“I read an article…” I croak, trying hard not to sound as invested as I probably seem. “This Dascha kid has been robbing banks in Brooklyn for years. He’s good at what he does, I guess. They’ve never been able to make anything stick. I mean, it’s crazy…”
I barely even know what I’m saying, but it’s all just spilling out. Now that I’m saying the words, out loud, I can’t stop them. I’m like a fucking civ.
“His story is truly wild. Like a movie… I’m talking machine guns and rubber masks. LikeThe Town, or some shit. And he’s onlytwenty-five. He probably would’ve kept going if this shit didn’t happen, but I guess the cops flipped an accomplice or something. They were planning to scoop him at the bank, and when he found out, he took Karly Clayton hostage—”
“And just killed her?” Peters appears interested as hell, which is good.
At least I can play it off like it’s just a super interesting story…
Gulping, I shift. “Maybe it was an accident…”
I hope it was. Having a crush on someone who kills innocent women for no reason, out of greed, or because they’re in his way, isn’t really something I want to wrap my head around.
Peters nods, giving me a curious look. I don’t like it… It makes me feel like I’m under a microscope.
“That must’ve been one doozy of an article…” He says, eyeing me skeptically.
Like he cantotallytell I’m obsessed with this Dascha kid.
Fuck. I gotta go.
Patting his shoulder, I rumble, “See you in a couple hours.”
I stalk off before he has a chance to say anything else.
I need to go… shoot my shot.
Whether or not I think he’ll entertain my questions—I’m sure he willnot—I still need to ask them. Because if Dascha is really coming here, I don’t know that I can keep doing this.
Lying. Hiding. Pretending.
I just don’t see how I’ll be able to keep it up with him under the same roof.
But if he’s not… And he’s really dead…
Anguish swims in my bloodstream as I storm up the stairs. In front of the Warden’s office, I’m stopped by one of his men, Kent, with a hand on my chest.
“I need to see The Ivory,” I grunt, moving around him to knock on the door.
“He’s busy.” Kent shoves me. “Move it along, dog.”
I get up in his face. “Test me right now. I swear to God, I’ve gotnothingto lose.”
He’s staring me down, hard, refusing to budge.
Until a voice calls from inside the office. “Send him in, please.”
I think I’m as shocked by this as Kent is, but neither of us are showing it. He reluctantly steps aside, and I waste no time barging into the office, storming right up to the desk of Manuel Blanco.
He’s sitting behind it, typing on his phone. My chest is heaving from fucking jogging through this prison, on top of how severely frayed my sanity is right now. But as usual,he’scalm.Unaffected by literally everything.
The Ivory drops his phone onto his desk, and smirks up at me. “That was fast.”
My brows furrow.
His head cocks. “You should be a reporter. So… persistent.” I blink. “Interested in current events…”
I swallow, not a single clue what to say to that.
