Page 266 of Bad for Me

So this is it.

This is the end of everything.

At least I got to fuck Misha one last time.

I wouldn’t have minded a kiss goodbye, though.

8

RAUL

I stareat my instant ramen lunch, wondering if this is really worth it.

Giving up my previous life, giving up my identity, giving up all my wealth, just so I can be here in a rundown suburban home in this small city eating instant food.

Of course, the alternative is several decades in federal prison—or even worse, a bullet through the head. I hadn’t had many options, and I’d gone with the one that had meant staying out of prison and, as long as I do what I’m supposed to, alive.

We’ll have to see about that.

When they’d offered me a new life, I’d known the caveats in theory, but it hadn’t been until I’d brought my one and only box of belongings into my new home a month ago that I’d really understood it.

I exist by the mercy of the justice system. If I fuck up, I’m done, one way or another, and it’s a hard realization to come to each and every day.

And fuck, it seems especially bad after having what really had been the best month of my life. My time with Misha had beengood, and this?

This is far from it.

I push the bowl away from me, appetite gone at the thought of him. Does he know I did what he probably considers “the right thing” in guaranteeing my family’s prison sentences? Does he still think I’m just a lowlife pedophile like the rest of them?

They certainly don’t consider me one of their own anymore.

Once I’d started talking to the feds, I’d been dead to them.

Of course, I’m dead to everyone now.

Raul Pierino is gone.

My phone buzzes, and I startle at the sound. Nobody texts me these days—nobody except the U.S. marshal who is charged with protecting me, and keeping me in line. They can’t risk me trying to disappear on them, after all.

I check the phone. It’s a text from the marshal, telling me to expect a visitor soon.

A visitor? It doesn’t specify who to expect, but I suppose they don’t want any evidence on my phone. Even the marshal is listed as “Dad” on my phone, like some sort of sick joke.

I glance at the ramen again. I don’t want to finish it, but there’s nothing else for me to eat. I sigh and put it all into a container to eat later. I’m sure reheated ramen isn’t better than the “fresh” stuff, but I’ll worry about that later.

I’m debating turning on the TV when the doorbell rings, three times in quick succession and then one long ring.

That’s the code we’d agreed on with the marshal to indicate it’s an official visitor.

Whoever’s here knows the procedure, at least.

I head to the door and look out the peephole, and there, with a few bags in his hands, is Misha.

Special Agent Mikhail Sokolov.

I fumble with the deadbolt in my haste to open it, and by the time I finally pull the door open, my mind has had time to adjust to the idea that he’s here.Here.

Every word the marshal had told me about how imperative it was to cut ties with my previous life, to never react to anyone from my past, to pretend I’m an entirely new person goes out the window as I bite back the urge to say what I’m sure would have him walking in the other direction.

---