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I smiled. “Yes, Michelangelo?”
“I hesitate to say it, but are you certain you want to proceed?”
“Not certain. However, I think I’d be angry with myself if I didn’t at least try.”
“I feel the same way,” he responded, almost too quietly for me to hear.
16
MICHELANGELO
“Once we drive through these gates, the two of you will address me and any other superior as sir or, as in Flick’s case, ma’am.”
“Yes, sir,” Penelope muttered after I said it.
“What’s that Ramsey? I couldn’t hear you.”
“Yes, sir,” she repeated in a louder tone of voice.
“That’s better.”
I bristled, mainly because, for ten days, I wouldn’t be around to soften any blow she might feel from the man overseeing our training. Just being apart from her for that long was hard to stomach.
“General Longabaugh, welcome back, sir,” said the only guy at the gatehouse not holding an automatic weapon.
Sundance nodded once and drove through.
“We’ll be keeping you out of the general population since you aren’t here for the six-month protocols. Butterfly, you’ll be rooming with Flick. Michelangelo, you’re in my quarters. They’re a little bigger.”
I glanced over at Penelope, whose fists were clenched at her sides.
I’d met men like Sundance before. In prison, which is exactly what this place felt like from the moment we arrived. The fencing, watchtowers, barricades, and guards wielding automatic weapons were all to prevent people from coming in rather than getting out, but the claustrophobic effect it had on me was the same.
As far as my interaction with Sundance, I was aware his mandate was to break me down in the same way the guards in lockup had. The difference was, once he believed I was sufficiently humbled, he’d build me back up again.
It was the first part that would prove most challenging for me. I wasn’t concerned about the physical aspects of the training or even the amount of reading and studying I’d have to do. It was the initial goal—to make me feel as though I was nothing—that I worried I wouldn’t have the strength to endure.
That was the only silver lining I could find in Pen and I being separated. At least she wouldn’t witness my struggle.
While she had been kidnapped, she was rescued within days of her abduction. And, from what I understood from Tara, those who’d taken them had no mandate outside of holding the three women hostage until such time as their boss gave the next order. I prayed she had no idea of the mental torture I’d experienced during my four years of incarceration.
It had been hell. So much so that the day I saw Doc Butler waiting for me in the visitation room, I was certain he was there to tell me I was facing more charges. It made no sense for him to be the one to inform me; my brain was just that fucked up.
When he said he’d made a deal to get my sentence reduced, I thought it was another ploy to tear me down. But again, why would he, in particular, do that? The other thing I felt sure of was, if it wasn’t a trick, I had to be dreaming.
Until I walked out of the facility a free man later that same day, I expected the rug to be pulled out from under my feet, as they say.
It had taken three days for me to clear my mind enough to set foot in Penelope’s gallery. To see her. Even then, I was fighting against my insecurity.
I’d immediately sensed her attraction to me, which helped ease some of my discomfort. Knowing I was affecting her allowed me to slip back into the role I’d always played with her—the flirtatious bad boy.
Here at the Farm, like at the prison, I’d keep my head down and my mouth shut unless I was given a direct order requiring a response. I’d take everything in, fine-tune my situational awareness, and react accordingly. As long as I didn’t let the mental game-playing get the better of me, I hoped to be able to navigate the training without incident.
My plan was no different than what it should be as an effective intelligence agent. It would take the same skill set and the same kind of evidential analysis and response.
My only roadblock was Sundance. Not letting him get to me meant I had to rely on my wits. I could do this. I had to. My entire life was dependent on it, no matter what Doc Butler had said about my working for K19 no longer being a condition of my release.
As for Penelope, she’d dealt with her own set of mental calisthenics her entire life. She, like my sister, was seven years old when she was sent to boarding school. I was six years older when I was shipped off to the same, and I was still terrified.
