Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 106541 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 533(@200wpm)___ 426(@250wpm)___ 355(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106541 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 533(@200wpm)___ 426(@250wpm)___ 355(@300wpm)
This time, the material looks strained under the enormity of the weight stuffed inside it.
I shouldn’t feel relief knowing the people inside the body bags are too chunky to be female or a child, but I do.
I crank my neck to the side when muffled voices enter the corridor shortly later. They’re not the first I’ve heard tonight, but one is recognizable.
Ghost is back.
“Ensure this mess is cleaned up by the morning.” It sounds like he walks away before spinning back around. “And make sure word gets out. They won’t be a ghost if I overhear shit like that again. I won’t even leave them with a soul.”
When his shadow appears under the door, I seek somewhere to act inconspicuously.
Just as my backside lands on the chair that was positioned under his desk two seconds ago, I recall his earlier order for me to shower then go to bed.
I scarcely make it under the sheets in time. As Ghost enters his room, I slant my head to the side, snap my eyes shut, then slightly gape my mouth. This trick always worked when I wanted to sneak out to visit Blaire during a school night, and it had Master Rudd convinced on more than one occasion that I was asleep so he could masturbate next to my sleeping form.
Thinking about Blaire makes my ruse more believable. It shallows my breathing and slackens the furious beats of my heart.
I miss her so much.
I pretend the wetness pooling in the corner of my eyes is sleep when Ghost mutters, “You need to sleep on my left.”
As I rub the ‘sleep’ from my eye, I ask, “Sorry, what did you say?”
His miffed expression exposes he knows I heard him, but he humors me. “I said you need to sleep on my left.” He removes his suit jacket, a two-gun holster I didn’t realize he was wearing until now, before unbuttoning his dress shirt that is dotted with blood.
They weren’t there when he pinned me to the wall by my throat.
“Did you kill them because of what they said about me or what they said about you?”
His glare is icy-cold, and it freezes me in place. “My left, маленький ягненок.”
He waits for me to bob my chin before he enters the bathroom. He leaves the door ajar. Not by choice, and I don’t think he would have, even if he had a lack of trust. He can’t lock it since he bent the locking mechanism when he kicked in the door.
It takes me several seconds to move to the left side of the mattress as requested. It isn’t solely Ghost’s guns resting on his desk stealing my focus. It is the mirror on top of his dresser. It reflects straight into the bathroom and shows that Ghost’s scars don’t just affect his face. They cover most of his body. They appear to be shrapnel wounds or the effects of being caught in a dangerous blast.
However they occurred, they must be painful, and some are fresher than others.
Sorrow fills my eyes when Ghost peers over his shoulder and busts my watch. He returns my stare for several heart-thudding seconds before he steps into the spray and pulls the shower curtain across, hiding his marks from my solemn glare.
10
KATIE
Ghost slept with his T-shirt-covered back to me all night. He either isn’t one of those men who roll a hundred times during their sleep like my mother complained my father did, or he barely slept a wink like me. I dozed off sometime in the early morning, but if my pounding head is anything to go by, it wasn’t long before the sun began rising.
I’m not surprised to discover I am waking alone. However, I am stunned when my tiptoe to the door discovers it is unlocked, and my key is still in the spot I left it.
Does that mean what I think it does?
Am I free to roam as I see fit?
I mentally kick myself when reality dawns.
I’m on a cargo ship in the middle of the ocean. I can’t go anywhere.
Still, I might be able to see the sun.
The hope alone gets my feet moving at a million miles an hour.
Accustomed to wearing one outfit until it hangs off my limbs, I stuff my feet into boots by the door before pulling open the weighted door and entering the corridor.
Holding my breath, I wait to see if I’m being tested.
Several long minutes pass in silence before I build the courage to let go of the door handle and slowly encroach down the hallway.
Each step I take is liberating, and it lifts my shoulders to heights they’ve never reached before.
My almost skip screeches to a stop when I reach the door the men were hackling behind last night. The door is closed, but there is evidence of what went down while I showered. The glossy wood has been scrubbed clean, but the bullet holes haven’t been patched up yet.