Page 1 of Blood We Steal

ONE

Simone

“How much did they pay you to betray me?”

Rubin’s question was simple.

He delivered it like he was asking after the weather, like my answer had no meaning at all.

His stare was the same, his ink-black eyes impassive, his harsh features as relaxed as they ever got.

I shifted in my seat, the cheap plastic squeaking. The sound was loud and harsh in the silent room. It was strange that any place in this jail was silent. The walk here had been anything but.

Officer Merrick, the shift supervisor and one of my least favorite guards, had paraded me through the cell blocks like it wasn’t a violation of regulations and more than one law. I’d never dreamed of being intimately familiar with jail protocol, but now I knew it, chapter and verse. I also knew the difference between the sanitized public face that the sheriff and warden presented and what lay underneath it.

The media and advocacy groups got a tour of the chapel, a quick spin through the library, then out the gates. Visitors got invasive searches with a side of contempt. So me walking through the block across the shiny polished tile, down the overly bright hallways, through the corridors and congregating places with inmates moving freely definitely wasn’t protocol.

The jail reeked of bleach, the industrial kind that should have overwhelmed the smell of everything else but was no match for the misery and malice in this building.

Half the fluorescent lights in the long corridor between the pods were burned out, and the WORK IN PROGRESS hazard sign by the stairwell door was so old, it had started to fray. The mini-control tower in the common area had seating for five guards, but four chairs sat empty, the lone occupant half asleep with a paper mask tucked under his chin.

And there were only two guards at the side gate Rubin’s man had escorted me through. Guards could have been out sick, but the light security was probably to prove a point.

I’d been on display, and that was by design.

Rubin’s, of course.

He still stared at me, but I felt no pressure to respond. He didn’t force the matter, either. Rubin was content to wait, clearly certain that I would eventually bend to his will.

I might, but I wouldn’t make it so easy.

I stretched my legs out in front of me, and looked down at my feet, glad I’d chosen my favorite sneakers today. They happened to be my only sneakers but that was beside the point. I’d gotten them for an extra twenty percent off during a sidewalk sale. Fair trade, even though they’d clearly been worn and returned. Today I paired them with my perfect outfit, a pair of dark-wash jeans and modest off-white button-down that could be dressed up with heels or paired with flats or sneakers for a day about town.

Not that outfits mattered anymore, not after the last month.

Some mysterious virus had hit and spread hard and fast. So fast that the bank where I worked had gone ATM-only. Even worse, I’d missed my weekly visits with Aaron. He insisted I stay away from the jail, telling me there was no need to come to the heart of the city when things were so shaky.

So maybe there was a silver lining to Rubin pseudo-kidnapping me. At least I’d get to see Aaron. I missed him, and he hadn’t called in four days. I tilted my lips up in a smile thinking about the chance to see Aaron again.

One quick glance told me Rubin wasn’t smiling. He just stared at me waiting, knowing I would acquiesce. I’d had a fleeting thought that maybe eighteen months in jail so far and a lifetime of prison to come would have humbled him.

Rubin Marku didn’t do humble.

Ignoring the heavy weight of his gaze, I glanced around the office and settled on the bookshelf.

The warden liked philosophy. In addition to Durkheim’s collected works, there were volumes of crime data statistics, and a surprisingly extensive collection of legal thrillers. Given his job, I would think he got enough of that, but who was I to judge?

One thing I could judge him for was his brown thumb. The two ficus on either side of the bookshelf had definitely seen better days. I wondered why he didn’t put them closer to the window. Sure, it had bars, but a little sunlight would have helped.

Then again, him having a brown thumb wasn’t the worst of sins. Being on Rubin Marku’s payroll was something else.

A sin we had in common at one point.

“Why am I here, Mr. Marku?” I asked.

I looked in his direction, my gaze somewhere above his eyebrows. I wouldn’t dare look lower. I couldn’t bear to meet his eyes again.

Maybe they burned with fire.