Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 114936 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 575(@200wpm)___ 460(@250wpm)___ 383(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114936 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 575(@200wpm)___ 460(@250wpm)___ 383(@300wpm)
I lean forward and clink my glass to hers. Sass raises her water bottle.
“Cheers to more bodies dropping.”
Lilith laughs. “As the old saying goes, may they all rest in pieces…”
We get back to The Village, and I promise the girls I’ll have a shower and then be down, but after scrubbing all the blood off and slipping into plush wool pajamas, I don’t want to move from my bed. I stare blankly at the TV hanging on the wall opposite and wait for the door to open downstairs. I want him to come here when he gets back. I want to see that distant feral look in his eyes because I haven’t seen it in so long. Maybe that makes me a bad person. It probably does. But Keaton exists within darkness so that I can be the light to guide him home.
Minutes turn into hours, and it’s not until three a.m. flashes over my alarm clock that I feel my eyes turn heavy. I wriggle deeper into my covers and close my eyes. He’ll be here in the morning.
I press the number to fourteen and the speed to nine. My arms swing back and forth as my feet slap against the belt of the treadmill. My playlist today is a little older. I need the distraction of familiarity to push me through.
He never came to my room last night.
I haven’t seen him all day. Maybe he blew off some steam with The Brothers, or went for a ride, or maybe King exploded and they needed to calm him down. Whatever the reason is, I know I’m acting like a total mundane stressing over it.
I keep my eyes locked on the mirrored wall, watching the muscles on my body flex as I push through the fatigue. The gym at The Village is all state-of-the-art. Licked with black paint over the walls, neon lights rim the edges of the equipment and skirtings so that if you wanted, you could train in the dark. It helps with our coordination in the tent. My legs begin to wobble like Jell-O and I jump off the side, swiping my head with my towel as my phone starts blaring in my hand. Kyrin’s name flashes over the screen.
Not fucking Keaton.
“Yes, Brother?”
“Sorry about not checking in on you last night. Keaton slept outside your bus, but he’s—he took it rough. Maybe I was—” He pauses, and I know what he’s trying to say, but his pride won’t allow him to say it. He clears his throat. “About tonight. What do I have to do to make you stay behind?”
I laugh, and then hang up on him, pushing my phone back into my back pocket when he tries to call back. He insults me every single time he does this. The constant undermining me.
Pushing through the entry doors to the gym, I pick up my pace back to my bus, not wanting to see anyone else. I need a distraction or this is going to drive me insane. As soon as I’m home, I grab my phone out of my pocket again as I move through to the master bedroom, turning on the shower. He doesn’t want to text me? Fine. But I need to at least know he’s okay.
Me: Where R u?
Shoving off my tights and sports bra, I fling them into the corner of the bathroom and slip under the hot water. I go through the motions of washing my body when my phone vibrates on the counter. My heart skips a beat and I reach out blindly to grab it, only fingers connect with mine. I pull away instantly and peek around the corner, sighing when I see Keaton sitting in front of the bathroom sink.
“What’s wrong?” Blood stains his face and hands like paint does an artist. He rests his head against the cupboard as his leg slides down, his elbow resting on the other. He moves to the side, before looking back at me, and when he does, it’s like he punches me in the gut and leaves me hollow and heavy.
Stepping out of the shower, I bring my hands to his face and watch as the dried blood turns back to liquid and trickles down my arm. “I’ll wash you.” Memories fight their way to the surface, but I force them down. Not because he’s unlovable with them, but because he needs me right now and reminiscing isn’t helpful.
He staggers to his feet, almost robotic, and I grab his soiled shirt from the bottom, pulling it over his head. When his hands fall back to the sides, I peer up at him below, but my eyes are heavy from fatigue. He’s staring down at me with a void so deep it almost looks endless. Pupils dilated, hair sticky with blood, and cheeks hollowed in like he has been fighting his restraint for too long. I take his hand with mine. “Keaton, it’s me.” Fiddling with his button, I flick it undone and pull his jeans down to his feet. “Lean on the counter so I can take your shoes off.” My body shivers when the air touches it, but I focus on the job at hand… like I have many times before.