CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
RYAT
I’M SHOVED INTO a chair with my hands cuffed behind my back and my legs shackled.
The female officer looks down her nose at me and smirks. “Good luck, pretty boy.” Laughing, she exits the room.
I was brought in here three hours ago. It took them that long to book me, strip search me, and change me into my new orange jumpsuit. After our meeting with Gregory, Matt and I were cuffed and placed in squad cars. We’ve officially been arrested on bogus crimes and booked under fake names. Come to find out, our target is in jail. Just our luck.
The door opens, and Gregory enters.
My eyes go to the right upper corner to see the red blinking light turn off on the camera. He sits down across from me.
“Two times in the same night,” I say, wondering why I’m seeing him again. Didn’t he say all he needed to say earlier in the warehouse? Otherwise, why not just come speak to us here instead of before?
“I hear you’re the best, Ryat,” he says, leaning back in the seat.
“I wouldn’t believe everything you hear,” I counter.
He snorts. “Most of the best ones are the cockiest in their field.”
“What do you want?” I ask, getting to the point.
“I want to make sure you understand the situation.”
I tilt my head to the side, running my tongue along the front of my top teeth. “I understand you want revenge on that sorry piece of shit for killing your son.” I don’t blame him. The bastard who was going to take him out killed his six-year-old son, Remy, instead. I can’t even fathom what this man feels right now. I’m the type of man who would never trust my revenge in someone else’s hands. I’d take them out myself. I’d want to see the life drain out of their eyes as they choke on their own blood from my hands.
He looks up, checking to make sure the light is shut off as well before leaning forward. “I gave the order to kill him. But the cops who found the motherfucker arrested him and booked him instead.”
I frown. Matt and I weren’t given any details, so why is he telling me this now? Especially since Matt isn’t present. They placed him in a separate room from me after we were done being booked. “You think they’re on his payroll?”
He sighs. “I’m not sure what the fuck to think.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“I’ve got word that he’s in solitary confinement.”
“Why would they do that?” Gregory has put most of these men in their cells. So, why would they hide his son’s killer? Most of these men would praise him. Hiding him doesn’t make much sense. Especially if they went against Gregory’s demand and arrested him when they were supposed to shoot to kill. No questions asked. A dead man can’t defend himself sort of speak.
“I’m not sure. The best I can think of is they know I’d send in someone to finish the job they weren’t able to do.”
I nod in understanding. “Got it.”
He stands, getting what he wanted from me. “Once it’s done, you’ll be released. You have my word. No one will know it ever happened.” Exiting the room, a male police officer enters and helps me up.
He leads me down a hallway and into an open area. It’s two stories tall with a guard station in the middle. Someone whistles, and I look over to see a guy leaning up against the bars of his cell. He blows me a kiss.
I smirk as the officer brings me to a stop. He opens the cage, and I enter, where he removes the cuffs and then locks me inside.
“About time.”
Turning around, I see Matt sitting on the top bunk. He jumps down. “Where have you been?”
I ignore that. “Was this your plan? Get locked up with me in a little cell?” He didn’t know any more than I did what the assignment would entail, but I like giving him shit.
He shrugs. “If you’re here, you’re not there.”
Stepping forward, I say. “I may not be fucking her right now, but I will the moment we’re out of here.”
“You son of a …”
I grip his head and slam it into the white brick wall to my left. Blood instantly runs from his nose, covering the wall. I do it again. And again.
I hear the guards shouting from their station, and inmates start raising their voices while I shove Matt to the floor and kick him in the face, knocking it back and making blood fly.
The cell opens, and I’m tackled to the floor, where they cuff me once again. I’m smiling when they haul me out of there, taking me to solitary confinement. I’m not here to play roommates with Matt. I’m here to get a job done and get back to Blake.
BLAKELY
RYAT’S BEEN MIAfor three days now. And every day that goes by without any word from him just pisses me off even more.
Is this what people mean when they say they were ghosted? I mean, no one just disappears. But it’s like poof, he’s gone. Almost like the motherfucker never existed. I’m not sleeping at night. I can’t concentrate in classes. It’s not because I miss him. It’s because I’m fucking pissed.
I spend every second of the day thinking about what I’ll say to him if I ever see him again. And none of them are good.
“Hey?” Sarah enters my bedroom.
I look up at her from my bed. I have a serial killer documentary on. It’s giving me ideas on what to do to him in his sleep if he ever returns. “Hey.” I haven’t spoken to her much. She and Gunner are staying here, but I don’t see them often. They’re too busy fucking most of the time in her room. I know this because I can hear them.
“We’re going out for dinner. Want to come with us?” she asks.
“No thanks.” I’m not in the mood to eat anything.
She sighs. “Gunner says this is just part of being a Lord.”
“Noted.” I dismiss her, looking up at my TV.
“Blakely—”
“I’m not trying to be rude, but I want to be left alone,” I interrupt her.
Nodding, she turns and closes my door doing as I ask. Sinking farther into the bed, I pick up my cell next to me. I pull up his contact and hover over the number. The inner battle of wanting to say, “go fuck yourself” and “please talk to me” are equally on my mind right now.
And of course, like the dumb bitch I am, I press call. “You’ve reached Ryat …” I hang up and toss it across the room the moment his voicemail picks up, letting out a scream. Obviously, he has no intention of having any contact with the outside world, including me.
Rolling over onto my stomach, I shove my head into my pillow and scream again, this time as loud as I can. I hate being ignored. It’s my biggest pet peeve and what Matt would do the moment I asked a question he didn’t want to answer.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
RYAT
I’VE NEVER REALLY cared for people, so the fact that I’ve been in solitary confinement, AKA administrative segregation, for a five days now doesn’t really bother me. But what does, is that I’m away from Blake.
I can’t even lie to myself. I’ve gotten used to being around her all the time. And the sex, fuck, I’m craving her scent, her touch, and her sweet fucking body.
I’m in a six-by-nine concrete block with no window for twenty-three hours a day. I don’t even have bars for a door. It’s steel with a slot that they give me my meals through. This is the one time in my life I wished I was the type of guy who required a lot of sleep—so I could at least sleep through the night. But nope, I’m up for most of it.
I was told once that when men find themselves in situations like me, they write novels in their heads. Or work out mathematical problems or sing songs to keep themselves occupied to help pass the time. Those that are held here for long periods of time can start to hallucinate.
Me? I’m spending every second of every day remembering my weekend at the cabin with Blake.
“Smith!”
I sit up and watch the door open. The guard that I know by the name of Henry enters. Shackles hang from his fists. “Shower time.” He smirks at me.
BLAKELY
I’M LYING INbed, something I seem to do nonstop. If I’m not in a class, this is where I am, watching TV by myself. Gunner and Sarah are at a party tonight at the house of Lords. She invited me, but I told her no thanks. I’d much rather get drunk alone in my bed, wearing nothing but a T-shirt. Instead of having to get all made up and pretend I like people right now.
Ryat has me hating the world. It’s now been six days since he left. And still no fucking contact whatsoever.
But whatever, I tell myself I’m over it. Eventually, I’ll start to believe it.
I hear a sound coming from the other side of my bedroom door and mute my TV. “Sarah?” I call out.
A quick look at my cell shows me it’s not even midnight yet. There’s no way they are back. Shrugging, I turn the sound back on when my door opens.
I stare at a set of emerald eyes that I haven’t seen in almost a week. Ryat stands there, dressed in the same clothes he was wearing when I saw him last. He’s got a cut above his eye, covered in dried blood. A busted bottom lip and cracked knuckles.
My eyes narrow on him when my heart starts to race. I hate that I care how he looks. The fact that he’s been in a fight has me wanting to ask a million questions, but I know he won’t answer a single one of them.
Entering my room, he shuts the door behind him. “I’m taking a shower,” he announces and walks into my bathroom.
“What the …?” I trail off and jump up from my bed, storming into my bathroom.
He’s leaning inside my shower, turning on the water. “Get the fuck out of my apartment,” I order.
Instead of doing what I say, he reaches up and removes his T-shirt exposing his chest to me. My eyes fall to the bruise over his ribs. Looks like a fucking boot. Jesus, what the fuck has he been doing?
Giving me his back, he undoes his jeans and shoves them down his legs along with his boxer briefs. He’s got more bruises on his legs and back. I swallow nervously and go to step toward him, but he opens the shower door again and steps in.
Going under the sprayer, he places his hands flat on the wall and lowers his head. I watch his stomach suck in while he breathes deeply, making his ribs more prominent. He looks like he’s in pain.
Making up my mind, knowing I’ll probably regret this later, I remove my shirt and underwear, stepping inside.
I place my hands on his back, and he stiffens under my touch. “You okay?” I ask softly, knowing it’s a stupid question but needing him to reassure me that he is.
Instead, he turns around to face me and stumbles into me. I catch him, but his knees give out, and I’m not strong enough to hold him. I fall to the shower floor with him, and he leans his head against the wall, closing his eyes. “I’m so tired,” he mumbles.
The water from the showerhead above beats down on us, making me blink rapidly.
“What happened to you?” I ask, shoving my wet hair off my face and pulling my head away so I’m not directly under the water.
His head falls to the right, and he opens his heavy eyes, meeting mine. “It’s nothing. I just need some sleep.”
My teeth grind at his lie. He’s obviously had the shit beat out of him. He’s been gone for almost a week. Did he even get any sleep? “Ryat …?”
“I’m fine, Blake.” He pats my thigh. “I just want to clean up and go to bed.”
Letting out a deep breath, I nod. “Okay.”