Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 85228 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 426(@200wpm)___ 341(@250wpm)___ 284(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85228 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 426(@200wpm)___ 341(@250wpm)___ 284(@300wpm)
"Because the case isn't over," Lark interjects. "I still hate that this damn brewery kept me from going last time."
"You don't really seem like the kinky type," Zeus says, a wide smile across his face.
"I'm not. Not really," Lark adds. "But that only means that I can learn a lot."
"Kink isn't for everyone," Nyx mutters, his eyes cast out the window as if he can see everything in the darkness.
"What do you know about it?" Lark asks, curiosity in his tone.
Nyx, of course, doesn't respond.
The man is like a vault, and he's only going to speak or add something to the conversation if he feels like it. The man isn't governed by social norms and common courtesy.
He's fucking phenomenal when it comes to the type of work we do, but he isn't the most social motherfucker.
Lark huffs when the mean asshole remains silent and doesn't even bother to look at the guy.
"I don't know that there's going to be anything to find," I mutter.
"There's always something to find," Zeus replies, his eyes locked on the road in front of the vehicle.
Chapter 9
Caitlyn
As I open my eyes, I make a mental note to ask Dr. Moore about a deeper dive into my mental health diagnosis.
As nervous as I am, as challenging as being on the cross is for me, I can't seem to stop.
I can lie to myself all damn day long and try to convince myself that I'm here to get better, to get used to the idea of people touching me so I don't freak out when a stranger accidentally bumps into me, but I know better.
I'm here because of him.
I'm here on the off chance that the man whose real name I don't know will be here.
He wasn't yesterday, but my eyes land right on him tonight.
He's sitting in the exact same spot, with a glass of amber liquor in his hand, as if I'm reliving the exact same moments I've seen him the times before.
The familiarity of it calms me as others wander around my body, their fingers feeling like needles on my skin. I get the distinct feeling that him being here is the only reason I'm not freaking out completely.
I had to be pulled down before the time was up last night, and I know it had everything to do with his absence.
Instead of keeping my eyes closed like I normally do, I spent the first ten minutes on the cross with my gaze darting all over the place to find him. The anxiety of him not being here sent me into a panic. I could hardly breathe by the time I was begging the attendant to get me down.
I know being here could possibly jeopardize my work with Eli, but this is my time. This is my personal life that I'm trying to work through, and I came to the conclusion earlier in the week that I have the right to heal as much as the next person.
Seeing Jersey here started before I knew he was connected to the little boy. Since neither Jericho nor Mr. Hart has said anything about it, I figure there's no issue with what I've been doing despite feeling a pang of guilt for muddying the space between personal and professional.
"The way this skin would look with whip marks…" the man who is circling says.
He's the same creepy guy who mentioned my unmarked skin before, and as much as I try to ignore him and keep my eyes on Jersey, I'm finding it harder and harder.
My stomach turns with his touch, and there's just something about him that is sending up all kinds of red flags. However, the purpose of this exercise is that I don't get to pick and choose who touches me.
I lift my chin a little higher when he disappears out of my line of sight, jerking slightly when his touch runs down my left flank.
"This spot right here is very tender," he says. I hate the sound of his raspy voice, as if he's having a hard time keeping himself under control. "This very spot would look great with just a hint of a trickle of blood."
I'm in no position to yuck someone else's yum, but what the actual fuck? I whimper when the tip of his fingernail cuts into my skin. It's not enough to make me bleed, but I know it's going to leave a scratch.
I pull my eyes from Jersey and dart them toward Roxie, who reads me like an open book. She takes two steps forward.
"Mr. Dozer, please give others a turn."
I have no idea what the look on his face is because I keep my eyes trained on her, but she raises an eyebrow in challenge. It only takes a second before the air thins out again, telling me that he has walked away.