Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 132491 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 530(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132491 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 530(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
He leaves, and Marcus limps the rest of the way to the Sub entrance, a guard opening the door for him.
“Why is this place called the Sub?” I ask him as we descend.
“Subterranean research center. Sub for short.”
“Damn. And here I thought there was a dom somewhere in camp.”
He arches a brow, a smile playing on his lips. “Who says there’s not?”
Still hot. Even when he’s bleeding and cranky.
When we make it to Ellison’s office door, I knock on it and she opens it with a smile that slides away when she sees the gauze on Marcus’s leg.
“Mantis nicked me,” he says.
“Let’s go to the exam room.”
“Should I go find Nova to ask how I can help with the storm stuff?” I ask Marcus.
“No. Everyone has assigned jobs for it. You need to shelter in place in my room.”
I lower my brows, not liking his answer. “But you said there’s a lot to do, and I can’t even get into the room. I can help.”
“I’ll radio for someone to let you in.”
I back up a few steps, still facing him. “So I’m just going to find Nova, then.”
“Do you ever listen to me?” He glares at me, exasperated.
“I listened when you yelled fuck. Hacked off that mantis’s head. You’re welcome, by the way.”
Ellison fights a smile, putting a hand on his shoulder to try to lead him in the other direction.
“It’s gonna get bad fast out there,” Marcus warns. “When Nova puts out the shelter order, do it.”
I give him a confused look. “Of course I will.”
I turn around, letting myself break out in a full smile. I was wrong about nothing here being fun. Bantering with him is my entertainment.
“At least you listen to someone around here!” he calls after me.
I just wave, not turning back.
When I exit the tunnel, my light mood vanishes. The sky is a dark, ominous gray and the wind is stronger than before. People are running, some clutching children to their chests.
I don’t even know where to find Nova. Instead, I run to a woman trying to carry two toddlers, taking one of them from her.
“Where are we going?” I ask her.
“The Sub! But I still have to find another one who got away from me.” Her expression is pained, her cheeks tearstained.
“Give me both of them. I’ll take them to the Sub and come back to help you.”
“Thank you! The guard will know where you need to take them.”
She passes them to me. One of the kids clings to me for dear life, shaking, while the other one cries into my shirt.
“It’s okay, guys,” I assure them. “You’re safe.”
I race toward the tunnel, protecting the garden the furthest thing from my mind. Making sure everyone gets to a safe place is more important.
A gust of wind hits my back and I drop to my knees, one of the kids wailing.
“I’ve got you.”
I turn to see Vadim behind me, his hands on my waist to help me stand. He takes one of the children.
“They’re going to the Sub,” I tell him, yelling over the howling wind.
He nods, putting a hand on my lower back. We take off for the tunnel entrance together.
30
Human test subject males showed increased aggression and emotional volatility. Increasing procreation urges is proving difficult. For our next round of test subjects, we will increase the compound’s testosterone.
- Excerpt from the journal of Dr. Randall McClain
“Would you rather have no front teeth or a butthole that never stops itching?”
Marcus shakes his head, lips quirking as he rubs his jaw. “Really?”
I roll my shoulders, tired of sitting at the table in the front room of his quarters. “Just answer.”
He exhales heavily. “I guess the itchy butthole.”
“But not just a little itch, like a hardcore, driving you so mad you have to scratch it all the time kind.”
We’ve been sheltering for a couple hours, the reports Marcus has gotten over his radio about the storm going from bad to worse. Apparently, high winds and small chunks of ice have made visibility near impossible. But everyone in the camp is accounted for, so all we can do now is wait it out. I’ve convinced him the time will seem to pass faster if we play Would You Rather.
“Which one would you pick?” he asks.
I smile. “I see what you did there. Like picking your butt because your butthole itches.”
He rolls his eyes. “I didn’t make that connection.”
“I’d choose no front teeth. But I’m not vain.”
He barks out a laugh. “I see. And I am?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. Are you?”
His amused expression slides away. “I used to be, but not so much anymore. The only time I look in the mirror is to make sure I don’t cut myself while I’m shaving.”
“Bigger things to worry about?”
He nods, then says, “I thought of one. Would you rather have a beard you can never shave or be bald and you can never grow your hair back?”