Kicking it shut behind him, he presses his back to the wood, leaning his body weight against it. His eyes slam shut, chin dipping as he scrubs his palms over his face, growling into them. The entire room has gone silent, just gawking at him, awaiting whatever he’s about to say.
Finally, his face lifts. “I will burn this place to the fucking ground.”
“What’s going on?” Hancock murmurs anxiously. “What is this?”
Velle is wound up tight. I can see it. “It’s exactly what we always knew would happen.”
“Yea, we bruised his fucking ego, and now he’s serving us an extra helping of shit casserole,” Jasper grunts.
“So?We’re just gonna let him get away with it?” Rook protests. “Are we gonna stand around complaining like babies?? Or are we going to fix it?”
Everyone’s eyes spring to Velle.
He and Harley are locked. Sharing a wordless conversation I can hear like they’re speaking it.
“Over my dead fucking body,” Velle whispers. He glances around the room at our men, all of whom are allegiant, anticipating his instruction. “But the thing is, if we want to win the long game… we’re gonna have to keep playing.”
Hours later, we finally bite the bullet and drag our asses home.
I don’t know how to feel about this plan, because it doesn’t feel like much of one. We’re used to being on the offensive. Since the whole thing with Velle’s mom, we’ve been in control, despite what The Ivory thinks.
This move has really shaken things up. And now we’re stuck playing defense while he gets to waltz around like he isn’t Satan in a bougie fucking suit.
None of us know what to expect from these new guards—God, even thinking about it makes me want to throw up in my mouth.I never wanted to be a correctional officer in a shithole prison, but the last thing I want is to bereplacedas a correctional officer in a shithole prison.
It’s all fucked. Everything. Just a big fat pile ofwhat the fucking shit.
So yea, we have a plan. But at the moment, the plan sort of revolves around playing things by ear, which I know Velle hates even more than the rest of us.
Laying low, feeling these assholes out, while working on regaining control.
“It’s probably gonna get worse before it gets better,”Velle had said to the team as we were gearing up to head back into the mouth of the beast.“Just sayin.”
And now here we are. Walking into what could only be described as a waking nightmare.
As soon as we step inside the mansion, the rest of the guys are racing up to our floor, I’m assuming to make sure their shit is still there. But Rook, Velle and I don’t bother. We know it is, because if it weren’t, this would become a much bigger issue. And as fucked up as he is, it’s not the Warden’s style to throw all of his cards on the table at once.
No, he’s gonna make us sweat this one out.
I’m sure it’s no coincidence that right as we’re walking in, two of the new guards are coming downstairs—downhisstairs—right alongside the prick of the hour himself.
Manuel fuckin Blanco.
They’re chatting in Spanish, conversing about their bedrooms—on the second floor of his side of the mansion, apparently—the food, and the gym. The Ivory is acting rather chummy with these fools, and I can practically hear Velle’s blood boiling at my side.
Oh boy. There he goes…
“What are they doing here??” Velle barks, stomping right up to them in the foyer.
That was fast.
The Ivory cocks his head to the side, smirking like he’s pleased that he has Velle all riled up, which surprises no one. But he doesn’t speak. He lets his goons do it for him.
“We didn’t get a chance to meet officially,” the guy on the right says. “I’m Christian. Equino.”
He holds out his hand to Velle, who isn’t even looking at him. He’s just glaring at The Ivory.
“Not enough space in the staff house?” Velle mutters with the arch of his brow.
