Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 109245 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 546(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109245 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 546(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
“Sit down and let me explain,” Gage said softly.
Scar shook his head. “If you’re about to lie, I’d rather be standing. It’s one less step for me to get out the door.”
“Fine, then stand.”
White Ravens
Scar
Gage told him everything that’d happened in the short time they’d been apart.
The barn. The farm owners. Roz coming. Running into the Greens at his parents’ house.
He explained who Jo, Valor, and Zorion were, what the real Ravens program used to be versus what it became.
Scar felt sick. Because the barn…damnit!
He should’ve stayed and helped him.
The guilt cracked something in his chest, but he shoved it down deep.
Gage’s voice dropped. “You’re not captive here, Scar. But if you leave… Where will you go? Who can you trust? You really wanna be on the run for the rest of your life? Creating fake IDs every few years. Always looking over your shoulder.”
He stared out of the window. Dawn crept faintly over the city, painting copper and crimson across the sky.
“I know I’m not smart enough to survive like that.”
Scar could, but did he want to?
Gage leaned back. “This is my place. Yours is across the hall. There are no locks or barricades on the doors, no six-by-ten rooms with padded walls.”
Scar moved slowly to a large chaise, dropped down, and buried his head in his hands.
He didn’t know what to believe, he knew Gage wasn’t a liar or a deceiver, but he was naive.
A sharp knock at the door snapped him upright.
“It’s me,” Roz called.
“Give us a few more minutes,” Gage answered. “I’m fine.”
“Why the hell is Roz here?” Scar growled.
“Because I wanted him to be here,” Gage said simply. “And Jo agreed. She’ll agree to whatever we need to feel safe. I want you to at least talk to her, Scar. Just once. Then you can decide if you want to stay.”
Gage got up and went to the kitchen—moving around it as if he’d lived there his whole life—took two waters out of the refrigerator and tossed the bottle right into his hands.
“Fine,” he grumbled. “One talk. That’s it.”
Gage smirked. “Okay.”
He lifted the receiver of a phone mounted on the wall—a small square of matte-black glass—with only three raised buttons along the edge and pressed the top one.
“Scar is ready to see his quarters,” he said, then hung up.
“Go on over and check it out, then we’ll head down and talk to Jo this afternoon. And I guess decide if we wanna be Ravens.”
“You do know what these guys do, right…as Ravens?”
Gage nodded. “They right the wrongs in the world when everyone else fails. That’s how Valor explained it.”
Scar tilted his head, studying him. “They’re assassins. Spies that do serious black ops shit. And killing… I’m assuming lots of it.”
Gage hesitated for a moment, then straightened his back. “I’m still gonna’ listen to what she has to say.”
He let loose a cynical laugh. “Maybe they’ve got a secretary or chaplain position open, ’cause you ain’t no killer, preacher’s kid.”
The words barely left his mouth before Gage was on him.
Fast and so fucking precise.
One second, Scar was leaning against the counter, and the next, Gage had a fistful of his hoodie. He drove him backwards until his spine cracked against the table.
He sucked in a sharp breath, more shocked than hurt.
Gage knew exactly where he was, where to put his hand, and how much force to use.
He bared his forearm across Scar’s chest, pinning him. His grip was a lot stronger than he could’ve imagined. Stronger than it should’ve been.
Gage curled up one side of his lip, his eyes shining like sleet. Icy and…breathtaking.
“Do not mention my father,” he snarled. “Ever.”
Traitorous heat pooled below Scar’s waist.
“And you have no idea what I’m capable of, Scar.”
Gage released him just as abruptly as he’d grabbed him.
Scar stayed where he was, chest heaving. Not because he’d been afraid, but for a very different reason.
Seeing Gage lose control like that—
Holy shit.
He had no comeback as he stood there gaping like an idiot.
“Now get the hell outta’ my place,” Gage said flatly.
Scar didn’t move.
Unafraid and unflinching, Gage took a step closer. He was no longer the guy who used to tremble when Scar got in his face on the block.
“I’m going,” he muttered.
Gage didn’t turn to watch him leave…he listened.
White Ravens
Scar
Scar slept for most of the day, better than he had his entire life.
His place was ridiculous. Quiet, clean and sleek, with warm lighting. Nicer than anywhere he’d ever lived.
From ages eight to twelve, he’d slept in gutters or parks to avoid the crack dens his mom hauled him to while she got high.
As a teenager, he’d bounced in and out of juvenile detention, where he’d learned to sleep with one eye open.
By eighteen, he was crashing on random sofas that smelled like piss and liquor, or in the back seats of stolen cars.