Total pages in book: 154
Estimated words: 148220 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 741(@200wpm)___ 593(@250wpm)___ 494(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 148220 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 741(@200wpm)___ 593(@250wpm)___ 494(@300wpm)
Right now, though, I kind of know where Matt is. And I’ll know for a few weeks.
But why doesn’t Stone already know about the meals?
I finish my pie and consider having another slice before reaching for the stuffing. “I know your friends killed the three guards in our barn…but did they kill all of the guards at the compound?”
“Yeah.”
“So there’s no one left to ask?”
“Unless we find Victor. What do you know about him?”
“Nothing. Truthfully,” I say when he eyes me in that speculative way again. “He didn’t give anything away.”
He nods. “I believe that.”
“But he recognized your Force Recon tattoo.”
“Did he?”
I nod. “When we watched the video of you. When…Strawman showed it to us.”
Who isn’t the same man as his friend. I’m still trying to accept how that one fact could have changed everything for Stone…and for me.
“Where’d you watch the video at?”
“I don’t know. I don’t even know which town we were in. It was a yellow house with a pink sink and bathtub.”
“Maybe I can get that out of Strawman.”
I snort. “The same way you’d get it out of me?”
He gives me a slow, slow smile that curls heat through my stomach. Oh god. Maybe I shouldn’t remind him.
Or maybe I should. Because I do owe him.
Though I don’t know why I’m so okay with the idea of him collecting.
Heart pounding, I ask him, “What about the Iron Blood? Were you able to get anything?”
He shakes his head. “They’re on lockdown. So you’re all I’ve got.”
“But I don’t have much to give.”
“No description of Papa at all?”
Torn, I swirl my fork through my potatoes. But this is just like everything else. I can give him a little. And maybe he’ll let me go.
My chest lifts on a deep breath. “Well…he looks rich.”
“Rich?” A laugh rumbles from him. “How do rich people look?”
“He’s got rich-people hair.” When his laughter deepens, I lift my hands helplessly. “You know what I mean, right? I’m not around a lot of rich people, but all the older men cut their hair the same way. Like presidents do.”
“I know what you mean,” he agrees, amusement deepening his voice. “What color?”
“He was white. But tanned.”
“And his hair?”
“Dark brown with some silver in it.”
“So fifty, maybe sixty years old?” When I agree, he asks, “Build?”
“Healthy. Tall. Not as tall as you. Maybe six feet. And although he was in shape, not big and muscular. Not like you. More like he plays tennis. Or spends a lot of time on a yacht.”
Stone grins. “Like a rich person.”
He’s teasing me. I flush, but I’m laughing, too, as I nod and take a small bite of potatoes.
Then my laughter dies when he says, “And the doctor?”
Fear twists in my belly. I don’t dare lie. Other fighters saw him, too. So I won’t give Stone anything that he doesn’t already have if I describe him.
“He’s just…regular. Receding hairline and a”—I sweep my hand over my head to illustrate a combover. “Kind of a round face, but otherwise just average in every way. Just like your average neighborhood doctor. His manner, too. Mostly pleasant and kind and helpful.”
“Helpful, how?”
“Well, like…” I push my sleeve up to my shoulder, show him the matchstick-sized implant under the skin of my upper arm. “It’s birth control. He inserted it when I arrived at the stables, because he knew that eventually…”
I’d be raped. Or used as a prize or bait. Or forced to give a reward.
Stone’s gaze hardens. “So you were grateful to him?”
“I was,” I admit. “I knew he wouldn’t stop any of it—if Tusk came after me, he wouldn’t have stepped in front of him, just cleaned me up afterwards—but it was like he tried to make the things we couldn’t avoid easier for us. And I figured he was there for the same reason as everyone else, that Papa threatened him somehow. But he never said anything personal, if that’s what you’re wondering.”
“I’m more interested in his skill set. Did it seem like he specialized in anything?”
I’ve been thinking hard about this, too. Trying to figure out what kind of private clinic he might have. But my answer is truthful. “Nothing that stood out. He seemed like a general practitioner, to me.”
“If we downloaded photos of licensed doctors in that area, could you pick him out?”
Excitement crackles through my stomach. Because I could. “Probably.” Then conceal what I find until I go to the police. Or if I get to the cops first, suggest the same thing. “Though I don’t even know what area we were in.”
“Nevada. North of Reno.” He unzips his hoodie and shrugs out of it. Because it is warm in here. Since I’m only wearing this shirt, I’ve got the heat up high. But it’s even warmer now. He’s wearing a T-shirt underneath, the cotton stretched across his broad shoulders and clinging to every heavy muscle. “That where you’re from?”