Page 17 of Wicked Dove
“Did you do that?”
I don’t know if he can actually see what I’m referring to, but his words send a chill down my spine when he speaks. “No, that was Jenkins.”
“Who’s that?” I ask, already afraid of the answer.
“My old cellmate.”
A heavy, uneasy feeling settles in my stomach, and even as I try to brush it off with a playful laugh, it does little to lift the mood. “How did he manage to get away from all of your charm?”
Silence falls thick and fast over the room until he speaks three little words and shatters my hope.
“They killed him.”
FIVE
ELODIE
With each second that ticks by, I try to inspect every inch of my body. They’re telling me I’m different, that I changed when Johnny died, but I can confirm, with all certainty, that nothing about me has changed.
I can still feel the slight raise to the small mole on my hairline, I can still see the scar that runs across the bridge of my left foot, and I can still sense the heat that is forever etched into my back. Everything is as it was. A part of me wishes it wasn’t. A part of me prays that there’s an element of truth to their claims, and that truth would erase every ounce of pain, despair, and heartache I’ve endured.
Except Walker.
I have to remember him.
Either he’s going to find me, or I’m going to see him.
Safety in numbers—in twos—we just happen to be separated right now. It’s not the first time we’ve split up after a job, it’s just never been quite like this.
I try to imagine the rage on his face when he realizes I’m not there. With the amount of time that has passed, he’ll know by now. He’ll know, and he’ll be on the hunt. All while I lay idly by, staring up at the ceiling.
My stomach grumbles have dwindled to nothing, making it clear my body has given up on hoping for food, and exhaustion clings to me, but I refuse to give in. Fighting the weight of my eyelids, I shuffle onto my side with a soft sigh, daring to face the mysterious guy I’m trapped in here with, only to find him already staring at me.
“Why aren’t you sleeping?” His voice is gruff, like sleep hasn’t come to him despite his complaints.
I shrug. “I’ve passed out from pain or at the hands of someone else three times in less than forty-eight hours. I’m good. Thanks.” I don’t mean to be snappy, but a lack of food makes me a cranky, hangry bitch. Besides, he deserves it. He hasn’t been the most hospitable roommate.
He doesn’t even deserve to know that either. I need to stop oversharing and remember that I’m not safe here, and I have to keep myself alert. As if sensing my thought, my stomach growls.
My gaze darts to his as his brows furrow. “You’re hungry.”
I roll my eyes. “Way to state the obvious.” He cocks a brow at me, but I’m in full hangry mode. “I woke up today and spun the wheel of attitude. Unlucky for you, it landed on bitch again. Maybe that wouldn’t be the case if you had let me get someone’s attention.” I cock my brow back at him and he doesn’t look amused. Not at all. “Any further questions?” I add, and he rolls his eyes as he swings his legs over the side of the bed and stands.
Holy heck.
He’s tall when he’s standing beside me, but from this position, he’s a giant.
He ignores me, a skill he’s perfecting, as he reaches over his shoulder to grab the neckline of his t-shirt before tugging it over his head. It’s impossible not to gape when he reveals his washboard abs and defined biceps.
Of course, someone who looks like that is an asshole.
Still pretending I don’t exist, he tilts forward, his hands hitting the floor with a thud before he starts to do a… is that a freaking push-up? Is this guy seriously working out while we await our impending doom? That’s not how I would envision spending my final hours.
He seems to think differently, dipping again and again, leaving me transfixed as I watch his muscles shift with every drop, and the way they strain as he pushes back up…
Damn.
My jaw is slack, my eyes wide, devouring every second of his little display, and I’m certain drool is collecting on my pillow when he snickers.
