Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 127712 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 639(@200wpm)___ 511(@250wpm)___ 426(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 127712 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 639(@200wpm)___ 511(@250wpm)___ 426(@300wpm)
Like the hacker group.
“Hey,” he says. “I thought I heard you.”
“Hey,” I say back. My voice cracks a little because I have barely uttered more than ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ since I woke up.
He leans against his door jamb and folds his arms across his chest, grins. “Did you have a nice time with Mercer?”
“How did you know?”
“Locke told me.”
I give him a one-shoulder shrug. I like Olsen. And even though I’ve been up close and personal with his cock, I’m not going to share the details of my sexual exploits with him. “Yeah. It was nice. I got a new dress, met Mercer’s mother, and went to a place called the Club.”
He whistles out his awe. “Nice.”
“Have you ever been there?”
“Me?” This word comes out as a scoff. “Nah, Bugs. They don’t take me to places like that.”
I squint at him. “What… what was that?”
“What was what?”
“What did you call me? Bugs?”
“Oh.” He sucks in a breath. “Yeah. My inner gangsta comes through sometimes.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Bugs is gangster?”
“Gang-sta,” he corrects me.
We both laugh.
“Hey.” He drops his defensive posture by dropping his arms. “You got anything planned for dinner? Because I’m barbecuing a mean rack of ribs right now. There’s enough to share if you’re hungry.”
I actually am hungry. I was offered snacks on the boat—and an actual lunch on the plane—but I didn’t eat. I was mostly chewing my nails wondering what will happen next with Mercer and Locke. “Sure. I’d love to. But I wanna shower and change. Travel, right? It always makes me feel dirty.”
“Sure, Bugs. You go shower off that dirt. I’ll be right here. No need to knock. Just walk right in.”
“OK.” I smile at him. Then he retreats back into his cottage and closes the door.
I close my door as well. Then peel off my clothes and jump in the shower.
Yesterday already feels like a dream or something.
I mean… these men. They are… wow.
And I’m just a girl from a trailer park who took out a lot of student debt and risked it all for a chance at a new life. A different life.
And here I am.
There were a few days in the beginning when I’d be walking across the island and I’d just look around and marvel at… well. Everything. And how I got here. How each little baby step led to this place. And how lucky I am.
And now, after this weekend—which was not terrible in any way and might even be the start of something life-changing and interesting—but now I’m thinking… maybe Mercer and Locke are a mistake.
I mean, it’s very clear that they are together.
So why are they bothering with me?
It’s a mystery.
One I should really consider solving.
I’m pretty. Like Stilts.
Wait. No, that’s not her name. Stalls. Not Stilts.
Jeez, Nova. You’re tired. And hungry.
I’m pretty like her, though. I know this. But Mercer, good God. He’s one of those men you only come across once in a lifetime. No matter what happens now—no matter what I do from here, or where I go, or who I meet—there will only ever be one Silas Mercer in my life.
And I think I’m just his shiny new thing.
Maybe not even that.
Maybe he’s just jealous of Locke and me?
I consider this as I wash my hair. I roll back the conversation Mercer and I had about games. How this is his game. How this is Locke’s game too.
And how I should come up with my own game if I want to play in the big leagues.
What do I even want from this place?
Some of these answers are obvious. I want experience. I want connections. I want opportunities.
But I sense there is more to the Institute than anyone will say out loud in polite conversation. I sense that it’s a very tight place. And they don’t care for outsiders.
Like Olsen.
Mercer didn’t disparage him yesterday.
He dismissed him.
He’s not one of ‘us.’
But I’m not either.
So maybe Olsen is the perfect person to bring into my game.
The moment I walk out of my cottage I can smell the ribs. There is smoke billowing over the top of Olsen’s cottage roof.
True to his word, the door is open when I twist the doorknob. I open it, step in, and close it behind me. These cottages are super-small. Really, it’s nothing more than a studio apartment. So I can see Olsen through his sheer curtains. He’s messing with the grill out on his patio.
The wind makes the curtains swell and undulate, which creates a gap. He turns his head and finds me. “You’re just in time, Bugs. They’re ready. Set the table, will ya?” He nods his head towards his galley kitchenette.
“Sure. It smells so good.” Then I chuckle. “Like home.”
“Home, huh?”
“Yeah. Maybe you don’t know this, but I grew up in a trailer park. Don’t feel sorry for me, though.” I look over my shoulder and smile at him. “It was a pretty cool place.”