Page 16

Sean

I’ve been unpacking and analyzing my encounter with Lou since we parted ways, but the thing I keep coming back to is the look she gave me when tied to that cross. Her eyes challenged me to do my worst, and although I resisted the temptation—barely—I wanted to do all kinds of fucked-up things to her. I craved her screams, her body writhing beneath my cruel touch. I wanted to see if she’d succumb to pleasure or feel only pain.

I’d never played with an inmate like that before, and I swear it started out innocently. An experiment, if you will. I wanted to see if it was being naked against her will that upset her in the infirmary, but once I got my answer, I couldn’t stop. I couldn’t resist tasting her bloody skin. The reality was even better than anything I could imagine, too.

Alone on the roof, I pull the cigarettes from my pants pocket, having come straight here after storming out of the playpen: irritated, unsatisfied, frustrated, and harder than the rocks on the steep, stony cliff far below me. Yanking my mask off my head, I stare at the fabric in my hand, still pissed at myself for lifting my mask in front of Lou. I’ve never done that in front of a detainee, ever. I can simply add it to the ever-growing list of shit I’ve done with her that I shouldn’t have .

What is it about this inmate that has me tossing all my rules out the goddamn window? I’m not this reckless guy, that’s not me.

Risky madness aside, I don’t know why I’m worried, considering she, nor any of the other prisoners, will be walking out the front door again. Once you come to Ex-I, you don’t have the privilege of leaving. This is home until you find yourself with a dirt dwelling six feet underground. They’re all “lifers” here, the only variable being how long that life in question lasts.

Lighting the cigarette, I inhale, slumping down in the chair so that my head rests against the back. The sun is high in the sky, relentlessly beating down on the rooftop, but I make no effort to shield my face. I hate being cooped up in the concrete prison, so I soak up every ounce of sunshine I can. Besides, it seems to be the only source of true light in my life these days.

Lou’s distracting me. She’s pulling my attention away from what’s important and that’s getting the information we need to protect our national security and innocent citizens. I need to recenter my focus. But the dark part of me wonders why I can’t have my cake and eat it too. Why can’t I siphon information from her by poking the naked beast?

Luckily, I caught the surprise that bolted through her dark chocolate irises like lightning when she learned of her various charges. I don’t know what to make of that yet, but it was there. Maybe I can capitalize on that.

Like a rubber band snapping against my skin, my slice of isolated bliss is cut short when Davis swings open the door. “You have a video call. Computer’s been flashing with that annoying-ass notification chirp for a while.”

Cursing, I get to my feet, putting out the cigarette. I forgot all about the call I had scheduled with my mom for this afternoon, and I’m sure she’s panicking now that I’ve missed it.

My mask dangling from my fingertips, I follow Davis back down to the barracks. He disappears, probably to get ready for the poker game we’ve got in a few hours, but I’ve still got half a day’s worth of work before then, which is why I wanted to sneak in a few minutes of solitude.

I sink down in front of the computer and wait as the chat connects. Taking a sip of my water, I wonder if she’ll be able to smell the cigarette smoke on my breath through the computer. She’s got one of those mom intuitions that seems to go off when I’m hiding something. You’d think I would’ve aged out of that by my early thirties, but no such luck. She’ll kick my ass if she discovers I was smoking “cancer in a cardboard package,” as she refers to them. Logically, I know she’s right, but there’s not much to take the edge off around here. I only smoked on the rare occasion before Lou blew into my life like a summer tempest, sudden and destructive.

“Hi, honey,” my mother says with a warm smile when it finally somewhat connects. Service on this damn island sucks and the barracks are the only place you can get a spotty internet connection.The guys on patrol still communicate through old school walkie-talkies.

“Hey, Mom. Sorry I missed you earlier.” I swallow past the dryness clogging my throat and plaster a fake-as-fuck smile on my face that hopefully conveys that everything is fine. Though, that couldn’t be further from the truth. At this point, I’d be lucky if she learned I was smoking a cigarette. That’s the least of my indiscretions.

I haven’t even stopped to let myself think about Stuco’s death. It’s going to hit me at some point, though. He was one of the newer guys here, but I liked him, and we got along. His death has everyone on edge. As a result, I’ve tightened security, doubled down on protocol, and requested additional manpower, which, I’m sure, will get denied.

Maybe this place has graduated from the first circle of hell to the second.

I must not excel in selling the expression I wear because my mom’s brow furrows as she asks, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, Mom. I’m just…busy. How are things at home? ”

She hesitates at my obvious deflection, but answers me anyway. “Things are great. Callie and her kids will be here for Christmas in a few weeks. What about you?”

“I don’t think I’ll get the time off, but I’ll let you know.” I hate disappointing her and that’s the only reason I left that thread of hope hanging loose. I know I won’t be at Christmas. Even if I did find a way to go, I’m not going to sit around that table while everyone talks about the past year and whatever they’re grateful for. What would I even say other than I’m grateful for a family that loves me ? It wouldn’t even be true since they don’t even know that I’m undeserving of that love, and if they did discover the inner workings of my mind, they’d stop loving me.

I ask her some questions about what desserts she plans to make for Christmas dinner and whether Jace’s mom will join them—she is—and I’m about to jump off the call when she asks softly,“Sean, will you tell me what’s wrong? Talk to me, please , honey.”

My mom is a good mom, and I’m damn lucky she’s mine, but that luck only goes one way. Something must’ve gone wrong in my brain at some point. It’s not her fault I’m this way. My sister is proof of that. She’s everything good and pure, everything I’m not.

Feeling unworthy of the depths of my mother’s kindness and love, I close my eyes for a beat. I can’t tell her the truth, even if I wanted to. I can’t tell my mom about my job, about the death on my hands, or the woman who’s weaseled her way into my bloodstream like an infectious disease.

Part of me thinks there’s no point in even telling my mother about Lou. Especially since I’ve made an effort to convince myself that my fixation is simply due to the fact that Lou’s an anomaly. I’m sure I’d be equally as wound up about any other seemingly shatter-proof inmate.

The more logical part of me has me internally rolling my eyes at my own ignorance. Lou’s becoming more than just another inmate, no matter how much I try to persuade myself otherwise. At best, she’s a curiosity, a toy I enjoy playing with. At worst, she’s an incurable, all-consuming obsession I’ll be reluctant to let go of.

Sick of all the deceptions I end up throwing at my mom on a regular basis, I decide to tell her the truth for once, at least the part of the truth I can.

Alone, I glance at the door to the barracks to make sure it’s still closed and locked, and when I see that it is, I admit, “I can’t tell you much, Mom, but my head’s not right.”

Concern etches her features, and even my sick, twisted heart lurches at the sight. “You’re not thinking of doing something reckless, are you?”

My stomach churns like I’ve consumed sour milk as guilt swirls until I think I may be sick. I want to assuage her concern, though, so I clarify, “It’s…a girl.”

Her eyebrows raise, and a knowing smile creeps over her face, but before she can ask questions, I explain, “It’s complicated.”

“Considering the fact that I don’t know anything about the situation, the only advice I can give you is that you can always trust your heart, even when you can’t trust your head.”

My mother’s words swim in the murky depths of my mind for the next several hours as I get a debriefing from the perimeter unit, walk through safety protocol with Davis, discuss the transportation of Stuco’s body with Jones, and sit down to play poker.

Rubbing at the back of my neck, I attempt to loosen the tension I’m holding there.

“I’m out,” Davis mutters, and Vincent echoes the sentiment, leaving me, Martinez, Borman, and Jones still in the game.

I’m still mulling over my mom’s advice when I lose that round of poker and win the next. We’re halfway through the third game when I decide that following my heart has never led me…well, an ywhere. Besides, her advice can’t mean jack shit if she doesn’t know any of the facts, right?

Until recently, you could’ve easily convinced me that I didn’t even have a heart, maybe just a skeleton of the organ that distributes my blood. Although, now I have to admit—even if only to myself—that assessment might have been wrong. How else do I explain the tight, stretching sensation within my chest that feels an awful lot like a predator waking from a long, peaceful slumber?

What if the obstinate organ was simply lying dormant? Waiting for a reason to wake.

Shit, that would be bad .

“What are you planning to do to punish Koskinen?” Borman grinds out from across the table, tugging me out of my musing.

Glancing up, I pin him with my heavy glare, and he shrinks down into his seat, averting his eyes back to his cards.

I grind my molars when Davis gripes, “Yeah, what’s going to happen with her? We can’t let her get away with killing Stuco.”

“She won’t. She has an expiration date,” I remind them through clenched teeth.

“She needs to suffer before then,” Borman seethes, apparently locating his backbone.

I arch an eyebrow, keeping my voice even as I ask, “Is torture not enough?”

“Not the way you’ve been doing it,” Borman mumbles almost unintelligibly, but I heard it.That little shit knows next to nothing about what Louhi has endured at my hand, only gleaning the vague, abstract basics in my reports.

“Say that again,” I dare him, my lip peeling back. Borman’s balls must be cosplaying as the magic beans in ‘Jack and the Beanstalk’ because there’s no other explanation for why this fucker is choosing to go up against me. Well, I suppose he could just be a fucking idiot. There’s always that.

With his gaze fixed on mine, he pushes, “Jones told us how you’ve been raiding the infirmary, taking shit to tend to her wounds.” My attention slices toward Jones, who is shrinking in his seat, clearly uncomfortable with being dragged into this conversation. He clearly doesn’t know when to quit because Borman goes on, “I think we deserve to see the footage from her cell. Who knows what else—”

“ Enough, ” I roar. Shooting to my feet, my body vibrates as my palms slam against the tabletop, my cards forgotten. My patience has snapped in half. I’m in charge of this slice of hell, and he’s under my command. I won’t be spoken to that way, even in light of his grief. Being upset over the loss of your best friend doesn’t give you permission to act like an insubordinate prick.And nothing gives him the authority to question me.

Except for the whirring of the fan in the corner, the room is as silent as the dead. Every set of eyes are on me with varying degrees of fear or detestation etched onto their accompanying faces. I typically have a decent handle on my anger, rarely losing my cool, but I’m done with this guy. My blood is still a rolling boil when I spit, “That’s the last time you treat me with disrespect. I’ve been lenient with you. I could’ve sanctioned you for losing your shit earlier this week, but I didn’t. That courtesy just ended.”

He scowls at me, the stupid asshole unable to help himself. His lip curls and he snarls, “She should’ve been terminated on the spot for what she did.”

I bolt to my feet and thunder, “Get the fuck out of my sight, Borman. Now. ”

Borman shoves to his feet and tosses his chair across the room before storming out. He’s always been a hothead, but I’ve never seen him like this. Davis acts like he’s going to follow him, but I pin him with a warning that promises retribution if his ass leaves that chair.

My chest is still heaving when Martinez reaches over and picks up Borman’s cards. “He was going to lose anyway,” he mutters.

Low, uncomfortable chuckles spread over the room. Slowly, I sink back into my seat, picking up my cards as a sign that we’re going to finish this damn game if it’s the last thing we do.

I begrudgingly took Borman’s hissy fit to heart and decided that he’s probably right to some extent, though I loathe to admit it. I have been going easy on Lou. She should be a shell of herself by now and the fact that she’s not is a problem.

Needing an edge with her, I sent Jace an encrypted email asking him to get me the file on Lou’s brother. I asked Thompson about it when he was here last, but I haven’t heard anything from him since, and I know Jace has a contact in the records department, so maybe he’ll have better luck.

I take things up a notch over the next couple of days. I need her to talk to me, to give me something. I need her to break.

In one session, I subjected Lou to more fire. In another, I broke her fingers, not just hearing her bones snap, but feeling them as I cracked her left pinky and ring finger with my own two hands.

As the bones in her pinky fractured and splintered, she had looked me squarely in the eye, her vision a mixture of pain and defiance, hardly blinking as I moved to the next finger.

While her brazen recalcitrance turned me on, it’s also why I stopped at two fingers. The torture I’m forcing her to endure isn’t garnering any results. Not the waterboarding, not the bubbling of her flesh as I subject her to burning, not the physical breaking of bones.

Creativity where torture is concerned isn’t something I’m typically short on, but something tells me that subjecting her to claustrophobia by locking her in the tiny box I’ve often forced inmates into wouldn’t get her to crack either. Neither would forcing her to stand for days on end until she collapses.

I’ve never encountered someone with a will as strong and unwavering as hers. I admire that, even if it never ceases to frustrate the fuck out of me.

She’s fighting me at every turn, and it’s undeniably attractive. I like my victims unenthusiastic, to say the least, and the fact that she doesn’t fall apart as I push her only makes me hard. No matter how many times I tell my dick to calm the fuck down, he doesn’t get the message.

After Davis and Vincent dragged her from the room yesterday, I marched straight to the shower and tugged on my cock with Lou’s defiant expression in my mind’s eye and the smell of her burning flesh sticking to my skin like perfume. I came to the image of her bubbling skin rioting beneath the glow of my torch.

Lou is destroying me.

I need to break her before I lose myself completely.