Page 156 of Pink

THIRTY-ONE

LEV FOUND himself back in jail the second his feet touched American soil—arrested on more charges than he cared to think about. Not to mention the time he could possibly face should he be found guilty.

Some of the charges related to his previous arrest before they went after Jensen; they had proof he left America when he wasn’t even supposed to leave the states until that was cleared up. Other charges came from suspicion of his involvement in Gigi’s disappearance and attack when she showed up nearly dead in a Mexican hospital.

They even tacked on some interesting charges relating to the strange disappearance of Revver’s owner, Jensen Todrey, after the Mexican officials worked with the American side of things to hand over information on the estate in the bay that had burned to the ground.

Along with the bodies inside of it. Good riddance to trash, he thought.

Lev wasn’t saying anything.

Neither were his lawyers.

If he didn’t admit guilt—not to even one of the charges—then he couldn’t give them something to use for anything else, either. He had never needed to play this game with law enforcement before. Despite his connections to the mob, he hadn’t faced more than a couple of nights in jail for beating the hell out of someone on Andino’s demand.

This was not the same.

He was looking at life.

Lev wasn’t entirely sure how a plan that seemed entirely rock-solid ended up collapsing out from under his very feet, but one good thing had come out of the mess. Gigi was alive. Safe. That had been the most important thing from the start even if now that seemed like a distant memory.

They could deal with the rest.

Somehow.

Not that he knew how. Because he didn’t have the first fucking clue.

Rubbing at the sore spot in the middle of his chest where he’d taken a slug to his vest, Lev listened to the sound of footsteps approaching the outside of his cell. Nearly two weeks since his back hit the water, and it was only now that the bruising in the center of his chest had finally faded to a yellow tint. The bitch still hurt, though.

Or maybe the memory did.

“How are you doing?” the familiar guard asked, coming to stand at the cell’s doors.

He passed the guy a look, shrugging from where he sat on the metal bed. The thin mattress and indestructible sheet they provided for him to use couldn’t really be considered anything comfortable, so it was basically like he slept on a hard slab. Or sat. Read. Ate, even.

All in this fucking cell.

For a man that appreciated his freedom, being locked away like an animal wasn’t exactly his idea of a good time. The longer he was kept in jail, the worse his irritation became. Stir-crazy wasn’t a good enough word for the constant restlessness that chased his days and nights. He barely slept a wink. The food was garbage. And if one more jailhouse priest stopped by to ask if he had anything to confess or talk about, well, he was going to blow.

Lev wanted only a few things.

His daughter.

Gigi.

Home.

And all of it had been taken away. He took some sense of comfort in the fact that he had people working on his side to make sure some things were handled in a way the police, or others, couldn’t touch. Like Arely. Who, as far as he understood, was in the custody of Nessa until her father was released—if he was released. He had Andino to thank for that, and the team of lawyers that immediately stepped in to protect his daughter from the media storm and child services.

The guard passed the food on the tray at the door a look. Lev had left it there, mostly untouched, other than the apple he ate, and the small bottle of water he cracked open and downed. He didn’t care for the egg sandwich that smelled like it had seen better days, or the soup that he couldn’t quite place. It didn’t look like any kind of soup he had ever eaten before, and he didn’t plan on putting in his mouth on this day.

He bet the only thing worse than being in jail was being in jail with food poisoning. Nah, he’d rather starve.

“Maybe later, I can get you something better to eat,” the guard said. “We’ll see how my next break goes.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

The man shrugged. “Don’t I, Pink?”