Page 5

B eing labeled as a “problem” should probably worry me. Of course, I know that’s not the official word, as they’re keeping my current situation pretty hush hush, but the singular holding cell isolating me away from everything and everyone is pretty telling, as is the way the officers keep side-eyeing me.

I know for a fact that my record is sealed, but the court-ordered therapy is still in effect, and I’m sure looking up my name would show that there’s something in my past, even if they’re not privy to what that is. I’d be flattered by the caution they’re showing if I weren’t so annoyed.

Apparently, the people on my “case” can’t speak with me until my therapist gets here to assure them I have the capacity to understand what I’m being charged with—lovely. This is going to earn me more mandated sessions, because that’s just what I have time for.

For half a minute, I wonder how far I could get if I attempted to break out of my…five-star accommodations here, but dismiss the idea. It’s one thing to be arrested on weapons trafficking charges, it's a whole other to add on attempted escape, too. Cristian is already going to have a field day with me if he ever finds out about this, so it's best not to make it any worse.

Each second that passes is one where I have to curb the impulse to just say “fuck it”. I don’t have time to wait around for the police to do things the “legal” way. I suppose, since they’ve got me where they think they want me, they can take their sweet ass time. After all, it’s not really me they want, but my Boss; something they will never get—even if he wasn’t currently kidnapped.

The heavy door down the hall opens and an officer walks through it, his footsteps echoing around the cold expanse between us. “Your lawyer and therapist are here for you,” the officer sneers.

Sighing, I stand and move from the uncomfortable cot to the sliding cell door. He locks the cuffs on my wrists tighter than they need to be, and I scowl at him. Glancing at his name badge, I commit it and his face to memory, to go alongside the others currently on my list.

We’re going to have a hell of a time wading through who was “just doing their job” and who was on the side of “ wants to die” . So far, there are more people on the second list than there should be. Hollis is not going to be happy about vetting so many in order to tell me who actually needs to die or not.

I’m led into a small, windowless room that contains nothing but a metal table and chairs. I roll my eyes at the cliché of it all. It’s like they purposefully are giving me the worst options imaginable because they want me to snap. I might be losing it, but I have more control than that .

The two people in the room are the last ones I want to see, but they’re better than the hostility that I’ve been experiencing for the last fourteen or so hours.

Kian Sinclair is as tall, dark, and handsome as he was when Cristian first put him on the payroll years ago. His dark eyes are reminiscent of Cristian’s, and for a moment, a weird pang of some type of emotion I’ve never examined before rushes through me as I look into them. Wanting to avoid whatever that is, I look away from the lawyer to the current therapist I’ve been terrorizing.

The most-recent person they’ve saddled me with is so close to breaking, I can taste it, but with this new development, I might have to start again. Another reason certain people need to die.

“Aren’t my sessions supposed to be private?” I drawl, taking a seat across from them both.

Sinclair gives me a barely-there smile. “I’m here to read the charges against you before Ms. Rhodes takes over and makes sure you understand them.”

“Sounds like a party, let’s get this over with.”

The blonde haired brown eyed therapist stares at me intently, and I pretend to listen as Sinclair reads over the charges against me. It’s a disappointingly short list as I didn’t fight them at any point. Really, the weapons trafficking, while serious, isn’t something I’m terribly worried about.

No, I eye the therapist who isn’t hiding how fascinating she finds me. I’m not worried about the actual charge they have on me, but the fact they’re going to try to use my past against me.

Fucking Sergio Amato. Thirty-plus years later and his bullshit is still making my life difficult. Cristian should have let me torture him when I asked. His kill or not, I think it would have been fair.

“Are you paying attention, Tennant?” Sinclair asks sharply.

“Yes, and I understand the seriousness of the situation. My question is: what are you going to do about it?”

When I meet his gaze, I see nothing but dark intent that would probably scare someone who didn’t grow up with Cristian. He shifts slightly in his chair, moving his body weight toward the therapist next to him, and I bite back a sigh.

That he doesn’t trust her enough to even give a hint of whatever plan he and the Family are cooking up to get me out of here is…concerning. And means I was right about starting over with the whole “break the therapist until she quits” thing.

“I will be back later to discuss our options,” Sinclair says, standing and buttoning his suit jacket. “Please let me know if you need anything that might help our case, Ms. Rhodes.”

“Certainly.” She smiles sickly sweet up at him. “I do appreciate you and all your support. Tennant needs people in his corner.”

“Still in the room,” I tell them mildly.

The therapist turns to me with an apologetic smile, while Sinclair rolls his eyes behind her back.

“I’ll bring you food, and maybe a blanket, if you’re lucky,” Sinclair says on his way out the door.

I’d take offense to his tone if I wasn’t used to it by now, and he wasn’t so good at his job. Sometimes, he fits in a little too well with the rest of us. Cristian hired him for a reason, after all.

When the lawyer is gone, the therapist turns her full attention on me…joy.