Total pages in book: 29
Estimated words: 26698 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 133(@200wpm)___ 107(@250wpm)___ 89(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 26698 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 133(@200wpm)___ 107(@250wpm)___ 89(@300wpm)
“I’m okay,” I lie.
They’re the only two words that feel natural to say. I’ve uttered them time and time again, to anyone and everyone who asks. It’s the only answer I can focus on. I want it to be the truth, but no matter how much I wish, it’s always a lie.
“All I’m sayin’ is, don’t knock it. Shit happens, but there’s never any need to lose hope,” he says, ignoring my response.
He probably knows I’m lying, so there’s no need to acknowledge it. I’m not angry at him for it. I respect that he can allow me my moment of torture. But I doubt it will last long.
I glance at him and smile.
“Careful, you’re starting to sound like a big softy and not some big, scary biker,” I taunt, earning myself a deep, rumbling chuckle.
“Touché, Lucky.”
He’s called me that twice now, and my curiosity wins out. “Lucky?”
“Aye,” he says with a nod. “Ye’re a Lucky Clover,” he tells me and that makes me laugh.
It’s an honest, full belly laugh that seems to be infectious because he rumbles with laughter. The sound is beautiful, and it makes his face light up. This man may look like one of those scary bikers from back home, but he’s nothing like them.
He’s different.
He’s a good person.
And I have to fight with my mind, and my heart, to stop from wanting to learn more about the stranger who walked in and broke through my armor.
SIX
SULLY
When I woke up this mornin’, I didn’t expect to ache to see her. It’s like she’s burrowed herself inside me, and with every breath I take, she’s clawin’ her way deeper. Last night, I sat with her for a few hours.
We talked about our shared love for metal, hard rock music. Then she told me how her obsession with classical was the one thing she held onto through all the real fecked-up shite she’d been through. But as much as we’d confessed, she never told me just what that real fecked-up shite was.
And I didn’t push. I also didn’t tell her about Ma and how I grew up. There are some things that just couldn’t be said in the hallway of a feckin’ clinic. And I suppose that’s all right, because I want to know more, outside of this shithole.
What I did admit to was just how much I love art. Watchin’ the ink get stained onto my skin has always been intriguin’ ta me. She told me about her love of the piano. When she spoke of the times she’d sat at a baby grand and stroked the keys, I could tell there was real love for the instrument. Her smile was wistful, sad almost, and I knew that’s when she lost it all. The arsehole who hurt her stole her light, but as I sat there last night, watchin’ her, I made a silent promise to give it back to her.
It’s been a whole day since I’ve seen her. Instead of spendin’ time with Clover, I’ve had to work on gettin’ these files. Last night was a bust. I tried to log into the computers but only managed one before the guard was doin’ his rounds. But now I have all the files Monster wants.
Bragan was the focus here. He’s had people admitted over the years, and we have a feelin’ there’s more to it than bein’ a carin’ man. The patients in question have records as long as the feckin’ day is long. I thought he was hirin’ them as soon as they walked out, but it’s not the case.
In my room, I throw my shite into a rucksack before sendin’ Monster a text, lettin’ him know it’s time to go. I’ve overstayed my welcome. Once it’s done and I’m packed, my mind goes back to Clover. Knowin’ she’s in her room has me anxious to go and see her. But I also don’t want to say goodbye just yet. I’m leavin’ earlier than I anticipated, but I have to be wary of seein’ Bragan’s men, and I’m pretty sure they’re in here, watchin’ the patients.
They have a particular taste in who they take, and it seems to me, they wouldn’t leave this place unguarded. I haven’t come across any of them since bein’ in here, but I don’t want ta take any chances. And I don’t need them knowin’ about Clover.
In a few hours, I’ll be walkin’ out of here, and since she hasn’t given me an answer, it makes me even more feckin’ nervous. I want to walk out and never look back. But I know if I leave here without her answer, I’ll be back. There’s somethin’ about this girl that doesn’t just make me want to save her, it makes me want to keep her fer myself—but I know I’m no good fer her. There isn’t a feckin’ reason I should even be so aware of her. She needs a good man, and I’m no knight in shining armour. I’m no Prince Charmin’.