Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 76812 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76812 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
I want nothing more than to be able to jump in the car and go for a ride or simply walk the aisles of a grocery store. It was what I envisioned when I left Ohio over a year ago, but it’s never happened.
I've been locked away in the women's shelter the entire time.
I should've listened to my gut instead of trying to help Beth.
My mind is at war with itself.
Logically, I know that Beck has a job with Cerberus. He has responsibilities that don't include spending his time with me.
Maybe I should consider myself lucky that I got the time with him that I did.
Maybe I should evaluate why his not being in the room with me right now causes me so much distress.
I knew things would change after the doctor told him that he could take the sling off his wrist. I've heard stories of Cerberus from some of the women back at the shelter. They aren't exactly known for loafing around and not getting shit done. Hell, if I wanted to believe everything they whispered while making dinner, I'd believe they were capeless heroes. According to some, they're the ultimate catch.
I can see it a little I guess. They commanded the situation after Xan was shot despite the local police being there.
Even though the whole alpha thing isn't my cup of tea—I mean, how could it be after years with Nathan and Xan—I guess I can see the appeal.
I'm sitting on the end of the bed with the television off when he comes back into the room.
I was feeling bratty and like I should cause problems while he was gone, but the sight of him stepping inside the room, that little smile toying at the corner of his mouth, makes me second-guess everything.
Capeless hero or not, the man is dangerous, and I don't think it's in a violent, harmful sort of way.
"Your last name is Newton?" I ask stupidly. I definitely can't do the things my mind is telling me to do, although I know it would keep him here for a while.
"Beck Keller," he answers. "Newton is my road name, or nickname if that makes sense."
I pull in a deep breath as I regard him. "So, you're a genius?"
His smile grows, and it's more than a little devastating.
I feel ensnared looking at him.
Even the tattoos appeal to me, despite being told as I grew up that tattoos are trashy. If anything, they help the police identify you faster, and we need to be noticeable but also forgettable. We don't need extra distinguishing marks on our body that would help a witness pick us out of a lineup.
I shake my head, trying to rid it of everything that ever came out of Nathan's mouth, but I know it'll never be possible.
It's insane to me, the things that were told to me, the training I received from such a young age so I'd be tough, a better criminal, an asset to the family.
"I'm not a genius. I just read a lot and have a pretty good memory," he explains.
So there's very little chance he’s forgotten how much of a fool I made of myself last night... great.
"I was hoping we could sit in the living room and maybe catch Beth," I tell him. "Unless you have something better to do."
His jaw flexes and I know he catches the irritation in my voice at him being gone today, but he's enough of a gentleman not to say anything else on the subject.
"Do you want to go now or wait until a little later? I know they went on a ride, so they won't be back for a while."
"Is she okay?" I blurt. "I mean, after what happened?"
Beck shrugs. "Everyone is going through their own shit. You should know that better than anyone else."
I nod in understanding. He's not going to tell me a damn thing about Beth, but what I don't know is why. Is it because he's protecting her? Maybe his loyalties lie with Oracle and Beth. Maybe I'm not even a consideration. Hell, maybe he doesn't know how she's doing. Maybe he doesn't gossip, even though it's not like I'm asking just to chat him up and have something to talk about.
I look toward the closed closet door, knowing that my pile of blankets and pillow are still in there on the floor. It's harder than it should be to look away when I know I can find comfort in that tiny space.
It's going out and facing the demons and regrets that's hard. Hiding and refusing to acknowledge the issues in my life are the easy parts, but I never wanted to take the easy way out. If anything, I'm more likely to stir the pot and force someone into action than be the timid scared woman, despite the pain it might bring me.