Page 13 of Trusting Laurence
His parents had taught him at an early age that love didn’t exist. There was family loyalty and obedience, and nothing else. One did as they were told and kept their mouth shut, preserving family integrity. For the rest, a wife was a commodity to bolster one’s image and further one’s career. To be seen, looking good, but never heard. And never to embarrass one.
Tahlia had turned out to be such a disappointment. She’d failed to provide him with the prerequisite heir and then further embarrassed him by mooning over her personal bodyguard. And when he’d disciplined her, as his father had taught him by example, her family had interfered. Now he was caged like an animal.
A rage like he’d never known washed over him. Reaching for the closest thing, he hurled it across the small space with all the pent-up emotion that had built during his incarceration. A vein throbbed in his temple, muscles tensing as he stood breathing heavily. The book he’d thrown hit the floor with a thump, and he stared at it, unseeing as he got lost in his memories.
Slumped on his bed, he had no idea how much time had passed when the gate buzzed in warning before sliding open.
Ah, feeding time in the zoo. Watch the animals stampede.His sour mood hung over him like a storm cloud as he made his way to the dining hall for lunch. The exercise yard would be next. Same old, same old. Day in, day out. Simply rinse and repeat.
A shudder worked its way down his spine as he stood in the queue to collect his meal. Almost as if he were being watched. He shook the feeling off. He had nothing to hide. Let them look. But as lunch progressed, the uncomfortable feeling continued, and he started to feel anxious. What the hell had he done that might have pissed someone off?
A cold sweat broke out on his skin, and the food he ate turned to sawdust in his mouth. Swallowing the bite down, he pushed the tray aside and reached for the glass of juice he’d requested with his meal.
Marcus lowered his head, as if in prayer, and surreptitiously scoped as much of the dining area as he could without moving his head. He couldn’t spot anyone paying him attention, so either it was his imagination, or it was someone outside his field of vision. Anxiety had his stomach churning, and he regretted having eaten as little as he had.
Jumping to his feet, he made his way toward the door leading to the exercise yard. A bit of fresh air would help settle his stomach. A few men were already out there, some making use of the exercise equipment provided. He made his way over to a small table over near the fence.
The feeling of being watched had abated the moment he’d stepped outside. Marcus wiped a shaking hand over his sweating brow, taking a seat at the table. He took a few calming breaths and tried to figure out what could be causing the feeling.
His gut clenched as he thought back over his visit from Larry Keon and his FBI goon and wondered who, other than Administration, was privy to who his guests had been.
As he pondered his dilemma, a shadow fell over the table. Looking up, his heart sank. The last person he wanted to see was Sanchez Medina. He was a mountain of a man with a propensity for violence. He’d already been serving time for multiple counts of murder when Marcus had arrived. The man was also known as “The Enforcer” around the prison. If you were on his radar, it rarely meant anything good.Shit!
“You sitting in my spot,gabacho.”
Without a word, Marcus got up and moved out of the man’s way—he knew better than to argue. As one of Medina’s goons stepped in behind him, he realized he’d made a grave error. A person learnt early in prison not to let anyone get the jump on them. Giving someone the opportunity to get behind them made a person vulnerable. A situation to be avoided at all costs.
Swallowing hard, Marcus attempted to walk away when Medina grabbed his arm.
“I got a message for you, asshole.” Medina’s black, soulless eyes drilled into his own faded blue ones. “Mr. Hunt knows about your visitors, and he’s most unhappy. He doesn’t approve of the company you’re keeping.”
He could feel the color drain from his face at the man’s words. The thought that word would get back to anyone had never crossed his mind. Especially not Dylan Hunt. The man made Medina look like a choir boy.
“I– they’re ... They were uninvited and unwelcome visitors. They were chancing their luck in the hopes I would give them information, but I would never tell them anything. Honest. You can tell Mr. Hunt I have no intention of telling them anything.”
The man nodded, and Marcus gave a silent sigh of relief, grateful the man had taken him at his word. It was only when he felt an arm snake around his neck, he realized Medina hadn’t been nodding at him.
His eyes bulged, and his stomach loosened. He wasn’t stupid. He’d been in prison long enough to know this wouldn’t end well for him.
“Please, Mr. Medina, there’s no need for this. Mr. Hunt can be assured of my silence. I promise.”
“Yeah, you got that right. My associates are just going to demonstrate what will happen if you were to change your mind.”
His gazed darted frantically, searching for a guard in the hopes of calling out for help. There were none to be found. He began to struggle in the unseen man’s grasp, but he simply tightened his arm.
Just as spots started dotting the periphery of his vision, he felt the first blow to the side of his head. Marcus swore he could see stars. He would probably have fallen if not for the death grip on his neck. The first punch was quickly followed by more, in rapid succession.
The clutch on his neck loosened, and, unable to hold himself up under the assault, he fell to the ground. He curled into a tight ball, trying to make himself as small as possible, but the blows continued to rain down unchecked.
Drifting on a sea of pain, all he could do was pray he would survive the beating. Although, after what seemed forever, his entire body screaming in excruciating pain, he wasn’t sure he wanted his prayer answered. Just when he felt he couldn’t live through another blow, he felt someone clench his hair, pulling him into a sitting position.
“You best pick your friends more carefully in the future. Mr. Hunt won’t be so forgiving next time.”
The hand release him, and he crumpled to the ground, his head hitting the hot concrete. He couldn’t catch a breath, his body wracked with unbearable pain. Marcus could feel blood trickling from his mouth but couldn’t find the strength to lift an arm to wipe it away. His eyes had swollen closed, leaving him unable to see his surroundings. But he could hear the commotion in the yard now that his battered and broken body was visible. And he prayed someone would call for help.
As he lay waiting, blessedly, unconsciousness claimed him.
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