Page 84 of Tortured Eyes
Twenty-Nine
The silence of the room is pissing me off, especially considering the four walls have nothing on them. My feet stay stoic on the cold floor, eyes focused at the locked door in front of me. That’s all I’ve got now. I’m alone in a cell, a metal cot and a toilet for company, waiting on my family for help. I don’t even know if I’m going to get it given my part in Nate’s death, but I’m hoping.
The meeting with Landon was tense. He didn’t deliver a goddamn word to give me any sign that he was onside. Nothing about Bryce. Nothing about if I was getting out or not. Everything was professional, as it always is with him, but he couldn’t stop that damn sneer making me think that maybe this wasn’t going to go my way. I still don’t know why I even did all this in the first place. I took that gun from her, put my prints all over it, asked her to trust me, and then watched on as she arrested me.
What the hell was that?
I look at my hands, trying to get a feel for some sense in my head. There isn’t any, other than the fact that I wanted to do it. Maybe it was something about a good cop being sent down for something she didn’t deserve. Or maybe I just wanted her to see a part of me I generally reserve for Samuel alone. I don’t know. Either way, I’m not liking these goddamned walls around me. I’m not one for caging, not one for being told what to fucking do either. Eat this. Drink that. Sit. Stay. I’m like a dog being passed around from room to room. First, the hospital with doctors and nurses prodding me, and now here, with guards threatening shit if I don’t comply.
Guess I’m alive. There is that.
I stand and start pacing the cell again, still listening to the occasional heckle and holler from other inmates along the corridor. It’s been two days since I saw Landon. Two days of silence from their end. He said it would be like that. Took huge enjoyment in that fact as he shuffled papers into his briefcase and knocked on the door so he could leave. Again, all I’ve got is hope that Bryce did do as I asked and went to Carter or my father with my access code, told him about Kelly so he could go digging and find out what I already have sealed up in buried files.
Heavy footsteps start travelling the corridor outside. I look at the door, waiting. They keep walking on by, not fucking opening the door so I can get the hell out of here. Jesus Christ, I’m never doing anything this dumb again. Incarcerated I could probably deal with, but this shit, one room and nothing but rules and orders? I’ve got zero to no patience at all for this crap.
Still, I’ve got the feel of those lips to think about. I half-smile and walk around in circles again, imagining them. Soft. Barely a fucking whisper of a touch really. I can still taste them now, still feel the wet seam of her tongue on mine. Shame it was in a dirty alley while I had a bullet in me. Or maybe it’s not. Maybe that’s exactly the way we are. Be nice if it was something else, though. A bedroom. White sheets. Taking our time rather than dealing with snatched minutes and guarded words.
The door beginning to rattle makes me swing my gaze to it, backing away. I’ve already taken one tussle that ended badly for me in here, Mortoni’s name being ghosted in my ear as the guard sent a punch home. I’m not damn well taking another. Stupid fuck. He’s gonna die one way or another, regardless of whether I get out of here or not.
“Hands on the back of the cell. Feet apart,” one of them says through the cutout. I roll my eyes and move to the back wall, hands and feet spreading like a good little boy. I’m not doing handcuffs again any time soon either, kinky or not. She can wear them if we ever get the damn chance to move forward.
The feel of them hauling me around and out into the corridor, my hands cuffed up, makes me feel like an adolescent. I growl under my breath, searching for name tags. They’re all gonna die for this. Every single one of them. Slowly. While I laugh. And she better be ready for some serious fucking if I ever get out. Even if I'm in here for ten years, I'll deserve at least a week of her skin for putting up with this when I'm out. In fact, she can come look after me when that time comes. Make me feel better, cook food and wait on me hand and foot.
I chuckle at the thought as I’m pushed into an interview room, trying to imagine her cooking. Bet she’s never cooked a damn thing in her life that doesn’t involve ordering in. Too busy sinking beers and digging into work, probably after a hard day beating the shit out of people.
My ass is dumped in a chair.
“Keep your hands on the table,” a hefty one spits. I look over at him, enjoying the thought of ripping his fucking head off. He eyeballs me, his hand hovering over his gun. Much more of this acting accordingly and I’m gonna go insane. I need a prison around me if I'm staying inside, somewhere I can organise and be myself.
The door opens just as I’m about to start losing my cool, Landon stepping into the room in yet another pristine suit. Grey this time. Sharp. “Take the cuffs off,” he says, placing his briefcase on the table. “And then leave the room.”
Hefty obliges under duress, his lips muttering the entire time about entitlement. I’m just about to show my own contempt for those words when Landon slams his hand down in front of me. “Behave, Logan,” he snaps.
Cunt.
“I haven’t flown to New York and back, nor worked the whole night through for you to get yourself arrested again. Try a thank you.” Asshole.
I smirk and lean back away from him, amused at his attitude if nothing else. “Good suit,” is all I’ve got. I might manage a thank you when he walks me out of these doors.
Or not.
“Saville Row. I’ll order you one. Looks like you could use it.” I briefly glance over the sweatpants and sweater I’m wearing, then stare as Hefty leaves and slams the door. “How are you?”
“What?”
“You have a bruise on your face that wasn’t there two days ago?” My gaze comes back to him.
“It’s nothing.” Nothing for him to worry about anyway. Hefty, though? I can only hope that cunt is sent wherever I am. It'll give me a reason to enjoy the thought of lockdown.
Landon nods and looks me over again, a smirk on his own face. “The paperwork is being processed. You’ll be out of here in ten minutes or so. A certain senator was only too happy to help when I delivered some facts personally.” I bet he was. “Thankfully, you’re quite good at filing efficiently. That’s quite an arsenal of information you have stored up, including some on me.”
“No one’s clean, Landon. You should know that.”
“I deleted it.”
I snort. “I have back-ups.”
“I’m sure you do. Don’t use them or I’ll have you back in here before you know it.”
