Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 106003 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 530(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106003 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 530(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
Well, I wouldn’t be the vessel for people’s secrets if I ran my mouth too much, so I didn’t pry and let that fact marinate at the back of my skull. While out on a walk, I explored the perimeter of the MC clubhouse. The large wooden building behind the wire fence doesn’t appear menacing, but an armed man always hangs out by the entrance. This time, it was Rooster, and despite being happy to chat, he came up with a bullshit reason to remain at his post the moment I asked him for help with a broken chair.
Not that I expected an outlaw MC to be dealing with legal business only. I’ve seen with my own eyes that Creep killed Adam and wasn’t particularly remorseful. And when I was brought to Prophet tied up, he was annoyed rather than shocked. I know that I’m in a pit of vipers, I’m not stupid, but with Creep being so innocent when it comes to sex and romance, it’s easy to keep wearing blinders.
I have to be honest with myself, though. He’s a violent man, most likely committing a crime at this very moment, no matter how sweet he is to me. Am I really falling for him because he opened up? Gave me head? Put a muffin on my food tray? I’m not even looking for a relationship right now, but the way he stopped any eye contact after I didn’t confirm us being an item was pretty telling.
To pass the time until his return, I prepared a cozy space for him under my bed, with extra blankets on top of a yoga mat, a bottle of water, and snacks that don’t come in crinkling wrappers, since he likes to be quiet. A part of me feels bad accommodating a need that’s so clearly an artificial product of trauma, but if it makes him less distressed, I’ll go with it, for now at least. The monster who raised him is dead, and while I don’t often wish people ill, knowing this puts me at ease. Some people don’t deserve to be alive.
But when hours tick away and the motorcycle club members who set out with Prophet remain absent, a gray aura settles over the village. Or perhaps it’s just me, because life goes on as normal. Children are busy in the playground. Teens play in the basketball court I can see from my porch, and while I see three women in leather vests whisper between themselves, then skitter away as soon as I wave at them, this didn’t have to be about the bikers. Maybe they simply don’t trust me yet, or are working out if one of their boyfriends is cheating with Martina, who’s the new girl in the village and who, according to gossip, is actively on the lookout for a man to take care of her?
Not knowing doesn’t settle the tension in my stomach, and since Rooster is smart enough to keep his mouth shut, despite being so open otherwise, I take the amethyst Creep gifted me and make my way to the person who might soothe the growing anxiety inside me.
Brigid’s thatched home stands by the lake on a series of short, stubby pillars that reinforce the idea that she’s the witch from deep in the woods, complete with her own chicken-legged hut. The legs are many, and made of wood rather than flesh and bone, but I’m there for the vibes. The sky is slowly turning pink, and that only reminds me about Creep and the others being gone for hours.
Luna’s on the other side of the house, working the garden in a wide-brimmed hat, but since she can’t see me, I choose not to bother her and go straight for the door. I’m raising my hand to knock when it occurs to me that I’m empty-handed, and that bringing over something tasty could have played in my favor, but the door opens before I can make my decision and Brigid’s dark, kohl-lined eyes meet mine.
Draped in a macrame shawl and with her wild locks of hair tamed by a large tortoiseshell clip, she really does look like a real-life version of a Tim Burton Character. I’m borderline envious of how committed to her style she is, but that’s not why I’m here, and when she steps aside, as if she wasn’t about to leave, I walk into the magical world of her hut.
Despite the windows being relatively small, somehow it’s bright inside, as if the cottage was built to let in sunlight, and the space above the wooden beams is filled with strings of dried herbs, which make the space smell like the most soothing of infusions.
It’s as if she’s read my mind, because a moment later, a kettle is on the gas stove, and she’s tapping a small glass jar to pour some of the herbs inside it into a teapot painted with the symbols of different zodiac signs.