Page 28 of Blood We Steal

“What time is it?” I asked when she came out of the bathroom. My watch was in my cell, but I’d seen Simone’s, the same drug store digital watch she’d worn since I’d known her. I’d found out she’d bought ten at a going out of business sale.

“Almost seven,” she said.

I went over to the window, which was high and overlooked the parking lot and highway that the jail had been built next to. I’d always hated this building, even before I’d known what it was.

Nine drab gray concrete squares stacked one on top of the other to create a foreboding fortress that marred the skyline. Once they’d filled the tower to capacity, the city had put what it called bungalows on the grounds. They were really just prefabricated barracks that came off the back of trucks and were slapped up wherever the pieces were dropped. The warden had graciously offered me and my men our own barracks.

I’d turned him down. He wanted me separated and neutralized and had actually believed what he called privileges would be enough to control me. He hadn’t thought that for long. Within a month, I had key members of the administrative staff and COs on my payroll, and the warden was mine within six.

I idly wondered if he and his asinine family had gotten eaten.

The sun was fading fast, but it still cast the stark-white roofs of the bungalows in a bright rainbow. Unlike most nights, the lights of the city hadn’t started to take over. No lines of red and white brake lights as far as the eye could see. The streets, so vibrant just hours ago, were dead.

“Close the other shades,” I said as I pulled the tangled cord and the blinds clanged to the windowsill.

“Yeah, guess we don’t want to let light in, though I suppose there’s no way anyone could miss this place.”

She sounded totally normal, and I told myself that was a good thing. She stifled a yawn. “We should take turns sleeping. Three hours on, three hours off, which should allow us to complete the sleep cycle,” she said.

“No.”

She furrowed her brow. “I’m not going to try to kill you, Rubin.”

“I know. Can’t sleep.”

She yawned again. “I can barely keep my eyes open. I know it’s just the adrenaline, but⁠—”

“Then sleep.” My voice was flat, and I stared at the hole in the door where the glass had been before the warden’s assistant broke it out with his face.

“Good night, Mr. Marku,” she whispered.

She settled on the couch and then she went quiet, leaving me alone with my thoughts and my conviction that I would not fall for her act again. Not again. I took the corner opposite the couch where Simone had stretched out. It gave a full view of the office, the bathroom, and most importantly, the front door. I hated being caged like this. Had spent months railing against it but knew that I had no other alternative. It was this or being out there in the dark. So I sat, the knife in my hand, thankful that my father had taught the necessity of letting go of regret.

It served no purpose, so I wouldn’t allow myself to mourn the fallen world.

Because it had fallen. I had no doubt about that. But I couldn’t change that. All there was to do was go forward.

The night dragged on, the darkness in the prison heavy. The silence even heavier, except when it was interrupted by screams. To her credit, Simone didn’t stir, not once. I wondered why. The women I’d thought I knew would have been on edge, unable to relax, or even worse, clinging to me or someone else for protection. That Simone could sleep now, and do it well, told me all that she must have gone through.

There was a time when I would have saved her from a second’s suffering, but she’d tossed that away. Now, her suffering was not my concern. Good thing because it was only going to get worse for all of us.

She was up with the sun. There was no transition from sleep to wakefulness. One moment she was asleep, curled on the couch looking uncomfortable, and the next she was fully alert.

“I assume nothing happened while I was asleep?” she said.

“I wouldn’t know. I was here.”

“You didn’t rest at all.” She had the nerve to look concerned, setting off a shock of annoyance in my chest. I swallowed it down, reminding myself that getting caught up in reacting to Simone was dangerous for my health.

I pushed out of the chair I had been sitting in and went to the bathroom. When I came back, Simone had laid out honey buns and two bottles of water. I ate one, the overly sweet dough in my mouth nearly stale and somewhat nauseating. But it was better than nothing.

“I need to find Damian. So I think⁠—”

My words were cut off by a bang, and instantly I grabbed the knife. Simone grabbed hers, too, but she still looked like she was going to jump out of her skin.

“Krye?”

At the use of my title, I cautiously walked toward the door. “Who is this?” I asked in Albanian.