Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 100545 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100545 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
He’d never again sleep in Tank’s bed. Never again kiss Boar’s lips, be swept away by Pyro’s rough yet intense sexual presence. Drake wouldn’t teach him how to properly throw knives. Without the tracker, he’d be lost to them, and within a few weeks, they’d surely move on. They might have fallen for him while they were all together, but feelings expired fast without physical contact. Clover had learned that the hard way.
And yet he couldn’t make himself wish that he’d gone to Canada after all. The depth of emotion he’d experienced in the last months was like being woken up from a lifelong coma. His heart used to be as numb as his toes now were, and the guys had warmed it, each in his own way. For the brief time together, Clover had been the apple of their eye, and he wouldn’t trade that experience even for freedom.
That sense of belonging, the knowledge that people truly cared about him was priceless.
As he lay still, human voices called out from the other cages sometimes, but he paid them no mind, too far away to communicate. He was too upset to have a conversation anyway. His entire being mourned lost relationships.
So cold. Maybe Diana had been wrong about the weather? Maybe she’d find him dead in the morning and pull at her hair in fury that she hadn’t even gotten any use out of him.
He’d love to see the look on her face.
It had to be late, because everything was dark with the exception of the moon and stars blinking at Clover from above. The background behind the bright dots was so very dark, something Clover had never seen while he’d lived in an urban area. This was the countryside, and nobody would ever find him in a place so remote.
He wished he hadn’t brushed off goodbyes with jokes. When he’d still been with Tank and the others, failure had seemed like such a distant concept. He hadn’t wanted to take it into account, and now here he was, all alone again.
If only he could tell Tank how much he appreciated the chance taken on him. How he loved the care and affection, combined with discipline.
He wished he could have told Drake not to worry. Drake had been through such horrors, and the last thing Clover wanted was to be a source of fresh anguish to him.
And then there was Boar and Pyro. Two men so different, yet who so weirdly complemented each other. Where Boar could be so sweet it bordered on sappy, Pyro was a force to be reckoned with—insatiable in bed, and always trying to pull Clover into mischief.
Even now, in the cage, Clover smiled when he remembered their last night together. He’d never felt alone when they were with him. There had always been someone to talk to, to cuddle with, or to help him out if needed. He’d never imagined himself capable of forming a functional, trusting relationship with one man, so four seemed like a stretch, yet it worked.
Whatever awaited him now, he’d always have those memories to fall into.
Something hummed in the distance, and he rolled to his back, looking toward the noise. Was someone visiting Diana with another ‘specimen’ for her menagerie perhaps? He exhaled, about to close his eyes when he realized the noise couldn’t have been made by a car. It wasn’t an engine. It was... a rotor?
A series of volleys from a machine gun tore through the air, and he frantically backed against the icicle-cold bars just in time to see the small fiery explosions emerging from someone’s rifle at the top of a watchtower nearby.
Were they… under attack?
Hope was like a beacon inside his chest, but he couldn’t let himself dream of the impossible. With his heart in his throat, he backed into the corner of the cage but dropped right back to the mattress when whoever had been shooting earlier fell off the tower like a man-sized rag doll. Red lights came on all around, pulsating in the dark as the piercing sound of an alarm siren rolled above.
He was no longer shaking, his body warmed up by the upcoming danger. Whoever was about to storm Diana’s property, bullets would fly, and they wouldn’t always reach their intended target. He needed to stay low, as his men had taught him.
A helicopter circled the tower on the background of the dark blue sky, agile despite its size, like a bird of prey on the prowl for roadkill. And just as the machine was about to charge above the menagerie, a large silhouette dropped on top of the building.
Clover’s mouth dried, and he stiffened further when the rotor buzzed, pulling the helicopter across the sky, until it hovered above uncomfortably close. Clover was too afraid to breathe, yet the presence of an enemy of Diana’s still filled him with more joy than it should have. In the blood-red light, a rope fell to the ground only a couple of steps away from his enclosure, and a man in full military gear rode it all the way to the patch of grass where Clover had had his chip removed not that long ago.