Page 32 of Shadowman

And of course, The Ivory. Sitting behind it, his gaze focused on the screen of a MacBook.

He’s not even paying attention to me, but I’m fidgeting in place, feeling like I’m on display. The room isn’t huge, but it’s big enough that everything feels especially spread apart right now. There’s nowhere to hide.

“You want me to take the cuffs off, sir?” Hancock asks, startling me when his voice breaks through the silence.I forgot he was there for a second.

“That’ll be all, Officer,” The Ivory sings, deliberately ignoring the question while making a condescendingshoomotion with his hand.

I peer over my shoulder at Hancock while he scowls and storms off, closing the door behind him.

Shit… He’s gone.

My face slowly tilts back in the Warden’s direction, and I gulp.

Why am I here?

What does he want??

Questions litter my brain while I stand still and wait for him to say or do something. It feels like an hour before he finally sighs and closes the laptop, folding his hands on top of it.

Then he locks his black eyes on mine, and his mouth quirks. “How are you, Byron?”

I swallow another lump, mouth dry as a bone. “Um… fine.”

His eyes narrow into slits, a threatening look if I’ve ever seen one. I shift awkwardly.

“Thank you for asking. H-how are you…?”

He makes a small noise, not quite a chuckle. More of a puff of air accompanied by a smirk. He cocks his head. “I have to say, I’d be a lot better if you hadn’t stashed a cellphone in the basement rec room…”

Well, fuck me. That’s it.

I’m completely screwed.

Allowing myself a moment to sift through various responses, I watch him cautiously as he blinks up at me from his fancy-looking desk chair. “I don’t—”

“Come here, please,” he cuts me off with a stern command. I don’t want to. And my feet know that, refusing to take a step. But he hisses, “That wasn’t a request, inmate.”

The look on his face is causing a stiffness to take over my body, nerves bunching up, keeping me tense. But I have no choice but to obey him. I mean, what’s the alternative?

He’s in charge. There’s no free will here.

I’m at the mercy of Manuel Blanco.

Stepping over to his desk, I stop right in front of it, by the two chairs he has on this side. But he’s not satisfied. I can tell just from the way he’s glaring at me wordlessly. So I keep walking, taking tentative steps, while still moving briskly enough that he doesn’t yell at me for taking too long.

Now, I’m on his side of the desk, standing before him while he sits. He swivels his chair, peering up at me, displaying a more contented expression.

“There you go,” he chirps, slapping his hands down on his knees. I flinch. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“What am I doing here?” I blurt out the question, a bit more hostile than I meant to sound.

But the wondering is stressing me out. I don’t like feeling vulnerable like this. I hate it, in fact.

Obviously,helikes it. It’s why he does stuff like this… Plays this cat-and-mouse game. Toying with you before he sinks his teeth in.

I’d rather he just snap my neck and get it over with.

Naturally, he stays quiet for way too long before finally responding, “I wanted to check in with you. About the cellphone.” He sits back in his chair. “Who were you planning to contact?”