Page 239 of Shadowman

All day, men I’ve never seen before have been storming around the mansion, yelling things in Spanish at each other and over the walkie-talkies. I’ve seen a few of the Warden’s guards pop in, but mostly they’re new faces—and more are arriving constantly, I believe coming in on the ferries.

Men in uniform.Soldiers.

He’s bringing in backup. Which can mean only one thing…

I won’t pretend to know much of anything about who Manuel Blanco was before he became the Warden of Alabaster Penitentiary, but based on the way all of these men look to him like he’s their commanding officer—referring to him only asJefe—I have to assume the rumors I’ve been hearing over the years are true.

The Ivory’s business is with the Colombian cartel, and this island is just one small piece of his territory. A piece that’s now underattack, and apparently, requiring the defense of a goddamn military cordon.

Seriously, Trevel and I are theonlyones not involved in whatever is going on outside the mansion. From what I understand, there’s a staff of personal chefs, chauffeurs, and cleaning people who live in that house by the back entrance. They too have been mulling around the mansion, keeping busy while The Ivory’s men turn their quarters into a fucking base of operations… And an armory.

Every single dude who stalks past us is packing some serious artillery, leading me to believe that Manuel Blanco is bringing over more than justbodiesas reinforcements.

These soldiers are strapped, whichwouldbe overwhelming…If I wasn’t already wearing a collar that’ll incapacitate me if I try to leave the premises.

Time is both flying by and standing eerily still. The next thing I know, a full day has passed, then another, and I can’t tell if I’m adapting, or in denial.

The echoes of gunfire still register, but I’m trying not to think about it; fighting off the need to know what’s happening out there, because no one will tell me anything, anyway.

Trevel and I have tried asking Kent questions, but his answers are limited to the standard curt responses.

Don’t worry about it.

Just stay out of the way, and if he asks for something, do it.

In an effort to take his advice, we decided to move out of Dr. Love’s room. The mansion is getting crowded with all the newcomers, but if I’m being honest, I wasn’t feeling it in there. It was one thing to fuck in their bed as some silly, stupid game of revenge kink, but actuallystayingin Dr. Love’s room was bothering me, and I’m not exactly surewhy.

Maybe I am; I just don’t want to think about it.

We decided to take a bedroom on the third floor on the left side—formerly the guards’ quarters. I guess it still is, just not the guardsI’mused to. It wasn’t until we started poking around, looking for clothes and toiletries to use, that we discovered whose room it’d been…

My mind is still running over all of this bullshit while I sit in the library, reading—or pretending to—on the big leather couch, with Trevel by my side. A fire crackling, keeping us warm and distracting from the bloodshed just outside.It’s not doing the best job.

I’ve been scanning the same line of this book for minutes on end, remembering the stuff I found in the back of the closet in our new bedroom… An NYPD hoodie. A Claddagh ring,engraved with the words,“Dílseacht agus teaghlach,”which I think is Irish Gaelic. A framed picture of a young Velle standing next to a woman…

Don’t worry about it.

Keep busy.

Ignore the fact that you’re now sleeping in Rook, Joy, and Velle’s bedroom, and they’re trapped in Alabaster Penitentiary.

It’s not completely fuckinginsanethat you’re here and they’re there.

It’s fine.

Head in the… game.

“Cold?” Trevel brushes his fingers up and down my arm, over the goosebumps that have little to do with the temperature.

I give up rereading the sentence and peer at him. He’s scribbling in a notebook. My eyes fall to it, just long enough to catch a few words before I look away.

Glancing across the room, I watch Yari, who’s nestled in a big chair, scrolling on his phone.No surprise there. It’s what he does ninety percent of the time.

The Warden’s assistant, Yari Estevez, is a nice guy.Too nice…

It doesn’t make any sense. What does The Ivory need with an assistant like him? He’s so… normal. He’s exactly what you’d expect from a personal assistant to a celebrity or some rich business mogul. Not a cartel capo who runs a depraved prison as justoneof his many nefarious enterprises.

Yari must sense me staring at him, because he peeks up, locking his light eyes on mine. He smiles kindly, gaze dropping to the book in my hands. He cocks a brow, but says nothing. Just goes back to his phone.