My expression was tired, impatient. “Oh, Payne? Idon’t know. Threats as usual. This time his charges are going to stick. Thistime I better fess up. This time blah, blah, blah.”
“Did he offer you a deal?”
The truth tightened my throat. I didn’t have an issuelying, especially to people like Atticus. But this time, the truth held aweight I wasn’t used to. This time, the truth was scarier than ever before.“Not yet. But he will. I’m sure he’ll offer you one too. Isn’t that the dancewith these guys?”
His voice dropped to a whisper. “You better not takeit.”
I blinked at him. “Are you serious?”
“Yes.”
“I would never take a deal, asshole. I’m offended thatyou would even question my loyalty.”
“I question your loyalty every fucking day, Valero.You’re a snake.”
That was rich coming from him. I smiled politely andstepped by him to get into the back of the truck. “And you’re a dickhead.”
“Everything okay?” Sayer asked, his eyes on Atticus.
“Just peachy.”
“Super fucking okay,” Atticus growled as the doorsclosed with a final slam behind us.
That was it. They dragged us to their offices, threwus in isolated interrogation rooms and picked us off one by one.
By the end of the night, most of us were allowed to gohome. I caught a ride with Gus, Frankie and Atticus and we headed back to Gus’sfor the night. We waited for Sayer to join us, but he never did.
In the morning, they charged him with counts theyplanned to prosecute and I realized my worst nightmare had come true.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Five Years Ago
I signed in at the front and let them escort methrough locked doors and hallways that smelled like metal and sweat. My hands balledinto fists, my fingernails digging into my palms. It took everything in me notto scream.By the time I reached thevisitation room, I was sick with hatred and the scent of this place.
Seeing Sayer in his prison tans was an entirely newlevel of frustration. This was the first time I had been allowed to visit himat Schuylkill, his new federal prison home for the next seven to ten years. Igripped my stomach and ordered my body not to wretch up the lunch I’d nibbledon during the three-hour ride to the middle of nowhere Pennsylvania.
All I wanted to do was throw my arms around him andcrawl in his lap. And maybe never leave. We hadn’t touched in three months—notsince he’d been out on bail. That was the longest we’d ever gone withouttouching. Even before we had become an official couple, Sayer always had hishands on me. Holding my hand, wrapping his arm around my shoulders, finding anyand every way he could to bring us together. This no-touching policy wasabsolute hell.
I blamed Mason Payne. He’d overcharged Sayer, hopingthat would make him talk. It didn’t. Sayer never opened his mouth. Instead, hetook the sentencing, pled guilty to all accounts and faced his fate.
And why had he pled guilty? Because Roman had askedhim to. Roman had wanted to send a message to the FBI—that we would not beintimidated. That we would not back down. That we would not leave.
He told Sayer it would be a badge of honor, that hissacrifice for thebratvawould give him the respect he needed to become the next spy. Sayer had believedhim.
Here we were now—Sayer in prison for the foreseeablefuture and me out on the streets—working for an increasingly savage crimefamily, arguably the most powerful and vicious organization DC had ever seen. Theirgrowth over the past ten years was staggering. I could only imagine what wouldhappen in the next decade. And I was without the man I loved by my side.
He immediately wrapped me up in a hug, pressing a kissto my cheek. We stayed like that for as long as we could, pressing ourselvesinto each other until we were one being, one spirit, one soul. When the guardstepped forward and tapped the table, we slowly, reluctantly let go.
His eyes shimmered when I sat down across from him atthe orange table. “Six,” he murmured. “I’ve missed you.”
He already looked different. He was harder somehow,made of stone more than human. “I came as soon as I was allowed,” I told him,unshed tears making him blur. “I hate this,” I whispered.
He reached his hands across the table but stoppedshort, before our fingertips touched. “It’s not going to last forever.”
The room was busy, inmates and their visitors huddledtogether in quiet conversation. I scooted closer to him and dropped my voiceeven lower. “What’s it like?”
“Horrible,” he told me honestly. “The place isswarming with fucking Italians. I swear Payne did that on purpose. He’s tryingto get me killed.”
