Twisted Metal Heart - Eve Langlais Page 0,11

of the goddess, his father an agnostic. Titan tended to stick in the middle and cover both sides.

With the initial horror of what happened waning, the more practical part of himself woke. Slapped him a bit, called him a cunt, and told him to stop being a whiny-ass little fucker.

He lived. That was the most important part. He was somewhere safe for the moment. Or so he assumed. He had only Riella’s word that she was looking out for him. Although he didn’t doubt for a moment she’d worked hard. He wouldn’t soon forget the tearing pain of teeth in his flesh.

He glanced at the empty spots on his body. No matter her motive in deciding to help, he hoped she spoke the truth about giving him some bionic limbs. It would take two hands to strangle her.

Would he strangle her? She’d already admitted she could have come to his rescue sooner. Her hesitation had cost him.

The drumming of his fingers on the table didn’t ease his restlessness. Standing took a bit of effort, as his body wobbled, the full leg trying to balance all his weight. It didn’t help he’d remained prone for so many days.

The broth she’d left him sat unhappily in his stomach. He refused to spew it. He didn’t know if anyone watched. Didn’t want to show any weakness.

He chose instead to study all the tech filling the space. The pristine room hummed with machinery. It also had a stool on wheels.

It took some hopping and throwing himself to get his hands on it. Then at least he could scoot, ass planted on the seat while his left foot pushed him around. It made him feel better to be able to move.

He stopped by the door. Glanced at the handle. More than likely locked in.

Much like when you lay in bed thinking you had to take a piss and couldn’t sleep until you did, once he started wondering about the door, he had to see. He put his hand on the knob and opened it.

Then sat there on his stool, staring at the wall across from the opening for a moment. He’d not expected to go anywhere. Apparently neither had she. He glanced down at himself, shirtless, bare footed, not a single weapon to his name. But he had a stool. He could explore and see more of this place. Maybe he’d scrounge out a vehicle to use. Surely there was a method of transport hidden in the citadel somewhere. How else did she get supplies?

But did he really want to leave before she’d kept her promise? She’d said she’d give him a metal arm and leg.

He closed the door and wheeled back toward the bed. He wasn’t ready to leave quite yet.

Parking the stool, he had to lie down face first and drag himself on the bed before he could sit. It left him panting and annoyed.

But it was doable. It would get easier once he became adept, because there was no guarantee he’d get those bionic limbs or if they’d function for him.

He shuffled to sit with his back against the wall at the top of the bed. How long until someone came to see him again?

While he waited, he processed what he knew. Riella lived in the citadel, and not alone by her words, even if he’d not seen anyone else yet. Women did not live alone. Not in one of the most barren spots in existence.

Perhaps she was here with her husband.

The idea discomfited.

What did he care if she had a promised one? Good for her if she’d found someone. He’d not settled down mostly because the available women he knew were like sisters and aunts to him, always giving him advice.

But he was getting to that age where men either promised someone or stayed alone. Did he want a family? He might have before, but now? He looked down at his stump. Now everything had changed.

He shifted rather than dwell on his situation and looked around again. So much medical equipment and yet none of it could save his arm or leg. Then again, if it were as bad as she claimed, it wouldn’t have mattered. No one, not even Oliander—Haven’s doctor—could have done anything. It was also a begrudging thing to realize Oliander would have amputated to save him, too, even though he couldn’t promise him any legs, metal or otherwise.

Who was this woman?

Forgetting for a moment, he went to shove himself off the bed, needing to pace, only to