Chapter Ten #5
“Let’s… go see the prison,” I mutter. Awkward, and loathing it, because when the fuck am I awkward? Or fidgety or… uncertain??
What is this bullshit??
Qué me pasa, honestly…
Outside, Kent is waiting by the SUV, but Jonathan asks, “Can I drive?”
I’m on pause, gawking at him for just a split second, until I get it together and croak, “Uh, sure. Why not.”
“I just figure I’ll have to learn my way around.” He shrugs.
I’m a bit baffled. By all accounts, this man is being blackmailed into working and living here.
Uprooting his life without ever being asked whether he wanted to do so.
You’d think a twenty-six-year-old with a life of his own wouldn’t be so welcoming of being trapped on an island miles away from civilization with no one around, aside from a few miscellaneous robot staff and his boss, the dangerous stranger who’s enslaving him.
But John Chevelle isn’t pouting, or fighting it. The lack of consent isn’t what’s bothering him… He’s more concerned with finding his way to and from work.
“In that case, let’s take the Maybach.” I nod at Kent, who rushes to the garage.
Jonathan’s face lights up even more.
Dios… Who is this guy??
We wander over to the garage as the door opens, revealing my cars.
Well, the ones that are here. My new Maybach S680—ivory white, naturally—and a saddle brown Range Rover that is quite fetching.
Not necessarily my style if I were driving them myself, but so far the idea is that I’ll be chauffeured about the island—because I’m El Presidente.
The Yukons are for the guards, and for everyday use.
Jonathan cocks a dark eyebrow—the one with the metal barbell in it. I have to wonder if that’s why he has that piercing… Because it’s sort of sexy when he does that.
If that’s the case, then I wonder what the tongue ring is for…
I’m grinding my teeth aggressively at the direction my thoughts are taking.
“What? No Rolls?” He turns a smirk on me, and I blink.
“I’ll add it to the shopping list,” I grumble. Not necessarily joking, but he chuckles, so I shrug and grin warily while we hop into the Maybach.
He must be a car guy. His zeal is palpable in the driver’s seat. “If you’re feeling generous, I’ll take one too. In black.”
His smile is far less strained than I’ve seen it up until this point, and I make a mental note that he likes this.
Things that go vroom make Jonathan smile…
It’s an abnormally bright one, too. Perfect teeth… He could be in a toothpaste commercial.
“You like the car?” I ask, watching him closely.
He’s driving like he’s done it a hundred times, with a confidence to him that’s a bit hypnotic, despite having no idea where he’s going.
Sure, there’s only one way to go, but still. I’m becoming truly captivated by the way he’s taking to this whole experience. The mansion, the prison, the island… The change.
Either he’s adaptable as fuck, or he wasn’t too keen on the direction his life was moving as it was, and this arrangement is an unexpected gift for him as much as it is for me.
I won’t say it doesn’t concern me ever so slightly that maybe he’s not just a body for me to program as I see fit, like I’d thought when we met. That said, I’ve never been one to shy from a challenge.
He’s here for the foreseeable future. Plenty of time for him to grow to hate me…
Jonathan’s teasing voice cuts into my angst-ridden thoughts. “It’s alright.” Grin just resting there. Not dampening, even when his forehead lines. “Definitely nicer than my Acura.”
I nod, recalling his mention of selling his car.
He had quite a few loose ends to tie up before coming out here. I helped where I could, but I was highly aware of how it would seem if I started just throwing money at him.
That wasn’t part of this, after all. I’m not some wealthy benefactor, paying off his loans and buying him stuff to get him on board.
This is a job, yes, but it’s also non-negotiable. At the end of the day, he doesn’t have a choice, and sure, I want him to be comfortable because I happen to think he’ll work better that way. But he’s mine, regardless.
As an employee. Like the rest of them.
I’m not a Sugar Daddy.
I’m barely pushing thirty-three, for fuck’s sake. Not even ten years older than he is.
Granted, I’ve always felt older than I am. I had to mature early, what with becoming leader of the cartel at twenty-six, and all. A job Arturo didn’t take on until he was in his thirties.
The hair helps. Despite my not looking a day over thirty, people see the hair and assume I’m older—maybe he just gets Botox or takes really good care of his skin, that kind of thing.
It certainly comes in handy when dealing with stuffy old assholes like Russo Sr., who would normally object to putting their blind trust, shady business dealings, and money in a lord of organized crime more than half his age.
The point is that I’m nowhere near old enough to be Jonathan’s father, or his Daddy—no matter how tingly the thought makes my balls—so we worked out an arrangement to keep things copacetic.
Any money I lent him to get his affairs in order will come out of his paycheck.
Since apparently, in order for him to move here, it was imperative that he get his mother set up to want for nothing.
I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting Tammy Chevelle yet, but from what I understand, Jonathan’s been taking care of her since he was old enough to work.
In my research, I found that she suffers greatly at the hands of addiction, which makes it hard for her to hold a job or manage money on her own.
According to him, she’s functional and all.
But I’ve seen it enough times to know that enabling her is really a means to an end.
It’s not my place to voice these things. I’ve only known Jonathan a few weeks, and despite how unnervingly easy it is to be in his company, we’re not friends.
And yet, I do have to concede to how equally easy it would be to slip into that role I was just claiming I was too young and evil and rational for…
Peering at him, I consider these things while murmuring, “How are you feeling? About how you left things… at home?”
I witness him swallow. “Fine. I mean, there’s only so much I can do, right?”
Yes, I agree. But I don’t say that. I just stay quiet in hopes he’ll continue on. Which he does.
“Of course I’m always going to worry about her,” he mumbles, tightening and releasing his grip on the steering wheel. “But I think…”
His voice trails and he bites his lip.
“Tell me,” I command softly.
He glances at me. “I think maybe some distance will be a good thing.”
I’m trying to disguise the fluttering of my lashes in this state of bewilderment while he follows the sign for the main entrance of the prison, pulling into a parking spot, all of which are empty.
We’re the only ones here… Because this is brand new.
This place. This… venture. It’s just the beginning, and up until this moment, I was doing it myself. Facing an uphill climb toward the unknown.
But as it would seem… I’m not alone anymore.
Jonathan kills the engine and releases a heavy breath. Then he turns to face me. “I wanted to thank you.”
My head cocks.
“For letting me do what I needed to do… For her.” He shifts, vulnerable, with nowhere to hide in this confined space. “I know this is a business for you, and you don’t owe me anything. But I just… I don’t know, I appreciate you being so… understanding.”
I’m not one to gape at people, because I’m rarely surprised. But I’m just… staring.
Is that what I’m being? Understanding…?
If so, that’s… new.
“I’m happy to assist in any way that I can, Jonathan,” I mutter the completely out of character words I’m not sure I’ve ever said to anyone.
I actually feel like I’m outside of myself, watching on in fascination at the hardened criminal kingpin, pretending to care about the human he’s basically imprisoned, and his junkie mother.
The thickness in my throat is confusing. I don’t… get it.
I’ve never… I don’t…
No entiendo.
“So long as you understand that you can only do so much,” I go on. “At a certain point, you’ll need to let her decide for herself… whether she wants to live, or not.”
He’s gawking at me, likely wondering if I have any personal experience in this, based on my advice. I suppose I do… In a sense.
“Do you think… you’d be willing to put in a word with your men? Let them know not to sell to her…?” He asks me this warily.
And he’s right to sound that way. From anyone else, such audacity would earn him a pistol whip, no matter how pretty the face on the receiving end.
Jonathan Chevelle is either fearless, or stupid… Or he knows that he might have some leverage himself.
“We can discuss it,” I hum calmly.
That’s exactly the type of free will I’ll need to exterminate.
He nods in acceptance, offering a small, gracious smile as we get out of the vehicle. But it falls away when he sees it…
Massive and foreboding. Its dark shadow cast over us.
“So… this is it, huh?” He gulps, chin lifted. “Alabaster Penitentiary…”
I nod, placing a hand on his shoulder. “This is yours. Own it.”
He’s stiff, I can feel it. But his shoulders straighten, the ocean breeze breathing confidence into his lungs. The control that I know he wants.
The intoxication of power, a vice I’m offering him, like el diablo on his shoulder.
“You will reign over every inch of despair in this building, Jonathan,” I whisper by his ear. He sucks in an audible breath. “Welcome to your castle… Officer Chevelle.”