Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 88673 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 443(@200wpm)___ 355(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88673 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 443(@200wpm)___ 355(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
Maybe that’s how they’ll kill me. They’ll just leave me here and let me freeze to death.
For fuck’s sake, Clover. Get a hold of yourself. You’re not going to freeze to death. It’s probably not even that cold in here, you’re just… frightened.
Which is the truth. I am scared.
What are they going to do next? Will they kill us? Will they torture us?
The door slams open, banging against the wall. I lean back, shocked, and stare at the huge man filling the doorway.
Ike Monroe.
He’s wearing jeans today. Boots, a leather jacket, and a black t-shirt with some kind of faded logo on it. He looks like his twin brother, Lasher—member of the Revenant biker gang—right now. And it’s such a contradiction from the last time I saw him in a suit that it takes a few seconds for me to make sense of the paradox.
I knew he was dangerous the other night. I know what he did to Lowyn. But it was hard to see him in that light when he was all dressed up and acting like some kind of high-society host.
He looks nothing like some high-society host right now. Nothing at all.
Ike looks over his shoulder, leans back a little so he can look down both sides of the hallway outside, then directs his gaze right at me. His eyes are squinted and I can’t tell if it’s rage or hate.
But then, right as I’m staring into them, they soften, he steps inside, and the door closes quietly behind him.
I hold my breath as I wait to see what happens next.
He puts up both hands, pressing his palms at me. “Don’t scream.”
I notice that his accent is thick now. Filled with the drawl of a man who grew up in the hills of West Virginia. Not all polished like it was the other night. He must’ve been putting on pretenses or something, because right now he sounds just like everyone else from the Trinity. “Do I have a reason to scream?”
“No. I’m here to help. We’re gettin’ out of here.”
“We?”
He points to himself. “I’m going with you. It’s just two checkpoints. We’ll be fine.” Then he’s coming at me, pulling something out from his back pocket.
I recoil, unable to picture what that something might be, but then I let out a breath when I realize it’s a very big set of bolt cutters. Ike doesn’t hesitate, just puts the cutting end on either side of the chain link attached to my cuffs and presses the handles closed. It slices through the metal like butter and my hands, while still cuffed, are free.
I stand up, rubbing my wrists.
“Come on. Let’s go.” He makes a grab for me, but I pull away.
“You’re crazy if you expect me to trust you, Ike. You’re running this place. You’re one of them. For all I know, you got Riggs captured on purpose. For all I know,” I say again, “you called Hattie here yourself.”
He sneers at me. “Hattie’s been here, Clover. The entire time. And you’re wrong about me. I’m not one of them.”
“What the hell are you talking about? This is your city. You work for these monsters!”
He glares at me, his eyes so narrow they’re nothing but slits. “So you think… what, this was my dream? Do you think I was just sittin’ around when I was sixteen thinkin’ to myself, ‘Gee. I sure wish there was some secret underground cult I could join up with to save my entire. Fucking. Village?’”
These last few words of his come out like a snake spitting venom and everything cordial and charming that I once saw inside Ike Monroe disappears.
He’s bad. He’s a bad, bad man.
He’s also my only hope at the moment. Because I wouldn’t even know where to look for Riggs down here, let alone the safest way to the exit. So I defuse things by stating something obvious without making it feel accusatory. “Well, you sure looked like you were having a good time last night.”
His whole expression relaxes and he scoffs. “Well, you sure did too.”
“I was faking it.”
“And what makes you think I wasn’t?”
He makes a grab for me again, but I pull away just in time. “Why should I trust you?”
“I’m pretty much your only option, Clover. And we’re wasting time.”
“That’s not good enough. Not after what you did to Lowyn.”
His eyes go narrow again. “What do you know about it?”
“I know… you’re bad.”
For some reason, this characterization makes him chuckle. “Oh, bad doesn’t even come close to what I am, Clover. But if you think this life I’m living was anything other than the best-case scenario in the face of many bad options, then… whatever. Find your own way out.”
And then he turns to leave.
“Wait,” I say. Because I’m not sure he’s bluffing. In fact, I’m pretty sure he’s not bluffing. He is my only option.