Page 18 of Prey

“Forget it,” I stated, removing my jacket and placing it on the back of the chair. “I don’t hold grudges.”

Ronan frowned in disbelief.

“That was a joke,” I replied, loosening my tie as the office filled with smoke. “Prison humor.”

I hadn’t worn a suit for three years, and although the luxurious fabrics felt like a dream against my skin and I relished the authority an expensive suit gave a man, the restriction around my neck from the tie might take a while to get used to again.

An awkward silence fell, which I detested as if my boys struggled to find the words to fit the situation. “I’m the same man I was before I was screwed over…just maybe a little less trusting and a little more enraged.” I shrugged, took a deep pull of my cigar, and blew the sweet smoke out in ringlets.

“You look like you’ve lost weight, though, Mikky,” Gunner finally spoke, making me smile.

I relaxed into the chair and cocked my head at my cousin, who carried a sinisterness that I hadn’t noticed on the rare occasions he visited me in the slammer. “Sticky fucking porridge and wet, tasteless cauliflower does that to you. Besides, I didn’t trust that the food wasn’t spiked with something.”

“Yeah? Fuck,” he hissed, those dark eyebrows dropping low over his brown, narrowed eyes.

Now, he’s older, and all that puppy fat was gone; I could see his father in him. Mr. Kaiser, my uncle, was loyal to a fault and expected the same in return and damn good at siphoning out the defectors under the guise of allies, and I suspected his son was similar.

“Enemies within,” I stated, pulling my cigar as they watched me closely. “And enemies without.”

“No enemies in here,” Ronan assured me. “We made sure of that.”

“As Mr. Kaiser always said…there’s only one distinct difference between an enemy and an ally,” I reiterated as Gunner nodded his head in agreement, eyes gleaming in pride at the mention of his father, my uncle.

“How easily they’re bribed,” Gunner answered.

“That’s right,” I sipped my whiskey, still unimpressed with the flavor, although the alcoholic kick was needed.

“It was shit, Mikky,” Gunner hissed, preoccupied by the memories.I’ll never forget the look on his face when the first time he visited me in prison, and I was brought out in the orange jumpsuit, chained wrists and ankles. That look of dismay and shame on his young face almost fucking killed me. “What went down was fucking shit.”

“How old are you now, Gunner? Eighteen, nineteen?” I asked my cousin because he’s shot up, almost as tall and broad as me.

He has the same raven black hair as his father and I and the same sharp brown eyes that turned predatory in a flash.

Whereas Ronan had Irish features – thick brown hair swept back, green eyes, and a sharp jaw that pulsates when he’s suppressing his fury. His calm demeanor was a welcome addition to the hot-headed Kaiser temperature, and I was confident he would come through for me.

While I was otherwise disposed of for three fucking years, Ronan’s cool and rational temperament helped harness Gunner’s compulsiveness. He’s clean-shaven and neatly dressed for work in a white buttoned shirt tucked into black dress pants, whereas Gunner was a little rough around the edges in sweatpants, a T-shirt, and black tattoos crawling down his arm.

“Yeah, nineteen,” Gunner replied in that deep voice, a man’s voice.

“How long have you had those?” Pointing my cigar at his tatts.

“Since…” he swallowed and looked away momentarily to compose himself. “My first piece was when…she…” His pupils dilated and clouded in rage, and he took a strong pull of the cigar, looking like he was gagging for something stronger, but liquor was not his vice. “When you got arrested.”

“She,” I exhaled as the base of my spine twinged from the thought of her. “Her. I assume you haven’t found her, or you would’ve told me.”

Ronan turned to Gunner, waiting for him to answer, and my hopes rose. “Gunner reckons she’s at Gotland-”

“I’m not so sure,” Gunner interrupted.

“Really?” Ronan questioned in surprise. “Since when.”

“I’m not hundred percent sure anymore,” he clarified. “Most of her features are different…like different hair and eye color, but her smile and the way she walks…yeah, I don’t know. I need more evidence.”

“She’s a student at Gotland?” I pressed as Ronan shot me a doubtful look.

There were several conversations between Ronan and me behind bulletproof glass about Gunner’s infatuation at seeing Annika in every second girl who crossed his path. And then, on the rare occasion when Gunner would visit me, he’d tell me about some girl he started following and investigating, who he believed was Annika in disguise. The next time he’d visit, it’d be a different girl and the last obsession forgotten.

“Yeah,” he shrugged and took another pull of his cigar. “Sophomore, same as me, but I need to learn more about her.”

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