Page 59 of Cold Foot King
“What is this for?”
“For you. I can’t do this shit. I can’t do the emotional-girl stuff. Just…don’t cry around me.” He shrugged like he was uncomfortable and trudged off, leaving her with the pine cone resting on the palm of her hand.
“I was trying to cry alone,” she called after him.
“Don’t care,” he called without turning around.
The pine cone in her hand said he did care.
Honestly, it kind of touched her heart. She didn’t have many belongings, so she wrapped her fingers around it and followed Cash toward the huge yellow machine that was smoking exhaust out the back and warming up.
This was the start of a new life. She had planned on King being a part of it, but he didn’t want it. Didn’t want to build something with her. She would overthink this for months to come, but she couldn’t fall apart here. Not with these people who were nearly strangers. Not when she didn’t understand her feelings, or know how to shoulder the hurt.
Her footing was so uneven now, and she hated the feeling.
Quietly, she climbed into the machine and made her way to the back seat. It was empty. She set her bag next to herself, and clutched the letter from King as she looked out the window and tried to steady her thoughts.
Her life was hopeful, but it didn’t feel that way. She had come miles from the monotonous day-to-day that existed in Cold Foot Prison, and she was headed toward a better life, with a Crew, and a built-in family.
But this damn hole in her chest just felt like it was getting deeper and wider.
If this was really the medicine, as Raynah believed, she hoped the love she had for King would fade fast.
After it did, she hoped she never fell for anyone ever again.
Chapter Eleven
“You’re sure about this?” Wreck asked.
They were parked in the visitor’s parking lot of Cold Foot Prison. Not that they had been allowed to have visitors. This lot was all for show. Now, it was full of media.
Wreck had parked the truck at the very end of a row, just to observe the chaos.
“I’m sure,” King rumbled. “Besides, our treatment will probably improve after what Damon is doing with this investigation.”
“Going back into the cage for personal vengeance.” There was a smile in Wreck’s voice.
“Nah. I don’t even know Rook. All I know is the scar that he carved into Katrina’s face.”
“Silver’s face too,” Wreck murmured thoughtfully, eyes on the back entrance of the prison. “There’s our ticket in. Let’s go.”
The man of the hour, Damon Daye, the blue dragon himself, was striding out of the prison with half a dozen other people. Every shifter on this planet knew Damon Daye. He held the power, and had used it for good to advocate for shifters. His gutting of Cold Foot was another notch on his belt that said he was building his legacy as a fucking legend.
Such a boss.
King shoved the door open and followed Wreck toward Damon and his people.
Damon swung his gaze directly to Wreck, to King, and back to Wreck. He said something low to his team and veered straight for them.
“There’s cameras with special mics that can pick up everything,” Damon whispered. “If this is about the Crew, the answer is no.”
“It’s not about the Crew,” King told him. “I know I’m out. I’m not fighting it.”
Damon’s eyes narrowed. They were silver-colored and had elongated pupils, and the air all around them felt heavier by the moment. “What is it about?”
“He wants at Rook,” Wreck murmured softly.
Damon straightened his spine, lifted his chin, and stared at King for a three-count before he glanced around at the media that were headed their way. “Come with me.” He did an about-face and strode quickly for the prison.