Otherwise Unharmed

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 had 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.

Lia’s visit was a little more jolting, but if I had been in my right mind, I would have figured it was going to happen. After all, she had seen me carted off by a SWAT team and was taking care of my dog. It made sense for her to show up.

The third visit though—that one caught me completely off guard and was bound to end very badly for me.

Two men.

Dark suits.

They were escorted by a short, ginger-haired man I hadn’t met but still recognized as the prison warden. He looked from me to the other men but didn’t say a word as he leaned over, spoke into the guard’s ear, and then escorted him out of the room. As he walked near the door, he reached up and pulled the cord for the security camera out of the wall.

Shit.

I saw the red light on the side of the machine go dim and then watched the suits as they sat down at the table across from me. The cuffs holding me to the bolted-down chair scraped against the chains as my hands briefly clenched into fists and then released again.

The man on the right was in his late forties, and he just stared at me without any particular expression on his pale face. The lack of emotion wasn’t a natural thing for him—he was having to work at it pretty hard to keep it going. There was a spot on his cheek that twitched every few seconds, telling me he didn’t feel at all comfortable with trying to portray himself that way. He looked a little awkward in the chair as well but kept himself poised. His suit was tailored, but there were crumbs from a sandwich or something on the lapel, so he wasn’t used to being dressed as nicely as he was. He had salt-and-pepper hair and matching beard.

The other one, though—he was a puzzle.

He was big—really big. Bigger than Mario, even. His head had been shaved close with no marks around it to tell if he shaved it for the sake of the look or if he did it because he had already lost all of his hair anyway. He was in his mid thirties, maybe, and had dark, curly hair around his wrists that stuck out of his cuffs. His suit was also tailored but extremely neat. He even removed the jacket, folded it neatly, and laid it across the back of the chair before he seated himself and looked into my eyes.

His eyes looked familiar, but I was sure I had never met him before.

He smiled, and there was nothing the least bit friendly about the look. He reached his hand out toward me as he spoke.

“Mister Arden, my name is Agent Trent, and this is Agent Johnson. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Most adults, when offered a hand in greeting, reflexively hold out their right hand without question. Without a doubt, this was the response Trent was expecting. It was a calculated and cold move, given the current state of my bound wrists. If I had been the kind of guy who immediately responded in the most polite of ways, I would have fallen for the move and been noisily reminded of the chains attaching my arms to the chair.

I wasn’t that kind of guy, though, so I didn’t move. Trent narrowed his eyes the tiniest amount but recovered within a second. Completely relaxed again, the corner of his mouth turned up slightly as I raised a brow.

I was instantly glad I had managed to get some actual sleep. If I hadn’t, I might have missed his ploy and therefore misjudged him. With my mind back in the game, my perception was strong. I recognized immediately that he was definitely my opponent.

He wasn’t going to be a quick win, though, whatever the game was going to be. Regardless, he’d already made a mistake. The most interesting part of the short exchange was the obvious lack of research Trent had done. He was expecting me to act in a certain way, but he was wrong, and his initial mind-fuck was wasted on me. If he had done his research, he would have gone with another approach, like an officer’s uniform and a salute.

I probably would have responded to that.

Instead, I continued to eye him carefully. I made sure my expression was emotionless as I glanced from his outstretched hand to my bound right wrist and then up to his eyes. I raised my eyebrow again and waited.

“Ah, yes,” Trent said, “I suppose we’ll have to stick with a hello.”

He dropped his hand and tapped twice on the table as he settled in his seat. There wasn’t any reason for the tap, I was sure of that. If there had been any kind of “code” between the two men, Johnson obviously didn’t know about it. He glanced toward the sound, but his expression didn’t change. He was having too much trouble keeping up the façade for his expression to remain the same if he was being given orders of some kind.

What reason then?

To make me paranoid.

I was positive that I was right, and I felt my back stiffen a little as my body and mind went into a heightened state of alert. I had no idea what these two were about, but Trent was a definite threat.

“Time for things to change a little around here, Mister Arden.”

Nothing about this could possibly be in my best interest, so I braced myself and waited.