Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 71444 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 286(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71444 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 286(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
“Only thing I've ever been good at is thieving, and it turns out I'm not even good at that.”
He makes a huffing sound in his throat, and I freeze, realizing this is an opening to a discussion I've put off. Should I take it and find out the truth? Will I get another chance?
I swallow, crossing my legs at the ankles. I should ask. Maybe finding out who these men really are will put everything back into perspective, and I'll stop worrying about what it'll be like to leave them behind when Grady comes to lead me to my freedom. I’ll stop forming connections to them that are bigger and stronger than any I’ve felt before.
I have to step carefully. It might not be so bad. Please let it not be bad.
Thinking this way is wrong, but I haven't lived the most law-abiding life. My grandpa loved to bring home things he brought out of the trunks of cars or at the pub, knowing full well they'd been stolen, anything from a new TV to a leg of lamb. We'd have to marvel at how cheap he got them, too. When I lost my job and didn't have enough in my account for groceries, I snuck a few packets of ramen into my purse at the supermarket. When I was a teen, I used to palm lipstick from the drugstore when I didn't have money. I was desperate to keep up with the other girls, and it was the only way. Doesn't stop me from experiencing guilt about it, but it does make me understand.
“Is that what you're in for?” I swallow a ball of cotton in my throat, bracing myself.
“Yeah,” he says. “This time.”
I hadn't considered they might have served more than one sentence. That’s how naïve I am. “And the other time?” I wait for him to elaborate.
“The first time was for aggravated assault.”
My heart falls, leaving a ghostly cold trail in its wake. I glance down at his hands, and they feel different now that I know for sure they're capable of violence.
“You showed undeserved restraint,” Kinkaid says icily. “That fucker deserved to die,”
“Why?” I ask.
The room goes silent, and when I turn to Hyde, his eyes are glassy. I swallow thickly, hating that this conversation is a minefield capable of exploding and hurting.
Kinkaid folds his arms across his chest. “Anyone who hurts kids should be put underground. I don't care how it sounds. I don't care about rehabilitation. If they're a fucker who abuses kids, there's a special place in hell waiting to fry their ass, and I wouldn't mind being the one to send them there.”
I agree with him in principle, but I don't think I could ever be the one to snuff out a life, no matter how unworthy. I don't have the guts.
“What about you?” I ask Kinkaid, concerned to leave the conversation hanging over Hyde's head any longer. Inside, I'm praying that it's going to be something moderate.
“Gun running, ” he admits. “And drug dealing. High end. That’s why they worked so hard to catch me. Didn’t want rich kids snorting their trust funds up their noses.”
Neither of those crimes is without victims, but I still deflate with a strange sense of relief—it’s not the kind of violence I was most afraid of. Or maybe I’m just fooling myself, desperate to find some good where I shouldn't. No one climbs to the top of those kinds of businesses without getting their hands dirty, without making it clear they can handle competition—brutally, if necessary.
I think back to the moment Wilson tried to hurt me. Kinkaid didn’t hesitate. His response was immediate, like a switch flipped. His body moved so fast it was almost a blur. I stare at his hands now—strong, capable hands I’ve felt protecting me—but I can’t pretend anymore. These hands have done more than shield; they’ve delivered pain, even destruction.
His blue eyes sweep over my face as I process his confession. “You’re wondering if I regret it.”
“Do you?”
“Every day. I made so many bad decisions. I could have taken so many different paths. I fell into it slowly, and didn’t try to get myself out. Getting caught was the only way it was ever going to come to an end.” He rubs the center of his brow. “Getting caught or getting killed.”
A shiver runs the length of my spine and makes my fingers tingle. Regret is something I understand and second chances. He’s not a perfect man. None of them are. But neither am I, and I have to accept that. I believe he regrets his actions because the man he is now doesn’t feel capable of returning to the life he left.
“And Rock?”
The room remains silent.
Once again, I turn to look at the big man who always treats me gently. He doesn't meet my eyes this time and I lose my hold on hope, suspecting that it's him, the one who seems the least likely to have hurt someone badly, who has been convicted of a violent crime.