Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 77276 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77276 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
Now Growl’s arm was lightly brushing mine. It wasn’t by accident. Perhaps deep down he longed for closeness beyond just sex?
His eyes were half closed and his breathing was already slowing. His muscled chest glistened with sweat. “What happened to my father after you took me to your house?” I asked.
Growl opened his eyes. “He was dead.”
“I know,” I whispered harshly. “That’s not what I meant. Where is his body? What did you do with it?”
Growl turned his head toward me, frowning. “What does it matter? He’s gone.”
“People bury their dead for a reason. Because they need a place to feel connected to them, a place where they can go to say goodbye or talk to what remains of the people they love. It’s what people do.”
Growl didn’t seem to understand. “Maybe. I can’t see how that helps.”
“You don’t have to understand,” I said quietly. “Just accept it. I really need to know where my father’s body is. I need to say goodbye to him to get peace.”
“He was buried outside the city borders.”
“Buried? So he wasn’t dumped somewhere or worse?”
“I wasn’t there when they buried him. But it’s what they told me.”
“Do you know where it is? Can you take me?”
Growl let out a sigh. He sat up like I’d expected and swung his legs out of bed, turning his back to me. That, too, was covered with tattoos, thorns and roses, skulls and snakes, and intricate black letters that read ‘Pain’, nothing else. There were more scars on his back, shoulders and neck.
“You have to move on.”
I stifled my frustration. He simply couldn’t understand. So many human emotions and habits were foreign to him. I pushed into a sitting position and scooted closer. I hoped it was a good sign that he hadn’t gotten up yet. Perhaps something in him wanted to say with me?
My fingertips grazed the strange round scars that littered his back and upper arms. They didn’t look like shot wounds, more like someone had burned Growl. After a moment of hesitation, I asked quietly. “What are those?”
Growl peered over his shoulder. “Cigarette burns.”
My fingers froze. He sounded so detached, as if we weren’t talking about his body. “Who did this to you?”
“Perhaps I asked someone to do it to me,” he said.
“Why would anyone ask for pain?”
“I like pain. Learned to like it over time.”
“You like it?” I repeated, dropping my hand from his skin. Did he ask someone to burn him? Was he that messed up? The idea didn’t sit well with me. Someone who did this to themselves would probably do much worse to others. Though why that surprised me was ridiculous. I knew what kind of man Growl was. More monster than man.
A corner of his mouth twitched in an almost smile. That small gesture managed to change his entire face, making him seem more approachable, less dangerous. But the usual hard line returned to his lips too quickly. “Not getting burned. I didn’t ask for those scars,” he said roughly. “When I was a kid, I wasn’t into pain yet.”
My eyes trailed over the many burn marks, counting almost a dozen. “Someone did this to you when you were a kid?” I paused, unsure about the next question. “Your mother?” That would at least explain why Growl didn’t want to avenge her.
Growl shook his head. “She wasn’t the best mother. She worked as a whore. Her addiction and job didn’t really help with raising a kid, but she never beat me or hurt me physically.”
I licked my lips. This was dangerous territory I was treading. My curiosity made me eager for more, but at the same time I was equally scared of the horrors I’d hear and what they would make me feel. With every piece of Growl’s past and his character that I uncovered it became more difficult to not feel compassion, and more. “Then who did?” I asked despite my worries.
“After my mother died and I was released from hospital, Falcone gave me to one of his henchman, Bud, who was responsible for one of the brothels. He was a pimp, really, and didn’t want a kid around. But he couldn’t give me away if he wanted to get in Falcone’s good graces, and so he kept me. But he was a sadistic bastard and when he grew tired of beating the shit out of his whores he liked to torture me.”
“Why didn’t Falcone stop him?” I shook my head. “I don’t know why I’m even asking. The guy almost killed you. It’s not like he’s a decent human being, or anything close to that.”
“He didn’t kill me, though he could have. And he never actually touched me. He let one of his men cut my throat. And Bud always made sure that he beat and burnt me where nobody could see it.”