Chapter Twenty-Three #3
Sounds awfully familiar. Like the same story spun for all the sorry sacks of shit they send… here. To Alabaster fucking Pen.
Dash is dead…
Dead, as in dead…?
Or dead, as in… better off dead?
Suddenly, I’m sick to my stomach. I feel like I could puke, my vision blurring as the most bizarre sensations coil around my insides until I’m cramping.
Could he be… coming here?
Could Dash be alive, in custody… and on his way to this island??
I can’t handle that. Jesus fucking Christ, I don’t want that!
Or do I…?
Forcing my feet to move, I’m on a hasty mission. Moving on instinct, in a haze and needing answers. I need to know so I can breathe, because this is seriously fucked.
I barely even know what I’m doing as I race out of solitary, toward general population. I need details…
And there’s only one man who can give them to me.
In gen-pop, I’m not paying attention to where I’m running, and unfortunately, I run right into someone.
“Oh, shit! Slow down, bro. You’ll take someone’s head off,” Peters chuckles, steadying me with hands on my shoulders. He must take one look at my face and realize I’m manic, because his forehead lines in concern. “You alright?”
“Um…” I glance around, then at him, hanging on by a damn thread. “No. Not really.”
Gusting out a breath, I rake fingers through my hair.
Peters pulls me off to the side. “What’s up?”
I stare at him for a moment before murmuring, “Have you heard anything about a… new inmate? Coming in?”
“No…” His brow cocks. “Why? Have you?”
“I think…” My voice shifts to a whisper. “I think we’re getting someone. I just saw something…” He gapes at me, impatient gaze awaiting a tea-spill. “There’s this kid from Brooklyn… He’s a bank robber. His name is Dascha Reznikov… and he killed Governor Russo’s niece. Allegedly.”
“What?!” Peters gasps, and I shush him. He looks around again. “Sorry. But what do you mean he killed the governor’s niece??”
“He killed her.” I shrug, launching into some pacing in front of him. “I don’t know how, but she was shot during this robbery that went wrong. And you know what that means…”
Peters swallows visibly. I can read it on his face…
He knows as well as I do that accident or not, anyone who harms a member of the Russo family is either dead, or as good as dead.
“How do you know all this?” He asks after a beat.
“I read an article…” I croak, trying hard not to sound as invested as I probably seem. “This Dascha kid has been robbing banks in Brooklyn for years. He’s good at what he does, I guess. They’ve never been able to make anything stick. I mean, it’s crazy…”
I barely even know what I’m saying, but it’s all just spilling out. Now that I’m saying the words, out loud, I can’t stop them. I’m like a fucking civ.
“His story is truly wild. Like a movie… I’m talking machine guns and rubber masks.
Like The Town, or some shit. And he’s only twenty-five.
He probably would’ve kept going if this shit didn’t happen, but I guess the cops flipped an accomplice or something.
They were planning to scoop him at the bank, and when he found out, he took Karly Clayton hostage—”
“And just killed her?” Peters appears interested as hell, which is good.
At least I can play it off like it’s just a super interesting story…
Gulping, I shift. “Maybe it was an accident…”
I hope it was. Having a crush on someone who kills innocent women for no reason, out of greed, or because they’re in his way, isn’t really something I want to wrap my head around.
Peters nods, giving me a curious look. I don’t like it… It makes me feel like I’m under a microscope.
“That must’ve been one doozy of an article…” He says, eyeing me skeptically.
Like he can totally tell I’m obsessed with this Dascha kid.
Fuck. I gotta go.
Patting his shoulder, I rumble, “See you in a couple hours.”
I stalk off before he has a chance to say anything else.
I need to go… shoot my shot.
Whether or not I think he’ll entertain my questions—I’m sure he will not—I still need to ask them. Because if Dascha is really coming here, I don’t know that I can keep doing this.
Lying. Hiding. Pretending.
I just don’t see how I’ll be able to keep it up with him under the same roof.
But if he’s not… And he’s really dead…
Anguish swims in my bloodstream as I storm up the stairs. In front of the Warden’s office, I’m stopped by one of his men, Kent, with a hand on my chest.
“I need to see The Ivory,” I grunt, moving around him to knock on the door.
“He’s busy.” Kent shoves me. “Move it along, dog.”
I get up in his face. “Test me right now. I swear to God, I’ve got nothing to lose.”
He’s staring me down, hard, refusing to budge.
Until a voice calls from inside the office. “Send him in, please.”
I think I’m as shocked by this as Kent is, but neither of us are showing it. He reluctantly steps aside, and I waste no time barging into the office, storming right up to the desk of Manuel Blanco.
He’s sitting behind it, typing on his phone. My chest is heaving from fucking jogging through this prison, on top of how severely frayed my sanity is right now. But as usual, he’s calm. Unaffected by literally everything.
The Ivory drops his phone onto his desk, and smirks up at me. “That was fast.”
My brows furrow.
His head cocks. “You should be a reporter. So… persistent.” I blink. “Interested in current events…”
I swallow, not a single clue what to say to that.
It’s fully plausible that he already knows why I’m here. But I don’t want to think about it.
Now that I’m standing in front of him, staring into his black eyes, I’m frozen solid. I didn’t really think this through…
The Ivory chuckles, as if he can read my thoughts. “What can I do for you, Kellan?”
I clear my throat. “I, uh… read an article—”
“I’m sure you did,” he cuts me off with a sneer that I ignore.
“About the governor’s niece,” I keep going, sounding like my throat is full of gravel. “It said she was… killed. In a robbery…”
He nods, pulling a purposeful pout. “Yes. Tragic.” His face smooths, eyes boring into mine. “Why are you here, Kellan?”
I gulp. “The person who killed her… It said he was…” My voice shrivels under the intensity of his murky gaze. “I guess I was just wondering…”
“If Dascha Reznikov is really dead?” He chirps.
My eyes round. “Um… yea.” I croak, “Is he?”
God, something about being in his presence makes me feel like a child.
It’s like I’m fifteen again, standing in front of my father, waiting for him to kick the shit out of me for being gay. Though that’s not quite the reason this reprehensible man would destroy me…
The Ivory sighs, folding his hands on the desk. “What does your gut tell you?”
He’s alive.
I don’t know why, but my first instinct is to believe that Dash isn’t dead. Maybe as some deranged optimism. Maybe a sick, morbid delight at the idea that the universe would actually send him to where I am… This mysterious being I’ve been fawning over for years.
This dangerous man who floods me with a rush of dopamine better than the strongest narcotics.
Death is certainly the better option for him. But I don’t want Dascha to be dead.
Because him being alive brings me to life.
“If he killed Russo’s niece… then he’s as good as dead,” I mumble. “That’s your specialty… Isn’t it?”
He huffs in amusement once more, leaning back. Swiveling in his chair. “Why do you care, Kellan? What about this situation makes you feel warranted to storm in here, demanding information?”
Struggling to keep from trembling, I straighten, like a good soldier. “Not warranted, sir. I was just… curious.”
“You sure are.” He eyes flit to his phone on his desk. “Go enjoy your purge, Officer Kemper. Dascha will get what he deserves, don’t you worry.”
The sickening feeling in me has tendrils that choke my insides. I part my lips, but before I can speak, the Warden shoos me away with a flick of his hand.
“Run along now, muneco.”
The door whips open and Kent storms in, aiming a warning glare at me. Sucking in a breath, I nod and leave, the door slamming behind me.
I’m teetering on the edge of an exhilaration that I just know could soothe my soul, if it were any match for the disgraceful instinct in me… to run.
“Hang on. You’re actually coming out with us?” The surprise and sheer skepticism on Velle’s face, and in his tone, has me scowling at him.
Despite my mood being all over the damn place, I hum, “Uh-huh.”
“Yay.” Joy casts a pleased grin my way. But Velle and the others just appear shocked.
Rightfully so. I never go out with them.
Purges are reserved strictly for acting like I’m happily married.
Not this time, though. Tonight… I just need a fucking drink.
A virgin one, okay? I’m not going to piss away years of sobriety because I’m stressed.
And freaking out. And excited, but mad at myself for being excited. I’m a goddamn wreck, honestly. It probably is a really bad idea for me to go out to a bar, where alcohol and drugs will be flowing.
But let’s face it… I’m not exactly a pinnacle of good decisions.
“What’s up with Nikki?” Joy asks, as we get settled on the jet, in our usual seats.
“Turns out there’s some work thing she can’t get out of,” I make up a story on the fly. “She’ll be home later.”
She nods, accepting my bullshit. Then she smiles. “Well, it’ll be fun to have you with us for a change.”
I show her one of my own that feels forced, even for me, taking out my iPad. She nestles up by my side, reaching over to pick an episode of something to watch, because apparently I’m taking too long.
Lifting my gaze, I watch as Jasper yanks the brim of his hat down over his face, and Hancock kicks his feet up on the table.
Peters pulls out a worn copy of Gone Girl—it’s kind of hilarious that he, of all people, loves suspense fiction.
Lucas is ransacking the snacks, opening everything, as he does.