Total pages in book: 35
Estimated words: 32319 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 162(@200wpm)___ 129(@250wpm)___ 108(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 32319 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 162(@200wpm)___ 129(@250wpm)___ 108(@300wpm)
"A hunting blind?" I repeat.
Giselle nods. "Follow the dirt path past the shooting range. When you hit the fence with the broken top, look left. You'll see it."
"Thank you," I say, feeling a rush of relief. Finally, a real lead after wandering this compound for what feels like hours.
"Put in a good word for me," Mercy calls as I turn to leave.
I smile at her, this small fierce girl folding towels in a biker compound laundry room. "I will."
I push back into the sunlight, orienting myself toward the eastern edge of the property. Hopeful that my endless wandering will come to an end soon.
CHAPTER 5
They call them demons like they don't wear wings too; like fire isn't holy if it comes from below; like a man with a trigger and no prayers left doesn't count as a god if he stands alone.
But I've seen angels with blood-stained knuckles and demons who weep for the innocent. I've walked in silence where darkness swallows time, where men become ghosts before they die.
The world divides everything neat—heaven above, hell below—but the truth bleeds across those lines.
I've learned that salvation isn't coming. Not for sinners who wear their crimes like armor. Not for men who love what they can't have because of who they are.
This is the space between—not fallen, not risen.
Just standing.
Just breathing.
Just waiting for judgment that never comes because I already carved it into my own flesh and—
"Legion!"
My pen stops mid-sentence as Savannah's voice calls up from below. I'd forgotten about her. I crawl across the plywood floor, careful of the weak spots where the rain's gotten in over the years. The trapdoor creaks when I pull it open, sending down a shower of dust and splinters.
And there she is, looking up at me. Savannah Ashby with her blonde hair catching the late afternoon sun, making a halo like she’s part hallucination, part fantasy. Her face is tilted up, eyes squinting against the light. There's something different about her now—something wild and uncertain I never saw before prison.
"What are you doing up there?" Savannah calls, her hand shielding her eyes.
"Just thinking." I push the trapdoor wider. "Needed some quiet."
Her fresh tattoo catches the light—PROPERTY OF DEMON—still red around the edges. My chest tightens at the sight. It wasn't supposed to be like this. She wasn't supposed to end up here, marked by my world.
I slide the notebook under the blanket beside me, tucking it away like a secret. "Come on up. Ladder's old but it'll hold."
She tests the first rung with her boot—the boots someone gave her to replace her bare feet. Everything she's wearing belongs to someone else now. "I've been looking for you everywhere," she says, voice strained with the effort of climbing. "Nobody knew where you were."
"That's because I'm a stranger here these days."
Savannah is about half way up when this comes out. She stops, looking at me with squinting eyes. "What?"
I laugh. It's real, too. Because the writing did the trick. It put the demon away after Colt let him out. "Nothin'," I say. "Come on. It's nice up here."
The ladder creaks under her weight, and I reach down to grab her wrist when she's close enough, pulling her up the last few rungs. Her skin is warm against mine, pulse fluttering under my thumb.
For a second, we just stare at each other. Her face is still haunted by what Marcus did to her for three days.
"Found me," I sigh, letting go of her wrist.
She looks around the blind—at the blankets piled in the corner, the camp stove, the tin cups. "What's goin' on up here?"
"Just… thinkin'," I say, moving back to sit against the wall. "It's a nice quiet little place to do that."
"I've been looking for you," she says, crawling over to me. I open my legs up and she settles between them, collapsing against my chest, like we've been doing this every day, all our lives. Immediately, my fingers find her hair and start playing with it.
"After everything with Colt and—"
"Don't." The word comes out harder than I meant it to. "I don't wanna talk about that."
"All right." She doesn't argue.
Then I feel like an ass, so have the urge to explain. "It's just… it's not even Colt, ya know?"
Savannah sits up a bit, trying to look at me. "How could it not be about Colt? He's thirty-one years old. She's seventeen. Eighteen now, but…"
She sighs.
I sigh.
"Yeah. He's…" I blow out a breath. "I dunno. She could do worse, I guess. She could've ended up here, ya know?"
"Hmmm." This hum of hers says a whole lot without sayin' anything at all.
It says… I ended up here.
It says… you brought me here.
It says… you failed.
"There are pictures of us all over the internet," Savannah says. "Someone leaked videos of last night."
"For fuck's sake. Who?"
"Not sure. Mama Jo thinks it's Brandy, but she's denying it."