Page 36

Chapter thirty-three

Lucien

“ W ho’s the girl?!” the officer screams at me, and all I can manage was a laugh. In fact, everything that has transpired gives me a tickle in the ribs as if I were just a boy again and her fingers were skirting over my skin. Skin that used to tighten and pebble in droves of goosebumps.

With my forehead pressed against the floor, the little bit of dry dirt below my lips puffed out as I breathed and continued laughing. I can feel the blood soaking into my jumper, even more so when the officers yank my arms behind my back and cuff them. Then drag me over to the opposite wall where I can see the whole scene before me.

Nadia still restrained to the cell bars, her body lying limp, lines bisecting the globes of her backside, and the spray of Nathan's life force staining her pretty, alabaster skin. What a wretch, but she did so good. I know she is ready for me now, ready to be together—just her and I.

“Someone get a fucking medic in here and get her picked up. Jovi, remove her restraints and check for a pulse. Einar, drag this dead fuck out of the way,” he barked, kicking Nathan, then using his boot to push him away from Nadia.

Can’t they see it? Don’t they know that she’s my alter, the feminine side of this tattered coin?

“Wakey-wakey, Nadia. It’s time to show these people who we truly are,” I cooed, watching her from afar.

I long to touch her.

To feel how soft her skin looks peppered in red.

Lord have mercy on my soul, the unadulterated thoughts that pulse through my still fractured skull at the thought of sliding my body against hers.

“Someone shut this guy up.”

“Yes, Sir,” one of his men reply.

Oh my, when she whimpers and pouts from being woken up, everything tightens in me, a million small shivers convulsing through my body while the officer approaches and sands close by. I can feel my heart racing, ready to leap out of my mouth at the sound of her.

“That’s it, little Nadia. Come back to me.”

“Shut up, inmate,” my watch dog snaps.

There it is again, her cries.

“Come on, Nadia. Let them know what happened.”

“I said shut the fuck up!”

He grabs me by the underside of my arm and hauls me up to my feet; the slick slide of blood under my boots making it a little bit of a challenge to maintain my balance but I eventually get it.

Those cries, the way she’s getting louder. The slight bit of anger that is accompanying them—only makes me want to goad her more.

“Give it to me, Nadia!” I shout in return.

When she screams, my knees buckles.

She’s exquisite.

“Get him out of here!”

“Scream louder, Nadia! Tell the whole world what you’ve done. Let everyone know that you killed him!” I yell out, the oaf who has a hold of me pulls me along with him until we pass through the door’s threshold and it slams shut.

“Let’s try this again,” the detective states calmly. He’s as cool and collected as I am, which says a lot about his character. He looks so pressed and proper. Every stitch of clothing exactly where it needs to be, not a single hair out of place. We are complete opposites as I’m the chaos that sits here twitching before him with my hands shackled to the metal table.

I feel like we are in a standoff, it’s the wild west again, and whoever moves first triggers the duel, and there can only be a single victor. When he arrived, I didn’t see a gun on him but that doesn’t mean anything. He may have something else on him that could be accessible, and besides my shackled hands, I have nothing to retaliate with.

“Lucien.”

He speaks clearly, and I remain silent. After a long beat, he sighs, knowing what I want.

“She’s fine. She is still out of sorts at the hospital, but she will be okay. You probably saved her life.”

“I’ve done nothing of the sort,” I reply swiftly, grimacing.

“Odd thing to say when you’re the one who stabbed her attacker nineteen… no, twenty-two times.”

Silence again.

He won’t trap me into admitting anything. Same old song and dance.

“Listen, you have to give me something.”

“I apologize Detective…” I stall waiting for him to supply his name once more.

“Whitlock.”

“Detective Whitlock, there is this thing called the constitution, and if you would remember, the fifth amendment gives me the right to silence. You cannot force or coerce me into testimony or self-incrimination. Therefore, if you would, stop fucking asking!” I shout.

I buck at him with the last two words, the foul word falling from my mouth like acid. I despise using this type of language, and just like in the past, it tallies up the number of lashings I will give myself once I find the means to do so.

My Lord has been silent since I finished killing Nathan. Each time I reach out to him, for something— anything—there is no response. It feels as if he has abandoned me, and that leaves a sour taste in my mouth. The other voices are present, but his is gone. The power I felt with God working through me, also missing.

The presumptuous man looks down at his crossed legs, picking at a piece of invisible lint like the condescending prick he is. The good-cop bad-cop routine is usually fun to play with, but when you get a detective that acts like you’re below them, that’s the thing that sets me off. Takes me back to feeling inadequate in my father’s eyes. Does that matter now? No, it’s just annoying me to death.

Flexing my hands, I roughly lean back into the back of my metal chair. The two of us, back to staring at one another. I have the patience of a saint, but does he have the time? That’s the real question.

Tick-tock, Detective.

“Where is Kace Patton?”

“Who?”

“Inmate Kace Patton.”

“Never heard of him.”

“Lucien, this would go a whole lot faster if you just cooperated.”

“What gave you the indication that I want to cooperate with you? You’ve given me what I want, now there’s nothing for you to hold over my head.”

“I’m sure I can find something,” He mused.

While I haven’t had the time to find out everything there is to know about the man, these types always have something that sets them off. I just need to figure out which one it is, and quickly, I’m bored and want to go back to my cell.

The Federal Bureau of Prisons refused to move me to a different institution, along with several others. Saying we are too hostile. The whole world can see that they’re keeping me here to help them retrieve Kace when there’s nothing left of him. I don’t want to leave; I need to stay close to Nadia. She may be headed to the women's prison, and no longer an officer at Darkwater, but I need to know where she is and to stay as close to her as possible.

Leaning forward, I motion to the pack of cigarettes the detective has graciously supplied to me. Half of my mirror image peeks around his silhouette, reflecting in the observation window behind him as I shifted to grab them. Pulling one from the pack, I place it between my lips and lock eyes with him.

“You mind giving me a hand? Can’t light this on my own.”

Without a word, Whitlock produces a lighter and sets the end on fire until it fades out and I have a sizable cherry sitting on the tip.

“Your mom know that you still miss her? I take it she hasn’t spoken to you in years?” I asks, blowing a plume of smoke out into the air. Testing to see if he takes the bait and if my assumption is right.

“Excuse me?” he questions, brows pinching together, head angling a fraction.

“Your mom.”

“I heard that part.”

“Well?”

It’s always the mothers, for men like him. The ones with daddy issues don’t clean up as nice as he does. He longs to be accepted by the person who gave him life, there’s a rocky relationship there and I will exploit it.

All I need is an in, Whitlock, give it to me.

“My mother is fine. Let’s talk about Kace.”

“Another man with mommy issues. Go on, what about Kace?”

“Security footage from Darkwater has shown that you two had an altercation in the hallway where you relieved yourself on his jumper. Want to tell me about that? For someone who doesn’t know who Kace is, you two looked well acquainted.”

“Oh, that’s Kace? I wouldn’t have known since we all go by ‘inmate’ in a prison setting.”

“Your deflection is deplorable.”

“So are your attempts to impress your mother when she couldn’t care less about her… mmmm… middle son. You have an older brother that hung the moon and a little sister who mommy spends all her time on because she wanted a girl sooooo bad. Am I hot or cold, Detective?”

When his hands flex, I know I have him. That view pulls a smile across my face that feels like it spreads from ear to ear. Middle child syndrome, poor thing.

“That your MO? Harass people who have mommy issues? What about Nadia? Her mother has been out of the picture for the majority of her life, yet here you were, sitting off to the side with your thumbs stuck up your ass, doing nothing while she was being assaulted.”

“Self-incrimination, Detective.”

“Fine, tell me what you do know about her?”

“Only child, absent mother, terrible father, works in prison, likes to bully people.”

“That all?”

“Sums it up.”

“Lucien, where’s Kace?”

“Who?”

He groans and leans forward; I can see the irritation flaring in the expressions he tries so hard to keep tamped down. Looks like he used to watch daddy beat on his mom, hard to kick those bad parental habits. I would know. Daddy probably did the same thing, acted exasperated. Body fighting the energy that coursed through it, itching to punish something.

“What do you know about Governor Barclay’s and his daughter?”

“He is in politics and she is dead.”

“Right, do you know who killed her?”

“No clue.”

The Lord is going to punish me seven ways to Sunday for all the lies falling out of my mouth. If he shows face again, that is. I’m usually stoic and unimpressed with interrogations, but toying with Whitlock is a game of reputation. Who will break first? He asks, I deflect and poke the bear. He reacts and asks another question. Merry-go-round.

“Did you kill Kace?”

“Trick question, Detective, try again.”

“Is Kace alive?”

I shrug.

“That’s not an answer.”

“Of course it is.”

Whitlock shoves away from his chair and rounds the table, leaning on one leg as he sits on the table's edge. The fabric of his slacks stretches over his form. I follow his movement, keeping my gaze on him when he approaches.

I guess we are switching over to bad-cop now, my favorite.

“Where’s Patton?”

“Don’t know.”

The man is quick, I give him that. He pulled his right arm back and swings, clocking me in the jaw which throws my head the opposite direction. Laughter bubbles up from the depths of me when I look back around at the not so calm and collected man.

“Nadia said you killed him and poured his blood in a tub to wallow around in like swine.”

“I’d never do such a thing; pigs are filthy animals.”

“Then what would you do?”

“Anything but that.”

“Would you beat him to death then make him record his goodbyes to the woman he loves?”

“He wouldn’t be able to talk if he was dead, I like how you think I have some sort of magical powers.”

“Your savior does, does he not? I don’t think he gives a goddamn about his people.”

“Watch your mouth.”

“What? Don’t like that? Which hurts more, Lucien? Knowing your real father thought you were the worst piece of him turned into a snot-nosed child who begged and pleaded for his crack whore of a mother? Or that God doesn’t exist, and if he did, he’d fry you in the pan with the others you have left in pieces across the state of Michigan?”

Reaching out, Whitlock slaps the cigarette from my hand and shoves the remainder of the pack off the table well out of my reach. Awarding him a scowl.

So scary, Lucien.

“If you talk ill of my mother, I’ll cut your tongue out and skull fuck you.”

He leans in, closing the distance, and whispers.

“The tongue is the best part, Lucien. Ask your father, he loved the feel of his cock sliding over your mother’s while she gagged and choked on her own vomit.”

Rage boils in my blood and we both know it. Volleying mommy issues back and forth between each other like a pair of adolescents.

“Last chance, Detective.”

“You were right, you know. My mother doesn’t have anything to do with me. Angry that I followed my father’s footsteps, hates that I look like him and nothing like her. I did my best to show her the kind of man I am and that I’m not like him but still… she looks at me the same way your dad looks at you. At least my mother is still alive to tell me she loves me.”

When I lunge for him, he rears back and clocks me again, sending my head into a white-hot pain. The feel of blood starts to well up in my mouth. He’s so fast it’s unreal.

“I could kill you where you stand!” I shout.

“Like you killed Kace!?”

“I’m going to use the same method on every last living family member of yours.”

My head snaps back with the third hit, then the fourth. An ache in my teeth and the tender spots on my face radiating up into my brain. I start to open my mouth and let him have a few more promises, but he reaches out to hold onto the front of my jumper and wails on me.

“This is what… I think… happened.” Whitlock huffs out.

With a shove, I slam back into my chair, head lolling forward to shy away from the blinding light. Sensing him stepping around the back of me, I curl my hands around the chains that secure me to the table and throw my head back with all the force I could gather.

“Nice try,” he smarts, his hand taking hold of my dark hair and slams me forward. My head ricocheting off the table just as he smashes it down again.

“You killed him, and let his girl get raped.”

“Wh… what they… were doing, was a crime.”

“Who made you the judge of that?”

“The Lord, pig!”

“Your God doesn’t exist. You’re a puppet, a toy, and you killed Kace, and all those other people, for nothing!”

“They deserved their punishment!”

“Kace too?!”

“Especially Kace! He deserved everything I did to him. Every beating, every broken bone, the way I let chains constrict around his ribs and squeeze the air from his lungs while his ribs cracked. Taking Nadia from him. Humiliating him by releasing myself on his chest in that hallway. He deserved his punishment!”

“Say it, Lucien. Say you killed him.”

“No.”

“Pleading not guilty is going to be the worst thing you can do.”

“Michigan doesn’t have the death penalty, even if it did, I would welcome death with open arms and a smile.”

“Nah, none of that. You’ll be placed in a single cell, with a bowl to lick your water out of. A small bed in the corner with a light that never shuts off. A room made of material that absorbs sound so well that it drives the inhabitant insane. How does that sound, Lucien? Slowly driving yourself to the edge of insanity with no way to kill yourself?”

“They don’t have anything like that in Michigan prisons, it falls under cruel and unusual punishment.”

“Where you’re going, there are no rules.”