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I’d noticed immediately that her injuries had disappeared, as if our previous encounter never happened, leaving a bitter taste in my mouth.
The cut on my throat was still healing. It seemed unfair for her to leave her mark without mine to reciprocate.
Oh, how I desperately want to mark her golden skin.
They were all hidden now, but I’d never forget how every inch of her was covered in self-inflicted art. I was more than happy to explore her body for a space where I could stamp my own.
I kept on replaying her outburst in the games room. Was the homicidal intent that flashed in her eyes a figment of my imagination that I’d conjured on my own? I desperately hoped it was true. The fumes from her murderous glance towards Fern and Katsy made me fucking lightheaded and giddy.
I couldn’t figure her out. Her defence of Cookie, intervening on his behalf, made me question everything.
Her nostrils twitched, alerting me out of my stupor. I shifted my gaze before she caught me staring. We were in stasis, neither one acknowledging the other. After a time, my resolve withered.
Just one look. Surely I can withstand a single glance.
My eyes involuntarily flicked in her direction to find her heading towards the open door to descend back into hell. I couldn’t let her walk away without some form of recognition.
“Don’t let them catch you slipping,” I called, providing a word of caution, a vital piece of advice. If given a chance, any person in this joint would use that vulnerability to crush her into the ground. For some unknown reason, I couldn’t stand the thought of that happening.
Her step paused, the only acknowledgement she’d heard the words as they drifted on the wind.
Chapter 6
Micah
Ace joined me in my office, his lanky form dragging his feet along the floor. He had dark shadows beneath his teal eyes and his dirty blonde hair was spiked in disarray.
Externally, he portrayed a dishevelled teenager, which meant he was regularly underestimated. Ace was clever, his sharp mind constantly ticking over, hidden by his unimposing façade. He was quiet, however, extremely observant—seeing and hearing more than most.
His one tell was a worn silver lighter he was never seen without (empty of gas and virtually useless), which he compulsively flicked open and closed.
Ace slumped in the chair opposite, a constant rhythmic beat ticking between his fingers.
Click. Click.
He sat in a strange position, guarding his side from pain. Shuffling to get comfortable, his shirt sleeve lifted, flashing a series of bruises over his upper arm.
My brows rose. “Can you tell me where you got those?” His eyes leapt around the room, avoiding my gaze at all costs. “Shall I be more specific? Did you get those from Fern?”
Ace tensed at the guard’s name, not that I was surprised. Fern was a heavy-handed brute who found enjoyment beating on others. I gestured to the wound once again. “Was this because of what happened in the games room? Because I challenged him?”
Ace squared his shoulders. “Not a bother, Miss.”
Click. Click.
“I told you to call me Olivia,” I said.“Would you be more comfortable just referring to me as Doctor?”
He nodded. “You can call me Cooks, or Cookie, Mis—eh, Doc. Everyone else does.”
“Do you like that name? Cookie?”
“Not a bother.”
Click. Click.
“You say that a lot, ‘Not a bother.’ Is there anything that does bother you?” He didn’t answer, still choosing to avoid my questions. “What if you were released from Oakview? How would that make you feel?”
“Even if that was a possibility, there’s no point. No one out there is waiting for me. No family, no friends. All of them are dead,” he said with clinical accuracy, his voice void of emotion.
