Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 53361 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 267(@200wpm)___ 213(@250wpm)___ 178(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 53361 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 267(@200wpm)___ 213(@250wpm)___ 178(@300wpm)
“Most men in prison,” he continued, “they don’t know they’re about to snap until it’s already happening. But their bodies know. I learned to recognize the signs before trouble started so I could get out of the way.” His gaze dropped meaningfully to my fingers, which had begun tapping a nervous rhythm against the table. “In prison, knowing who’s about to break can save your life.”
The musician in the corner hit a discordant note, the sound jarring against the soft melody he’d been playing. Outside, a car horn blared, making me flinch. Every sound seemed magnified, every sensation heightened as adrenaline flooded my system.
“When I first got to Terre Haute,” Marcus said, “I was raw. Grieving and angry. Made me an easy target.” He pushed up one shirt sleeve slightly, revealing a thin, pale scar running along his forearm, different from the burn scar I’d noticed before. “Got this my second week. Guy came at me in the yard. I didn’t see it coming because I wasn’t paying attention to the signs.” I stared at the scar, physical evidence of the violence he’d survived. My gaze traveled up to the other mark on his face, the one I’d touched that day in the rain. “After that,” he continued, “I learned. Watched. Listened. Started noticing the patterns.” His voice remained calm, almost hypnotic. My tongue felt thick, useless in my mouth. I tried to swallow but couldn’t. “Right now,” he said, his gaze holding mine, “you’re showing every sign of someone who’s cornered.” As if to demonstrate, he reached across the table and gently covered my fidgeting fingers with one large hand. The warmth of his skin against mine shocked and grounded me. “I’ve seen fear like this before, Cora. Usually right before someone does something desperate.”
He touched me gently but with firm pressure, his calloused palm rough against the back of my hand. I stared at our hands, his so large it engulfed mine completely, and felt something inside me begin to crack. The weight of secrets, of fear, of choices made under duress pressed down until I could barely breathe.
“You don’t understand,” I whispered, my voice breaking on the last word. Tears tracked freely down my cheeks now.
“Then help me understand.” His thumb stroked across my knuckles, a gesture so tender it made my tears come even harder. “Whatever happened, whatever you did, we can fix it.” The certainty in his voice made something twist painfully in my chest.
“It’s not that simple.” I spoke barely above a whisper, my voice stretched thin with strain.
“It never is.” The corner of his mouth lifted in a small, sad smile. “But I’ve got time. And I’m here to help you if you’ll let me.”
Marcus waited, his hand still covering mine, patient as always. He didn’t push, didn’t demand. Just sat there, offering silent support while the rain continued its steady drumbeat against the windows and café life continued around us.
My throat closed around the confession fighting to escape. I opened my mouth, then closed it again. I clutched his hand so hard, I feared I might hurt him. I couldn’t seem to let go because, right now, Marcus’s touch was the only thing holding me together. The pressure of his steady gaze, the weight of his offer of protection, the knowledge that I’d already betrayed him, all crashed down on me at once, overwhelming in its intensity.
“Marcus,” I started again, my voice barely audible over the ambient noise of the café, “I’m afraid.”
“I know,” he said simply. “But you’re not alone.” And just like that, the last of my resistance began to crumble. “I’m not here to hurt you, honey. I’m here to help you. Whatever it takes.”
My entire body began to shake, not just my hands now but a violent tremor that started deep in my core and radiated outward. The words I needed to say jammed in my throat, forming a lump I couldn’t swallow past or breathe around. Marcus’s eyes narrowed slightly, reading the fear that must have been written across my face in neon. I opened my mouth, tried again to force sound past the blockage in my throat, but nothing came. Just a strangled, desperate noise that didn’t even sound human to my own ears.
“Breathe,” Marcus said, his voice steady. His hand still covered mine, warm and anchoring, but it wasn’t enough to stop the trembling.
I stared at him, trapped between my impossible choices. If I told him about Reeves, about the threats, about the device I’d already planted, would he help me or would I be signing my own death warrant? If I said nothing, if I placed the remaining bugs as ordered, would I be able to live with myself? I’d told Detective Mercer the truth when I said everyone at the compound treated me better than the police.