That’s a bitter pill to swallow when you’re grappling for self-confidence.
Although I’m barely with it, both physically and mentally, it doesn’t even take a second to recall that what happens to me doesn’t solely affect me anymore. This will hurt Maddox as much as it will me, so for that reason, and that reason alone, I slide my hand under my pillow, flick off the safety of my gun, then direct the barrel so it sits under my attacker’s ribs.
“Stop!” I beg through a sob, giving him a final chance to redeem himself.
When he ignores my screams and his penis probes me enough that I feel violated, I pull back the trigger, ending both the stranger’s life and mine with one bullet.
22
Maddox
When the light in the hole slowly flickers on, I scamper for the slot in the door. My sense of time is warped, but if the number of meals that have been delivered to me are anything to go by, I’ve been locked in the dark the past three days. There have been no daily visits by Agent Moses. No ransom demands. Just meals through a slot and endless silence.
The latter is killing me more than anything.
How can I protect Demi when I’m in the dark as to what is happening? Agent Moses would be a fool to hurt her, she is the only bargaining chip he has, but his comment about leveling up has me worried. Col is a constant blocker to Agent Moses’s wish to dominate the underworld, but you can’t take down the king without his subjects being placed into the firing zone alongside him.
“Where is Agent Moses?” I repeat for the umptieth time today. “I want to see Agent Moses—”
My demand is cut off by a familiar yet apprehensive tone. “Arrow is currently indisposed.”
“Indisposed where?” I query while peering through the slot, curious as to why Warden Mattue’s usually dreary pitch is piqued with apprehension. He doesn’t run the show around here. From what I’ve gathered the past year, Agent Moses took over the reins not long before I was sentenced, but this is the first time I’ve seen him so cautious. His arrogance is normally as haughty as Agent Moses’s.
After returning my stare, Warden Mattue mutters, “That doesn’t matter right now. We have more pressing matters to attend to.” He gestures to the guard standing next to the slot to open the door before he adds in a warning tone, “No tomfoolery, Ox. If you make a fool out of me, you’ll spend the remainder of your sentence in the hole.”
It dawns on me that it’s super early when the guard pulls open the door. The sun has barely risen, meaning it’s glaring through the head-high windows in the basement of Wallens Ridge.
The warden shoves a freshly laundered jumpsuit into my chest before nudging his head to a set of shower cubicles. “Go get cleaned up.”
Although I have a ton of questions rolling through my head, I shuffle toward the bathroom. Yes, I said shuffle. My legs are so cramped, they’re as anesthetized as my heart the past three days. Something feels off. I’m just hoping like fuck it has nothing to do with Demi or my family. The last time there was this much edginess in the air, my sister was sentenced to be mauled by a dog.
After a record-breaking shower, I scrub my teeth with a toothbrush a guard left on the last vanity sink in a line of many, then shove it into the pocket of my jumpsuit like the bristles aren’t wet. It’s useless as it is now, but you’ll be amazed at how dangerous it could become when a man’s nerves are bordering on insanity. Mine are there now, dangerously teetering over a very steep cliff.
Once I’m shackled, I am shoved into an elevator four guards are manning with machine guns strapped to their chests. During our short ride, Warden Mattue states his terms. “No discussions about the prison operation whatsoever, and neither Agent Moses nor I are to be mentioned. If you abide by those two stipulations, Ox, I will increase the meal roster in the hole from one meal a day to three.”
So my calculations were correct. I’ve been in the hole for three days.
Feeling edgy, I give Warden Mattue’s seemingly impenetrable composure a little push. You can’t learn someone’s limits without occasionally pushing their boundaries. “And if I don’t agree with your terms? What happens then?”
Bile scorches the back of my throat when the warden replies, “Demi will join you here via consecutive life sentences.” I assume he’s referencing Demi’s recent confession that she’s recruiting fighters for her uncle’s tournament again but am proven wrong when he mutters, “You can’t blow a man’s brains out during a drug-fueled bender and not pay for the consequences of your actions.”
“What the fuck did I miss?” I mumble to anyone listening, too stunned by the honesty in Warden Mattue’s eyes to seek confirmation with my fists.
He straightens the collar on my jumpsuit like I’m not seconds from going on a rampage before gesturing for me to enter his office before him. “We don’t have time to go over matters now, but once we have this settled, I’ll tell you everything I know.” He guides me to his desk, pushes me into the chair opposite his, then weaves his fingers through my damp hair to straighten out the kinks.
“Get the fuck off me.”
Anyone would swear he was polishing me up to meet royalty.
It dawns on me that that is the case when he suggests, “Keep the focus on him. There’s no better way to defuse a Petretti than to stroke their ego. You can talk shop, tattoos, drugs, or the girl who’s got his head in such a tailspin, he put thirty million dollars on the line to protect her, but whatever you do, donotmention his daughter.”
The last part of his comment announces my visitor is Dimitri, but the first three-quarters of it confuse the hell out of me. Dimitri only ever protects himself. The way he left Demi high and dry after pledging to protect her is sure-fire proof of this, much less what he let happen to Justine. He could have stopped his father. He’s the only person capable of getting through to him, yet he left Justine to face his wrath alone. That’s all the proof I need that Dimitri doesn’t have a heart in his chest. He’d need one of them to care about anyone but himself.
Before I can unravel a smidge of my confusion, Warden Mattue pulls a folded piece of paper out of the breast pocket of his jacket. “Memorize this.”
My eyes only scan the first three lines of the document before they snap to the warden. “Is this true?” The document states a Russian sanction is attempting a resurge in Ravenshoe. Several contenders are stated in the brief, including one highly familiar name to anyone who grew up in the Ravenshoe/Hopeton region. Katie Byrne. She was abducted from Ravenshoe years ago, and despite several key witnesses coming forward to assist police with their investigation, she hasn’t been seen since. “Or is Agent Moses attempting to start a mafia turf war?”
My back molars smash together when the warden’s eyes rocket to mine. He couldn’t lie his way out of a speeding ticket even if his life depended on it.
