Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 88215 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88215 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Smoke has yet to put on the cut, officially that is. Even though I know he wants to. Bear said it’s his decision, and he can take his time. I’ll know when he’s ready because the cut will no longer be hanging off the chair in the corner of the living room.
He won’t let me hang it up. I think he likes to know it’s there. Not just the cut. The option. The club. The people. Bear, King, Preppy, Rage, Nine. They all stuck their necks out for him.
For me.
I don’t think he can put on the cut until he gets used to the idea that once he does, people are going to be sticking their necks out for him all the time. No questions asked.
“That should do it,” I say to myself, climbing down from the ladder.
“Wow,” Smoke says behind me. I join him in the center of the room. Together, we admire the place above the mantel where I’ve chosen to display my most favorite painting. My very FIRST painting.
“I’m not sure that’s the place for it,” Smoke says. His forehead is wrinkled in thought.
“Why? I thought it was perfect. Don’t you like it?” I ask.
“It’s fucking beautiful, but it’s too... I don’t know. I’m not really sure what to think of it,” Smoke says.
“It’s from a dream I had,” I tell him.
“You don’t think it’s too morbid for above the mantle?” Smoke asks, wrapping his arms around me from behind.
“YOU of all people think it might be too morbid?” I tease.
“I don’t know. Maybe, it hits too close to home is all.”
“Art is all about perception. What it makes you feel. Everyone sees art differently,” I say, and that’s when I smell it.
Leather. New leather.
I glance out of the corner of my eye to the chair.
The empty chair.
I can’t help the smile spreading across my face.
“What I see is me carrying you into Hell,” Smoke says. There’s a sadness in his voice that makes my heart hurt.
I turn and stand on my tip-toes, wrapping my arms around his neck. “No, you’re not carrying me through Hell.” I press a soft kiss to his lips and look deeply into his dark eyes. “You’re carrying me out of it.”
THE END