Chapter Thirty-Two #2
My lips part, but I can’t even imagine what the hell I would say to something like that. I have a million questions, too many responses. They’re all getting caught like a bottleneck in my throat.
Trevel’s fingers dig into my thigh.
The Ivory leans forward. “You’ve known them a long time, Byron. You have a good rapport with Officer Jameson… I’m sure you’ve bonded with many of the guards over the years. And of course you know the prisoners…”
“What’s left of them…” one of the guys at the other end of the table mumbles, and The Ivory shoots him a fiery look.
“ Callate la boca , Lio, or I’ll do it for you,” The Ivory hisses quietly at the man, who recoils. “The fact of the matter, Byron, is that you’re the only one they’ll allow inside. Because they trust you.”
“But… isn’t it… dangerous?” I croak. “We’ve been hearing nothing but gunfire since the prison went down. What if they shoot me?”
He makes a face like he isn’t as worried about this as I am, but covers it up with some obviously forced empathy.
“My men will keep you safe until you’re inside the prison.
After that, you’ll be on your own. But I’m sure you can handle yourself.
” His head tilts. “You’re a fighter yourself, aren’t you? ”
“Will he have a gun?” Trevel asks, taking the words out of my mouth.
The Ivory’s gaze narrows. “No.”
“I don’t know…” I rub my eyes. “What would I even say to them? What’s the endgame here?”
He straightens. “The endgame is you doing what the fuck I say, without question.” The chilling tone of his voice sweeps up my spine like icy fingers.
“If you’ll recall, that was the stipulation of my allowing you to stay here.
You will go to the prison, you will speak with Officer Chevelle and find out what he wants.
You will get eyes on the situation in there and report back. ”
“What if they won’t…? What if—”
“Serve your purpose, Byron,” he seethes, frighteningly quiet. “Trust me, you want to have one.”
I’m baffled by this. And also, not.
Here I’ve been sitting around, waiting for him to realize he doesn’t need me. Turns out he’s had a use for me all along.
He knew what he was doing, bringing me here.
I’m his rat, his spy. Just like Trevel.
Trevel is his link to Dr. Love. I’m his link to the prison.
To say I’m unsure about this would put it well beyond mildly, but there’s nothing I can do. Saying no isn’t an option.
This isn’t a choice. He’s got me right where he wants me.
So I sit up and clear my throat. “When?”
“Right now,” he chirps, almost patronizingly.
I suck in a breath. “Alright…”
“Wonderful.” With the flick of his wrist, the men in the room stand.
“My team here will bring you. Once inside, you’ll get a lay of the land, observe the setting…
negotiate and such.” My brow arches. “This is serious, Byron. The fate of this island may depend on it. I’m putting my faith in you, and I trust that you won’t let me down. ”
My thoughts are hectic. But I nod and stand.
Trevel shoots up at my side. “I’m going too.”
The Ivory gives him an amused look. “Absolutely not. They don’t trust you for shit.”
“You must be high if you think I’m going to sit here in this mansion while he goes out into the line of fire alone,” Trevel growls. His protective tone warms me inside, but I fight it off.
“I don’t need a bodyguard or a babysitter,” I grunt at him, and he frowns.
“I know you don’t need me for anything, Raph,” his voice is soft again. “It’s for me. I need it… I won’t be able to—”
“This is all very romantic, but the answer is still no.” The Ivory stands, glaring at us. Trevel opens his mouth to continue arguing, but The Ivory cuts him off with a snarl, “Don’t push me.”
In an effort to diffuse the tension, I take Trevel’s hand. “I’ll be fine, I promise. In and out.”
He doesn’t look sold in the slightest, but he doesn’t have a choice, either.
And just like that, we’re trudging through the mansion, toward the front door. Trevel squeezes my hand until he absolutely has to let go. Giving him one last look, I try to convey everything I’m feeling, but it’s hard when I barely understand it myself.
Despite what The Ivory says, I know there will be no negotiating. I’m not going in there to collect Velle’s list of demands… He’s playing us.
“I’ll be back soon,” I whisper to Trevel.
His Adam’s apple slides in his throat. “I’ll save you some dinner.”
I breathe out a small chuckle, and it makes him smile.
Glancing at The Ivory, I turn reticently, following his men outside.
“Oh, and Byron…” His voice gives me pause as I’m walking out the door. “If there’s even a sliver of doubt as to which side you’re on, then I suggest you stay there.”
The journey across the island is quick. It would be quicker, but we have to make a sort of zigzag to get to the spot the Warden’s guys have deemed safe .
They drive me along the coast in a large black SUV with bulletproof glass windows—a trip in itself since I haven’t even been in a car in years. Then we get out and make the rest of the trek on foot.
I’m no soldier. Sure, I like to fight, but my weapons are my extremities, and more than anything, I like the act of hand-to-hand combat. The premise of war , fighting battles on behalf of turf and things like that, has never appealed to me. Neither has the idea of using guns.
But these men are talking to me as if we’re brothers in arms. Assault rifles slung over their shoulders, decked out in camouflage garb, they guide me down a path, from the shore inland, through the trees.
“You’ll want to enter from the South Gate,” one of the guys instructs.
“There’s a main entrance about a quarter mile from here.
That’ll be your best bet. Avoid where the walls are down.
That’s where they have the most eyes and the fewest blind spots.
The woods between the tower and the cliffs is literally the Wild West.”
“We’ll cover you to the gate,” another guy says, lifting binoculars. “Stay hidden. Between the trees, along the walls… Anywhere that’s not in plain sight.”
I can’t help gawking at them like they’re mental. Two days ago, this island was quiet. Dangerous, sure, but only for us ; the prisoners locked up inside the Pen. Gazing over what it’s become, my jaw strains, fists squeezing to control the adrenaline in my veins.
This feels like we’re in Apocalypse Now .
It’s insane . Velle used to threaten to shoot us damn near every day. But the thought of him actually shooting me now seems so bizarre.
I guess it’s not, though.
History aside, this is dangerous. If Velle has the armory, that means the gunshots we’ve been hearing haven’t just been from The Ivory’s men alone. There’s actually a war going on, and I’m stepping into hostile territory.
But… they shouldn’t be hostile towards me. We’re friends.
I’m one of them. Right…?
I stay close to the guys as they jog between the trees, aiming their scopes all over the place before calling out, “Clear.”
Part of me feels like they’re being extra as fuck. I almost chuckle.
But then a loud pop has me jumping out of my skin.
“Down!” someone yells.
A bullet zips right past my head, hitting the tree behind me.
Holy shit, what the fuck?!
Everything is moving at hyper speed, yet I feel like I’m underwater. Ducking, I shield myself with a tree while the guys lay down cover fire.
I hate being afraid. I don’t want to admit that I am, but I’ve never been shot at before. I’m shaking so hard I can barely move.
What am I doing out here??
Moments of shitting myself later, I overpower the locked muscles just enough to look around. It’s hard to tell where the gunfire is coming from. But when I follow the aim of the guys’ scopes, I see them.
Snipers. On the fucking roof of the prison.
Okay, this is fucking nuts.
They’re too far away for me to make out who they are, but I have to assume they’re people I know…
“It’s too hairy,” one guy barks, popping off three more rounds in the snipers’ direction. “We’ll have to go around—”
His words are cut off when I move out from behind the tree.
“What the hell are you doing?!”
“Get down!”
They’re shouting at me, but I don’t care. Fuck this.
I need to get over there. I need them to know it’s me.
Velle, Joy, Rook… Hancock, Jasper, Peters…
They wouldn’t be shooting at me , would they??
On some level, I know it’s na?ve to think this way, but either way, this is happening. If they want to kill me, fine . But they’ll need to look me in the eye when they do it.
Slinking between the trees, I harness all of my skills at being invisible and rush closer to the east, following the trail of debris.
The pops of gunfire fade, in my head and into the background.
It’s growing farther as I leave it behind, jogging toward the gaping hole in the prison with my blood rushing in my ears.
This is my first time seeing the damage up close. It’s fucking mind-boggling. Alabaster Penitentiary, my home for the last three years, is in literal shambles.
The guard tower only fell on the east, but it’s clear that the damage was much worse because of how old and weathered the prison is. If the building was properly maintained, I’m sure it could have withstood such things.
As soon as I’m close to the giant piles of concrete that used to be walls, I see men, at least two of them, guarding the opening.
One of them spots me, and hollers, “Come out! Slowly…”
“Show me your hands!” another voice shouts.
Sucking in a deep breath, I step out from behind the trees with my hands up. They’re dressed in guard uniforms, familiar ones—clearly, these are Velle’s men. But they’re wearing masks, so I still can’t tell who it is.
“Oh, shit… 62??” one of them rumbles.
“Are you alone?” the other barks.
“Yes,” I attempt to project while stepping forward slowly, ignoring the M16s aimed at my head.
“Are you armed?” they ask, and I shake my head.
“No.”
Once I’m within a few feet, they rush me, grabbing me hard and shoving me up against a collapsed wall.