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The glass wall was open, so I stepped inside the cell, pausing momentarily to study the thickness of the glass.
“It’s ballistic grade, strongest glass out there,” Nixon remarked.
“You spared no expense for this room,” I muttered. “You had it built after you caught the Cobra?”
“No.”
No? I looked at Nixon at that, wanting a bit more clarity than that single-worded answer, but he offered none. I supposed it was none of my business, anyway. Whatever weird shit Nixon got up to was indeed not of my concern.
Nixon shut the glass and locked it up. “I will be down at eight with breakfast. You will want to make sure you keep up your strength. We don’t know exactly how this is going to go.” He did not say a word more as he turned to leave, out of my sight within seconds.
I heaved a sigh as I went to sit on the bed. The metal frame creaked beneath my weight, and I bent my head to study the mask in my hand. This was all for Giselle. I hoped to God she got what she wanted out of this.
I moved to lay down on the bed, staring at the ceiling in the cramped room. Time to play the waiting game.
Honestly, it was a game I was used to. When you took a job from the Guild, you were expected to have a clean kill. To either make it look like an accident or paint a picture that pointed fingers at a robbery gone wrong or something along those lines. Very rarely did the Guild require brutality—although if the client had enough money, the Guild would never turn down a job.
All that to say, my life was one big waiting game after another, only now was a little different, because as I lay there, I found I could not get one particular girl out of my mind. Giselle would accompany my thoughts today, be my ghostly partner, always there, lingering in my mind.
What I wouldn’t give to be with her right now, but alas, the priest had been given a job, and this one was mine.
Time went on. I might’ve napped here and there, but when I was awake, I was ready to leap into action. The pants I wore were a little tight, but they’d do. A matching black long-sleeved shirt covered most of my arms. Really, once I had the mask on, the only skin visible on my body would be my hands and my neck.
It was silly, this mask. Almost cartoonish, like it belonged in some fantasy world or even a comic book. But, somehow, the mask held an air of foreboding, like the metal itself had collected the sins of its owner. It stayed cold, no matter how long I held onto it.
Super fucking creepy.
All I knew was I couldn’t wait until this whole thing was done and I never looked at this damned mask again.
Nixon came down with breakfast, I assumed promptly when he said he would—didn’t have my phone or any type of clock down here, which only lent to the liminal feeling this room had—and I ate what I could. There was a system of putting my empty tray near the glass door, where it opened; Nixon informed me of that before leaving me to eat.
And then more waiting.
In this room, the minutes felt like hours and the hours felt like days. I shit you not, it was like a whole goddamned eternity passed while I waited for Anthony to make his move on me.
Since I had nothing but time, I wondered how Miguel had bought Anthony. Money, obviously, but Nixon was clearly wealthy as well, so there had to be more to it. Threatening his family, maybe, if he didn’t comply?
And speaking of that, how did Anthony discover it was the Cobra he was guarding? If the guards themselves weren’t allowed down here, how did he find out?
Maybe it was a rumor. Maybe they’d heard all about how the Cobra had almost taken out the Black Hand single-handedly, and suddenly they were hired to watch Nixon’s house right after the smoke cleared. Literally right after. Maybe Anthony put two and two together.
Or perhaps it was Miguel who’d put it all together. Maybe he’d been searching for the Cobra, couldn’t find out what had been done with him. No grave. No evidence of a cremation. Nothing at all except new guards at Nixon’s house. After everything I’d learned about the man from Giselle, I knew he was a conniving, intelligent man—the most dangerous kind of man. If he wanted to dig up dirt, he would.
Course, now it didn’t matter so much how Shay’s secret had been found out. Anthony would pay the price; Shay and the others would make sure of that, after we took care of Miguel. It was up to me to find out what the rest of his plan was, so we could thwart it in a public fashion.
I had no clue what time it was when the lights went out, but the moment the fluorescent lights switched to what must be tiny, dim lights powered by a backup generator, I sat up and put the mask on. It was showtime.
I got up, went into the opposite corner of the cell, and waited. My ears heard nothing, nothing at all until someone’s footsteps came rushing into the unenclosed half of the room. My hands twitched when I saw Anthony’s face peering at me from the other side of the glass.
Thirty years old, maybe. White skin. A short beard. A semi-crooked nose. About a foot shorter than me. Unimpressive in every aspect.
Since I had to act a little crazy, I walked up to the glass opposite him and slowly tilted my masked face, like I was studying him, picturing all the ways I could kill him. My hands twitched at my sides.
“My boss has a proposition for you,” Anthony spoke. “He wants me to bring you to him, but… but I need to know you won’t kill me if I let you out.” Ah, at last he was smart enough to realize letting a psychopath like the Cobra free was not the best way to guarantee his safety.
I didn’t say a word. I let the silence speak for me.
Anthony must’ve taken that as an affirmative, because he got to work on opening the glass door. The first moment that door cracked open, I acted how I assumed a trapped man would after being freed: I rushed out.
