Prisoner (Criminals & Captives #1)(80)

I don’t feel any pain, though. Just cold. I am an accessory to murder, just not the murder they think. In a way, it feels right to finally pay for letting my stepdad die. Killing him, really. I’m tired of carrying around the guilt of it. I deserve this. My lawyer promises to get me out, but I’m not scared of prison. I’ve seen what it’s like inside. There are worse things.

Worse prisons.

“They’re trying to use this as leverage. So you’ll tell them what you know.” My lawyer pauses. “Can you give them something?”

You said you were strong enough.

I am strong enough. Strong enough to motherf*cking love you.

“No,” I tell her because I do love him. And I’m strong enough for this. “Nothing.”

The days drag on.

Esther begs me to reconsider, but I have to do this. A trial would only increase the chance of Grayson getting found out. So I take a plea bargain. A week later it’s settled: three years with good behavior.

I’m almost relieved when they tell me the transport to the federal penitentiary will be arriving the next night. It’s been four weeks since I’ve seen Grayson, but it seems like four years. I’d give anything to talk with him again.

To touch him.

But I know that’s what the Feds want—for me to contact Grayson and lead them to him. They can rot in hell waiting.





Chapter Forty-Two




Grayson


In the days that pass, my guys and I plan and carry out a massive robbery in the northern suburbs—a gold bug hoarding gold. One of these end-of-worlders. It goes great, and gold is easy as shit to sell. Just melt it down and no one can tell the difference. We’re going after that judge, and those boys, but we need more money, equipment, time for planning smart. The gold will help, but I just can’t feel happy.

I break down one day and go by her motel. The lights in her room are off. I go to the office and ask to rent the room. He hands me the key, and I go inside, even knowing what I’ll find of her. Nothing.

I lie down on the bed she slept in, trying to feel her. How pathetic is that? Rent her old motel room just to…what?

She’s moved back home, and that’s probably for the best.

I return to my cave-like room, one of the offices at the old mill. I pour the Macallan down my throat at night trying to blot out the images of her.

There’s a calendar from June of 1971 that’s still on the wall. I feel like that calendar, except my world stopped the last time I saw her.

I hear a sound—the guys are back, way earlier than planned. They’d been celebrating after the recent heist. I should be worried, I guess, because that usually means somebody got into a fight or something, but I don’t have a lot of energy for emotion. They’ll tell me if they need me to help crack some skulls.

“Hey.”

I look up. Stone’s standing in the doorway. He has two sawed-off shotguns, one over each shoulder. He puts them down and comes in and takes the bottle from my hand. It’s a nightly ritual, him taking the bottle from me. It’s even kind of comforting.

I flop on my back. “What’s up?”

“We can’t come by for our little brother?”

I roll my eyes. Little brother. I can see the worry in his eyes.

“How f*cked up are you right now?” he asks.

I know what the question means. It means they need me for action. They’ve pulled together some last-minute caper. “I can shoot straight,” I tell him. “Run faster than you.”

He gets this strange look.

I sit up. “What?”

He goes over to the crate in the corner and grabs my holster with my nine and tosses it to me. “We’re grabbing her up.”

“Who?”

“Abby. Is there another her you know?”

Shock bolts me upright. “What?”

“We’re grabbing her.”

“What? No. She’s gone. We can’t.”

He sighs. “She’s in a transport tonight. She’s been inside, Grayson. Inside a federal holding facility.”

I stiffen. “What the f*ck are you talking about? They didn’t press charges. I saw that with my own eyes.”

“They didn’t press charges for the breakout,” Stone clarifies. “But they brought her up on accessory. For Dorman.”

“What the hell? How do you know?”

“I know.”

And then I realize. He’s been keeping tabs on her. I made myself stop, but he’d kept going. “How long have they had her?”

He sighs. “Two weeks.”

Fury slices through me, along with pain. “She’s been inside two weeks, and you didn’t tell me?”

“I wanted to be sure,” he says. “See what she was made of.”

He wanted to see if she’d rat us out. My heart pounds. She’s inside because of what I did. Abby, locked up. “Fuck.”

“There’s more,” he says. “The night at the governor’s mansion…”

I stand, not liking the sound of that.

He sucks in a breath. “She didn’t want to leave that night. She wanted to come back with us, but I told her you didn’t want to see her again.”

I’m on him in a flash, grabbing his collar. “What the f*ck did you do?”