Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 74270 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 371(@200wpm)___ 297(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74270 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 371(@200wpm)___ 297(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
Remembering Harper in Emily’s house last night, I nod. I’m not the only one worried about my family.
“Can we trust him though? He’s awfully careless with your safety,” Rebel says. He sounds angrier than I’d expect someone to feel on my behalf.
“He… I think so. He might not be the easiest man to deal with, but I don’t think he’d outright lie to you. He’d just tell you to go fuck yourself.” I shrug. It’s not pretty, but it’s the truth.
“I couldn’t care less about your relationship with your daddy so long as he upholds his end of the bargain. He didn’t give us a lot, but I’ll take it all back to King and Eagle-eye.” Shadow stands and pockets my phone. “I don’t think I have to remind you that you’re not a prisoner, but we can’t let you go anywhere for the time being.”
I nod. “Don’t worry, I know. It’s not like I have anywhere else to go right now anyway.”
Riptide pushes off the wall he’s been leaning his back against. “One of us will be with her at all times.”
Shadow’s eyes don’t get any friendlier, but he nods. “Alright. For now.”
When he’s gone and it’s just the four of us, my shoulders finally relax and it feels easier to breathe. “I don’t know if I’m built for this,” I admit.
“You’re doing a pretty fucking good job anyway,” Rebel says.
“So what do I do now? I appreciate that I’m safe here, but half the club seems to blame me for what happened. I’m used to living my own life. I have a job to get back to, unless they’ve already fired me. I would know if I had my phone.”
“Not gonna happen,” Mad Dog says.
I sigh dramatically. “I figured.”
Riptide leans in. “I have a PlayStation in my quarters.”
“How about we just grab a couple beers from downstairs and hang out?” Rebel stands to his full height. “Maybe the game’s still on.”
Mad Dog coughs. “I don’t think that would be a good idea, man. Video games sound good to me.”
“What? Why?” Rebel asks, confused.
Riptide pats him on the back. “I’ll explain on the way.”
20
MELODY
Riptide’s room is a lot like Mad Dog’s, but he has a window that looks out over the back side of the compound. The gray bunker shape of the Pit huddles in a dark corner. I spent a night in that cell, but now one of the men who broke into my house is there instead. A little weird.
Beyond the walls, the city spreads as far as I can see. I don’t know anyone out there. Home feels so small and distant now, and it doesn’t even feel safe anymore.
The crack of a gunshot has me jumping away from the glass. I move to the side and look out. There’s a freaking shooting range down there! A couple of guys have just set up and started putting bullets in some targets at the other end. Are they allowed to do that inside city limits? I guess the cops aren’t exactly going to storm the gates to give them a fine for it. The first few shots make me twitch, but then it becomes another element of the background noise of the club.
I never realized how normal my life actually was until I ended up here.
Another difference between their rooms is that Riptide didn’t bother with a kitchen table, using the area for more lounge space instead. He has a bigger couch, a beaten-up coffee table, and a huge TV mounted on the wall. He and Rebel are currently messing with cables, trying to get the game working.
“I’ve got stuff in the fridge, help yourself,” Riptide calls.
Feeling nosy, I poke through his cabinets, just getting to know him. It doesn’t look like he cooks much. “Are all the rooms this sad?” I ask, poking through canned food and instant noodles.
“Sad?” Riptide looks up. “What do you mean?”
“Your room looks like you went out onto the street and scavenged from a thrift shop.”
He grins. “I did. What’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing, actually. But thrift shops have curtains and decorations, too, you know.”
“Don’t need ‘em.” Riptide pulls his hair loose, running his fingers through the long strands. “I guess it never really occurred to me.”
Men.
“Hah!” Rebel shouts as the screen flashes to life. “Got it.”
I plop onto the couch next to Mad Dog, leaning my head on his shoulder. “What’re we playing?”
“Dirt Derby 2030, what else?” Riptide asks with a grin. “Only the best motorcycle racing game on the market.”
“I’ll try a round, but I’m probably not going to be any good at it,” I admit.
Famous last words.
An hour later I’m screaming at the top of my lungs as Rebel blasts me with oil, sending me off into the trees. “What was that!? Come oooon!”
“Wah wah. Get good, loser,” he teases, looking back over his shoulder for a second to send me a wink. “Oh! What the hell!” A well-timed rocket knocks him completely off the track.