I ever loved.”
The words slip out like blood through gauze—slow, inevitable, staining everything they touch. That damn trauma bond. The one that makes Leon the only person who can see me shatter and still call me strong.
* * *
The fighting ring becomes my home for days. Leon's fists find me again and again—jaw fractured twice, ribs splintered, collarbone shattered, windpipe crushed beneath his knuckles.
Every time, my body pulls itself from the dirt.
My foot pushes against the ground, setting the hammock into a lazy swing between the archway posts. Sunlight pours over us, warming skin that's more bruise than flesh now.
Leon stretches out beside me, lost somewhere deep in his meditation, his breathing even and controlled.
“Sorry about this week,” He murmurs softly.
I roll my eyes. “No, you're not.”
Back and forth.
Blood splatters litter the dirt patch in front of us.
He shifts in the hammock. Cracking one eye open, he fixes that dark brown gaze on me. “I mean it, Ivy. I'm sorry. Did it feel good? Yes. Am I starting to see why they’re using my anger to sever the detachment from my mother and her job on that fucked up yacht? Yes. But that doesn't mean I don't feel sympathy for all of—” he pauses a moment, studying the bruises and wounds scattered across my skin.”—well. That.”
“It's fine,” I huff, sighing through the soft sway of pain the subtly reminds me that I’m not repeating a code or reciting information I know too much about.
We both shift over our shoulders when footsteps echo behind us. I wince when the stab wound on my side flares.
“It's happening…” I say, a new wave of fear washing through me.
Leon and I lock eyes. Wind cuts through the air and coils around my neck.
My feet land on the grass with a thud, the air in my lungs tightening with each inhale.
A hand finds mine, and I turn to Leon, the race of my heart slowly dying. His expression softens, the dark lashes that fan them swiping his cheek with every blink.
“You've earned this, Ivy.”
I know. I’ve earned it in more ways than I'll ever know.
Flower petals spill their colors through the dark night, vivid slashes of life against shadow.
He guides us toward the back where a barn rises from the earth.
I follow, down the stairs that seem to go on forever, until my legs burn.
By the time we reach the bottom, the air changes. Brine and sand. If summer was hidden beneath the earth.
Stone spreads before me, a cavern carved from rock that breathes with the sea. There's a chair, or throne, that sits right at the center of the cave, and behind it, waves throw themselves against sand.