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  “How are you feeling?” he asked.

  I fought the urge to give him a flippant, obnoxious reply. As my mind focused and understood better where I was and what was going on around me, I knew Mark was going to be my key to getting out of here. Moretti’s lawyer could only do so much without my shrink saying I was safe enough to be out on the streets. Without his recommendation, I wasn’t going anywhere.

  “I feel a lot better.” It was easier when I didn’t have to lie. “I feel like I can think straight again.”

  I glanced back and forth between Lia and Mark a few times and let my eyes widen.

  “I really fucked up,” I said. I shook my head a little before glancing back to Mark. “Shit—did I hurt anybody?”

  Mark let out a long breath.

  “No, Evan. You didn’t hurt anybody.”

  I nodded slowly, internally pleased that he was none the wiser about my actual activities. All I had to do now was keep myself in check—calm and collected—until Rinaldo and his resources could get me out of here.

  That didn’t end up working out so well.

  Mark Duncan left us with the guard so he could go to the warden and discuss some paperwork. I sat up and leaned against the wall of the room with Lia sitting next to me, rubbed at my eyes, which were thick with sleep, and tried not to let the grit remind me of sand.

  “How are you really feeling?” Lia asked quietly. She glanced up at the guard and then back to me before she reached over and placed her hand on my thigh.

  “Better,” I said honestly. “My head’s a little clearer, anyway.”

  “You woke up a couple of times,” Lia said. “I wasn’t sure what I should do, but you settled down within a few minutes. You seemed to sleep pretty well after that, though.”

  “I remember,” I told her. “How long was I out?”

  “Almost six hours.”

  Maybe it wasn’t a full night’s sleep, but it was a hell of a lot better than I had been getting. I couldn’t have said I felt right, but at least I knew what was happening around me. I leaned my head against her shoulder and touched my nose to her neck. I wanted to turn her toward me and kiss her the way I knew she liked it but not with the guard watching over us. I wasn’t much for public displays.

  “Evan?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Tell me what happened.”

  I tensed, wondering for a moment if she meant what I had done from the balcony of my apartment but understood pretty quickly that my display there wasn’t what she wanted to know. I knew it before she even had a chance to confirm it.

  “Tell me what happened to you over there.”

  “Fuck.” The word escaped from my throat like a rifle blast. My hands clenched into fists as images of tanks, uniformed enlisted troops with their eyes wide and nervous, and sand filled my mind. I shook my head to rid myself of the images, but it didn’t work.

  “Please—I want to know.”

  “No,” I said. I pushed myself up using the wall as support and stumbled a little as I gained my footing. Lia stood with me, her hand reaching out to touch my arm.

  “Evan—I need to know so I can help you. How else am I supposed to know what to do?”

  I stared at her, breathing through my mouth and trying not to hyperventilate. The thing was, I wanted to tell her—desperately so. I wanted to tell her everything—even the shit I never told the military during debriefing. But could I do it? Could I relive all of it over again for the sake of total disclosure? The guilt? The pain? The heat? The fucking sand?

  The door opened, and Mark stepped in. His eyes darted back and forth as he tried to assess the situation. The noise and movement startled me, and I swallowed hard before taking a step back and breaking my connection with Lia completely.

  “No.”

  “Evan–” she called as she reached for me again.

  “No!” I screamed and shoved her away.

  She stumbled, and her back hit the wall behind her. Mark stepped up and reached for her, his hands grasping her arms to steady her and keep her from falling. Without hesitation, the guard grabbed me, yelled for backup, and wrestled me to the table. I didn’t resist—I knew when a fight was pointless. I knew that all too well.

  “Don’t ask me.” I kept eye contact with her, pleading from the tabletop. “Please don’t ask me that.”

  Lia stared at me, wide-eyed with tears forming on her lashes. I didn’t want her to be upset, but I couldn’t do what she was asking. I couldn’t go through all of that again.

  Two other guards came in, but it must have been evident that I wasn’t protesting because they only helped get my hands back into the cuffs so I could be led out of the room and away from Lia and Mark.

  Keep the crazy man away from the public.

  Shit, this wasn’t going to help at all.

  I closed my eyes as I was yanked back up to a standing position and pushed toward the door.

  “I’m sorry,” I said.

  “It’s okay,” Lia responded. Her hand reached toward me, but with the guards in the way, she couldn’t quite touch. “It’ll be all right.”

  I shook my head and smiled a little, wishing I could believe her words as she watched me being hauled away from her in cuffs once again. How could it ever be all right? As long as I worked for Moretti and the organization, Lia would be in danger if she were associated with me.

  Nothing could be done to change that.

  Chapter 4—Desperate Thoughts

  As we reached the cell block where I was housed, the guard from the visitor’s room decided he didn’t need backup anymore and dismissed the others. He was quite a bit rougher than he needed to be as he shoved me down the hall, apparently trying to cause me to trip over my own feet. He sneered and curled half his face into a nasty little smile, and I remembered how he seemed ready to tell Mark about my connections. I glared at him as I sized him up.

  He was in his mid-forties, overweight, and bald. There was a wedding ring on his left ring-finger and a scar on the back of his left hand that looked like it would have required several stitches, but the wound had obviously occurred a long time ago. His uniform was neatly pressed, and he had a closely trimmed moustache but no other facial hair. He had recently shaved his head, and there was no discernible stubble anywhere.

  So how does a prison unit guard know about me?

  There were only a handful of possibilities, the most likely being that he was once either part of vice or homicide in the police department but had somehow ended up here instead. That kind of career switch definitely wasn’t considered a promotion and would almost certainly be the result of disciplinary action of some kind. As I looked him over, I knew I wasn’t going to find anything useful enough in either his demeanor or clothing to give me that kind of information, so I was going to have to improvise and hope my guesswork was on target.

  I glanced at his shirt. Over the left breast pocket was a plastic nametag reading “Sgt. Masterson” in white letters on a black background.

  “Masterson?”

  He narrowed his eyes but didn’t say anything.

  “Bet the guys on the force still have a good laugh thinking about you spending your time playing valet to a bunch of lowlifes, huh?”

  His eyes narrowed and the smirk disappeared. He started to open his mouth, but I cut him off.

  “Nothing makes you feel more useless than being thrown into a shit job some pissant, high school football player could handle. I bet the wife got a kick out of the pay cut, too, didn’t she?”

  I stopped walking, and my arms jerked a little as he kept moving forward. Like I figured he would, he shoved my back to get me going again, making me stumble.

  “Makes you feel like you’ve got a foot-long cock, pushing me around, doesn’t it? You believe because you think you know a little something that you have some sort of power in this relationship, but you don’t. Shove me around all you want; it doesn’t change a damn thing.”

  “You need to shut your mouth, Arden,” he growled
quietly.

  “Now there’s a topic I would like to discuss,” I replied. “You ever consider discussing my personal business with someone again, and I’ll make sure you find out just how accurate your information is.”

  “You threatening me, Arden?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” I replied. “What could someone in my position do to someone like you…or maybe your family…from in here?”

  As every sarcastic word flowed from my mouth to his ears, I raised an eyebrow and stared right into his eyes until he looked away. I didn’t need any further words, though—I’d made my point, and the look in his eyes showed his understanding. He obviously wasn’t an idiot. It didn’t matter that he currently had me in handcuffs and was bringing me back to a locked room. He knew my reach extended far beyond the walls that held me prisoner.

  “I hope you end up going away for a long time, Arden,” he said.

  “Doubtful,” I replied. “After all, I didn’t hurt anyone, did I?”

  He mumbled something under his breath, but I couldn’t make it out. We’d arrived at my cell door, and though there were a dozen or so inmates in the common area playing checkers and bumper pool, apparently I wasn’t on the approved list.

  I suppose he did have a little control there, but I didn’t give a shit.

  With a shove from Masterson, I was propelled back into my cell. The cuffs were removed, and as I was left alone, the confusion and disassociation from before I had slept gave way to anger and frustration. With few options available in the tiny room, I mindlessly took it out on the furniture.

  Well, the mattress, chair, and pillow at least—everything else was bolted down.

  It was extremely dissatisfying and quickly over. I had wreaked all the destruction I could, which was certainly by design, so I dropped down on the floor with my head in my hands and growled at myself. The mattress dropped from its precarious position against the wall and hit my leg, so I kicked at it until it fell away from me.

  “You’re a fucking idiot.”

  I squeezed my eyes shut for a moment and told myself to stop talking out loud when there wasn’t anyone else around. I considered it a symptom of losing my mind, and if the past was any indication, it was a fairly accurate sign. The more I did it, the less likely it was that I was thinking clearly.

  Focus.

  Before I could do anything else, I needed to get my shit together. I needed to stop with the fucking dreams and flashbacks—but how did I do that?

  “Lia.” At least I whispered this time.

  She was the key. With her, I could sleep, avoid the dreams, and gain some clarity. The problem was that having her anywhere near me—even while I was incarcerated—was a dangerous situation for her, and she didn't deserve any of this. She shouldn't have to concern herself with my fucked up life, but that was exactly what she'd been drawn into.

  I knew deep inside that I should just let her go– refuse to see her again and maybe do something obnoxious to drive her away. Of course, she had already witnessed me at my worst and didn’t seem to be running away yet.

  Well, sort of my worst. There were things she hadn’t seen and things she didn’t know about that she might consider far worse than what she had witnessed. I didn’t really know how she would feel about that, and I didn’t want to find out just what sort of expression might cross her face if she became aware of my job description.

  That led me to another thought: I had no idea how she would react to my professional activities because I really didn’t know that much about her. I didn’t even know where she was from or what she did for a living. She’d pelted me with a lot of questions during the thirty or so hours we had spent together, and I had answered them like a fool, but I hadn’t asked her much about herself.

  What did I know about her?

  She had an ex-fiancé who drank a lot and got nasty with her, up to and including both smacking her on at least one occasion and shoving her out of a moving car in the middle of the desert. I also knew her father had died of cancer, and her mother lived in Phoenix. Mom didn’t like the ex.

  William.

  I’d practically offered to kill the guy for being an asshole, and she’d flinched from me. That actually told me a lot, at least as far as process of elimination. She wasn’t used to a life of violence other than a drunken, abusive boyfriend, which meant all the shit I was involved in would probably freak her the hell out.

  She liked her sex rough, though.

  She had been the most turned on when I was holding her down and slamming into her from behind. I could practically feel the way her body gripped my cock as she came on me. I remembered that with the utmost clarity, almost to the point where the memory was going to give me a hard-on. It was only my unfortunate surroundings that kept me from considering jacking off to the images in my head.

  Just what I need—the asshole guard peeking at me through the window when I have my dick out.

  I shook my head and thought about what else had transpired during my brief time with Lia.

  I’d told her my full name, which was probably how she managed to track me down at all. I’d told her I was retired from the Marines and that she didn’t want to know anything else about me.

  What else did I know about her?

  Nothing.

  No wait—there was one more thing I knew, and it was kind of the key to my whole situation. I knew I would do anything and everything for her, no questions asked. I couldn’t really frame in my own head why that was, only that the moment I woke up in the Arizona cabin lying with her on that tiny bed, I had been hers.

  The most bizarre thought came into my head. It wasn’t the thought itself that was so strange but more the fact that I had never considered it before.

  What if I left the organization? What if I went to Rinaldo after all of this was over and told him I didn’t want to be a hit man anymore? What if I told him I wanted to retire? I had plenty of money stashed away—mostly in cash but a bit in foreign accounts as well. It might not be enough to live on indefinitely, but it was a damn good start.

  Did anyone ever do that?

  Not that I had ever seen. Feet first was the only way out of this kind of business as far as I knew. I’d never paid attention though. Could it be that there were some out there who had just moved on with their lives? If there were, was that something Rinaldo would let me do?

  Could I really even live like that—off the edge, keeping my hands clean? Was that even remotely possible, or would I always be drawn to violence and death like I had in the past?

  If I told Lia everything, would she still go with me?

  “Fuck it. This is stupid.”

  Too many fucking questions and no way to get answers from where I was. I rubbed the heels of my hands into my eyes and looked around at the room. With an audible sigh, I hauled myself back onto my feet and tossed the mattress back onto the bed frame before flopping down on it, grabbing the pillow to my chest and staring at the toilet in the corner. My eyes started to hurt with the strain of staring, so I closed them for a moment.

  My body was still tired, but my mind was far too active for rest. As the possibilities for the future clambered around in my head, the idea became more and more attractive.

  I had always been one of Rinaldo’s favorites, ever since Jonathan brought me to him, and I took out a guy he wanted put down the very next day. I was like a son to him, and he was like my father. What father wouldn’t allow his son to follow his dreams, right? Especially when he’d done so much for the father already.

  Fat fucking chance.

  Still, if he were going to allow anyone to leave the organization, it would be me. Hell, he allowed Nick, his illegitimate son, to basically ignore all the business shit that went on around him. The guy didn’t do a damn thing to earn his keep unless fucking every other woman he met and smoking weed were something he planned on putting on his resume.

  I hadn’t thought about Nick with everything else going down, and I recalled the last conversation I ha
d with Rinaldo on the topic of his son, who had apparently found himself an actual girlfriend, as opposed to a convenient fuck. Of course, he managed to pick Milena Severinov, the most inconvenient girl he could possibly have chosen to have hanging out in his bed.

  Rinaldo had been concerned—Milena was the niece of one of Rinaldo’s rivals in the Russian mob, though she didn’t seem to have anything to do with it herself. Her brother, Micah Severinov, was one I knew. He had been quickly added to my kill roll within the first month of his arrival in Chicago. I just hadn’t gotten around to him yet. I almost did the night I came face-to-face with him at Sweetwater, but Nick had gotten in the way, basically telling me not to go after him for the sake of the chick he was banging. I had planned to follow up on it with Rinaldo but ended up finding out about Bridgett before I had the chance.

  Maybe if I offered to take out the whole Severinov family, Rinaldo would consider letting me go. It would probably piss Nick off, but I really didn’t give a shit about how he felt. I needed to figure out how I could both protect Lia and stay with her at the same time. I was willing to consider any and all alternatives to getting what I wanted.

  I rolled onto my back and stared at the ceiling. My head might have been clear, but my thoughts were still leaning toward the impractical if not quite insane. I had to figure out what strategy would allow me to end up with Lia in some remote area far away from Chicago and the people who knew me based on the business I conducted.

  I wasn’t going to be able to do any of that shit from where I was at the moment. Unfortunately, this was going to be a waiting game as much as anything else. Michael Beard, the attorney, and Rinaldo obviously had some sort of plan, and I was going to have to be patient enough to wait for it to come to fruition.

  Patience wasn’t my best attribute.

  Still, first things first. Before I could figure out how to plan a life with Lia, assuming she was even interested, I had to get out of this place.

  *****

  Rinaldo’s visit had been expected. Even when my head wasn’t working quite right, I knew he would be coming to see me. Now, whether he brought a lawyer or someone to kill me right there in the visiting area was anyone’s guess, but showing his face wasn’t. He’d need to look me in the eye and make sure whatever the fuck I had done was about me and not about him. He needed to know I hadn’t betrayed him.