Page 7 of Wicked Dove (Institute Thirteen #1)

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.

“You’re staring,” he huffs, tilting his face in my direction without faltering in his workout.

“You’re putting on a show,” I retort, and the curl to his lips is sinful, but as he parts his mouth, ready to speak, a door creaks, snapping the energy around us.

Lurching to my feet, my breath catches in my throat when the woman who tortured me enters the room. She remains on the other side of the glass, that damn clipboard still in her hand as she proceeds to ignore us.

I glance to see if it provokes anything from the asshole a few meters away, and to my surprise, he’s on his feet, hands tucked into his pockets as he glares at her.

If it weren’t for a slight ticking in his jaw and the way he subtly shifted his weight from foot to foot, I’d almost believe it was a stance he’s become accustomed to taking.

Well, standing at attention is not my plan of action. Instead, I hurry toward the glass.

“Finally! Can I go home now?” I know that asking is like throwing a feather at a brick wall and expecting it to crumble, but it’s better than nothing. Plus, it’s like Walker taught me, assume things will go in your favor, even when the chances are slim. I refuse to admit defeat.

With that in mind, I tap on the glass, forcing her attention to me as I beam with a certainty I’ve summoned from the depths of my soul. The grim, soulless stare I earn in return cuts through me.

“Miss Elodie Blackwood, your summons has been confirmed for six p.m. this evening.”

“And what time is it now?” I rush, refusing to let the concern of my summons get to me. It’s my way out, that’s the only way I can see it.

“Noon,” she states, and I nod as she continues to scribble on her clipboard.

Desperate to keep her talking, though I’m not entirely sure what information I hope to get out of her, I bounce on the balls of my feet, but before I can speak again, Mr. Asshole’s voice envelops me.

“What does that entail?”

“Access to the canteen and bathrooms has been granted. Guardianship has been approved to a Mr. Kael Forrester, who will also receive access to such luxuries,” she offers, not lifting her gaze.

I’m too caught on the fact that my cellmate’s eyes widen in surprise, and I slowly add two and two together to sum up the fact that he, indeed, is Mr. Kael Forrester.

It suits him.

Kael Forrester.

Aloof. Arrogant. Asshole.

And that’s just starting with the A’s.

B’s happily include bastard, brooding, and beautiful. Fuck. Would the C’s include cock? I need to stop.

The woman offers her back to us, placing a set of keys down on the closest countertop to the door before exiting without so much as a goodbye. The second the door closes behind her, the glass drops, disappearing as though it never existed.

Kael prowls toward the keys, letting them clink and clang in his hand as he stares at them before bringing his closed-off gaze to me.

“You’re getting the death sentence.”

My heart thunders at how matter-of-factly he says it, but I’m quick to brush him off.

“No, I’m not,” I insist, hurrying toward the door beside him.

When he doesn’t automatically open it, I turn to glare at him and find he’s aiming his infamous raised brow at me. I’m already sick of how perfectly it portrays his attitude.

“I’m not getting the death sentence, Kael,” I reiterate, and his lip curls as though he’s going to take pride in knocking me down a peg or two. I think I deserve it, though, because I hate how much I like his name on my lips.

Ass.

“Guess what Jenkins got before they killed him?” He’s goading me, but I gulp down the nerves regardless.

I can see the truth in his eyes, feel it in my bones, and sense myself drowning in it. Looking away from him, I clear my throat. “I need to eat,” I state, nodding at the door, and he grunts.

“Bathroom first,” he clarifies, and I turn to him with narrowed eyes, only to find him a foot behind me.

“You’re supervising me, remember?” I insist, trying to inch closer to the door, but there’s nowhere for me to go.

“Exactly. You have to do as I say.” He rakes his teeth over his bottom lip as he assesses me and I scoff, pretending as though my cheeks aren’t on fire.

“Well, maybe I can use those keys to make a run for it.” I hold my hand out for them, but he spins them on his finger, ignoring me.

“There is no running for it.”

My lips purse in frustration as his spicy scent threatens to capture me. “You don’t look like you’ve tried,” I claim, desperate to put space between us, and he shrugs.

“I haven’t.”

I rear back in surprise. “Why?”

“Because I know it’s pointless.” Frustration leaks into his tone and I gulp.

“I don’t want to die.” I hate the truth the second it slips from my lips.

If he notices how vulnerable I am in this moment, he doesn’t acknowledge it. He’s too busy leaning around me to slip the key into the lock, with his eyes settled on mine. “Then you’ve got six hours to live your wildest dreams,” he rasps, making my heart flutter as the lock for the door opens.

I consider making a run for it, but as the door fully swings out, it reveals a short hallway with only two doors to choose from. One is labeled bathroom, the other, canteen.

“Bathroom first,” he grunts, and I sigh, hating the tingle of defeat ghosting down my spine.

“Fine.”

He doesn’t wait for me, taking the keys with him as he approaches the bathroom door with a different key ready. I’ve been eager to leave the confines of the room, but now I need a moment out of his proximity to feel as though I can breathe again.

I’m clearly taking longer than he would prefer because a moment later, he’s glancing over his shoulder at me with a sigh. He doesn’t say anything; he doesn’t have to. I follow after him as he steps through the next door, hurrying before he lets it swing back at me.

Stepping inside, he sets about taking care of himself as I assess the room.

White tiles shine from every surface: the walls, the ceiling, the floor.

A vanity spans the entire length of the far wall, featuring a mirror and four sinks.

There are two piles of clothes on either side of the sinks, presumably a fresh set for each of us.

They look like direct replicas of what we already have on.

Continuing around the room, there are two toilet stalls to my left, while four shower heads line the wall to my right.

I’ve never been more relieved for the opportunity to shower, but the downside is apparent; there’s no privacy.