Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 63967 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 320(@200wpm)___ 256(@250wpm)___ 213(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63967 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 320(@200wpm)___ 256(@250wpm)___ 213(@300wpm)
Again.
I know I did the right thing in taking the rap for Nova. I’d do that shit again in a heartbeat because he’s got something none of us has; his hands and his brain.
He’s a doctor who helps the community in ways the rest of us can’t. Sure, we can help a family in a bind, donate shit to those in need and even provide jobs for the perpetually unemployed. But he fixes people. Takes people on the brink of death and brings them back to life. He can patch a hole, fix a heart, and stop a dying body from doing the very thing it wants to do.
What can I do? Hold my breath for a long time? Shoot a man sitting on his favorite sofa from a mountaintop miles away? Kill a man with my bare hands? Yeah. Hell yeah to all of that, but despite being a SEAL, there are others who can do what I can.
Nova is different and needs to be in the world doing what he does, working his magic on those in need. It’s not just what he does. The goodwill it grants us in the community often comes in handy. So, yeah, I’d do it all over again.
And again.
I let out a long breath while waiting in line for chowtime, and a hard shoulder slams against mine. “Watch where you’re goin’.”
This motherfucker is insane if he thinks he can take me. He’s scowling at me like he’s some big swinging dick, and I’m immediately on edge. I could take this asshole down with my hands tied behind my back, but I don’t want any problems in this place. I want to get the fuck out of here.
“Maybe you oughtta get yourself some glasses before you get hurt.” I glare at him, and he glares back. We hold our stares for a second or two.
Then, he looks around, trying to make sure everyone knows he’s tough when I already know he’s a weak ass pussy. “Better watch your mouth. Boy.”
“Boy?” I chuckle. “Better watch yours before your day gets worse.” The line starts moving—thank fuck—and I keep my eye on the motherfucker who thinks he can step up on me. This ain’t my first rodeo, and as much as I want to get the fuck out of lockup, I won’t let the whole damn block think I can’t protect myself.
The line moves slowly, but eventually, everyone makes it through the line and gets a bologna sandwich, fruit salad, juice, and mixed vegetables on each tray.
There are no exceptions for a special diet unless it’s religious, so we all take the slop to our respective tables, sit down, and eat it. Not because it’s good or anything, but because it’s fucking sustenance, and inside this hellhole, you need to keep your energy up because you never know when shit’s about to go down.
I don’t know any of the guys at my table, but I take the seat that gives me the best view of the whole room and dig in, drowning the salty bologna with the sweet as fuck juice.
“Want my fruit salad for your veggies?” The scrawny guy beside me flashes a grin, dark brows raised full of hope.
“Sure, why not.” He set the plastic container in front of me, and I let him scoop the bland vegetables onto his tray.
“Thanks.” Without another word, he makes quick work of the vegetables and then his sandwich.
My gaze scans while I chew without tasting a damn thing when I see the asshole from earlier. He stands and looks around the cafeteria before his gaze lands on its target. Me. His lips curl into a smirk as if he’s got a secret joke on his mind. One leg and then the other steps over the plastic bench seat, and he’s heading my way.
My hands tense instinctively. Relax, goddammit, this motherfucker is no threat. I double-check that no one else is standing or looking like they might have his back. Then I relax because I can handle this jackass blindfolded. Thankfully, I won’t have to, and I crack my knuckles under the table. And I wait.
In addition to the scar on his forehead, there are signs that the old fuck has been through the wringer. His nose is crooked from too many breaks, and his skin is pocked, a sure sign of a lifelong battle with narcotics. But I have no sympathy for this asshole who wants to step up to me and use me to make his bones.
No. Fucking. Way.
“I’m gonna need your fruit cup,” he says as he leans forward trying to intimidate me.
“Yeah, and I’m gonna need you to fuck off.” My voice carries, drawing the attention of those pretending like they weren’t watching closely. That’s how it works in here. Everyone wants to see who’s the mark, the victim, the patsy.