Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 74655 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 373(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74655 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 373(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
I will not let any of this beat me.
I won’t.
I take a few shaky breaths, and for a moment, we stand in pure silence. I wait for him to snap at me, to growl some curse and walk out. But he doesn’t, for a few good minutes, we just stand there, both of us panting. If he’d let me in, he’d see I house the same demons he does. We’re two peas from the same pod. Two damaged, broken souls.
He just won’t accept that.
He’s so wrapped up in his own pain, he can’t see anyone else’s.
I understand that, I really do, but it doesn’t make it fair.
“He got tangled up in the wrong crowd when he was younger,” Koda says, his voice low and deep. With shaky fingers, I keep swabbing at his arm. If he’s going to talk, I’m going to let him without interruption. “Became an addict, started sellin’ drugs to be able to purchase drugs. Got deeper, as they all do. Got more addicted, his brain more damaged. And he did stupid shit. Really stupid shit. Hit got put on him, and he got killed. He was young. Fuckin’ young, and he fucked up, but he did not deserve to fuckin’ die.”
Koda’s voice becomes strained and my heart aches; it literally feels like it’s going to split right open. It makes sense now why he is so obsessed with helping me, and why there is talk that he goes around looking for people with hits on them, and if he finds out they don’t deserve it, he sorts it out. I heard Maverick and Malakai speaking about it. It didn’t make sense then; it certainly does now.
He’s not obsessed with my father.
He’s obsessed with the fact that I have a hit on me, and he doesn’t think I deserve it.
Just like his brother didn’t deserve it.
And he wants to take it down, because people like my father ruin innocent lives.
“I’m so sorry about your brother, Koda. I know how it feels.”
I stroke a finger over his arm, without thought, and he flinches a little, but doesn’t pull away. I was attempting to give him comfort, without even realizing it. For me, it’s been a very long time since I’ve tried to give comfort. Hell, it has been even longer since I’ve received it.
But he held onto me tonight.
When I ran to him and my fingers locked in his shirt, for a few moments I was a kid again, the little girl so terrified of her father, and I couldn’t move. I couldn’t let him go out of fear, I’d fall and never get back up. And he held me up. Intentionally, or because he had to, I don’t know but he did it, and because he did it, I didn’t crumble.
“Sorry about your mom,” he says finally, his voice scratchy but not rough anymore.
“Thanks,” I murmur, staring at the ground.
“Never easy losin’ the only person you have left that you believe in. Bitter fuckin’ world out there without someone by your side.”
Don’t I know it.
“Yeah, you’re right, it is.”
“You have anyone else? Ever?”
I swallow. “I had Oliver, for a little while. Not in a romantic way, of course, I was only a teenager, but he showed me there was compassion out there, good out there, people that would risk themselves to help you. So yeah, for a while, I had someone.”
“Then you lost out, again,” Koda adds, finally turning and holding my eyes.
“Yeah, then I lost out again. But then I met all of you, so I figure you do lose out, but if you believe, you’ll always find again. I was lucky enough to be reminded that there was still good out there, even when I really didn’t want to believe there was.”
“You’re lucky, then.”
I frown. “You’ve never found anyone else?”
“Got the club. Know they’re family. Know they’ve got my back. But if you’re askin’ if I’ve had a person again, one I trust, one who stands by my side and makes this fuckin’ emptiness in my chest go away, then no, I have not.”
That breaks my heart.
More than he’ll ever know.
“I’m really sorry to hear that, because everyone deserves someone. Even assholes like you.”
I give him a small smile to let him know I’m playing, and for the first time since I’ve been involved with this club, his eyes lighten just a touch. Not a lot, and he doesn’t smile, but his eyes lighten.
“How is your arm feeling now?” I ask him, changing the subject.
He holds my gaze for a few long, intense moments, then glances back at his arm. “Sore, but you did a good job cleanin’ it up. Didn’t think you had it in you. Was certain you were just takin’ on the job to give me some sort of infection out of revenge ...”