I’m walked back down the corridor, bare feet frozen, the smell of disinfectant and old sweat closing in around me again.
The cell door shuts.The lock slides home with a dull, final sound.
I don’t know where Jagger is.I don’t know where I’m going.
I don’t know what this marriage is going to cost us yet.
So I bow my head and wait.
Not for answers.
Just for God to stay near us both in the dark.
Jagger
I come to slowly, the world sharpening one muted sound at a time—the steady beep of a monitor, the soft hiss of oxygen, the antiseptic sting in the air.My right wrist is the first thing that truly registers: a metal cuff, short chain, no give.Hospital bed or not, it’s still a restraint.
I blink hard, vision adjusting to the too-bright lights.
Nolan is sitting in the corner, legs crossed, reading a newspaper.He doesn’t look surprised to see me awake.Doesn’t even look up right away.
“Before you ask… one month,” he says, turning the page.“Thirty days.That’s it.”
His way of greeting me, I guess.
My voice comes out rough.“For what?”
Nolan folds the paper, finally giving me his full attention.“Till you get full clearance the moment your ‘married-asset’ status is marked secure.”
“Right.”The word grates in my throat.“So why the chains?”
He reads the doubt straight off my face.“You know how it goes.You played the part so long, even the good guys have doubts.”
I shouldn’t be surprised, but it still feels like a nail driven in my coffin.
“You’re not a burned asset, Jagger.You’re temporarily sidelined while we sort this out.Huge difference.”
“Feels the same from this bed.So does the cuff.”
“Then change your angle.”He taps the folded paper against his knee.“You walked out alive.She walked out alive.I’ve seen worse outcomes on jobs ten times cleaner.”
I sink back into the pillow, and shift my leg, hissing through my teeth as pain sears through my thigh.
“Soon as you’re strong enough, you’ll be transferred to a safe house.There’ll be a phone booth just outside of town,” he continues.“No outgoing calls unless it’s life or death.Complete rest and privacy.You need to decompress.”
I manage a rough exhale.“Marquez?”
“Cornered.”Nolan’s tone leaves no room for doubt.“Every agency with a badge is dissecting his life.He’s not coming after you.He’s too busy trying not to drown.”
A small part of my chest loosens—just enough to breathe without feeling like I’m inhaling glass.
“Where’s my wife?”The question slips out before I can stop it.
Nolan’s mouth twitches.“She’s safe,” he says simply.“You’ll see her when we get a judge to annul this.”
That hits harder than the bullet did.
"Silas says you stopped the signing," Nolan says."That true?"
