I would burn the motherfucker down for Georgia.
In prison, if the mattress dipped in the dead of night, it definitely wasn't because your sweet baby girl was wanting some cuddles with you. But I wasn't afraid of the other inmates trying to come at me. The only stabbing I was afraid of receiving would come at the hands of the loose springs of the stained mattress I attempted to sleep on.
Every hour on the hour the guards made their rounds, shining their flashlights into the faces of the sleeping inmates, making sure each one was accounted for. The squeak of the guards’ boots against the concrete floor for the umpteenth time during the night wasn't a surprise.
My cell door being unlocked and opened was. I pretended to be asleep, preparing myself to defend my honor against whatever fucker had a fetish for blondes with tattoos.
"I know who you are," A voice said. A lighter ignited, from the corner of my half closed eye I saw the cherry end of a cigarette burning a few feet from my bed. Whoever it was sat on the floor with his back against the concrete wall.
"And who exactly do you think I am?" I asked, calculating how to take him out if he made a move.
"A mutual friend of ours calls you The Moordenaar."
The fucking Dutchman, the man who gave me my first job, and the first and only one of my employers to ever know my real identity. The Moordenaar, a Dutch word for 'murderer', is what he called me.
Subtle.
I should slit The Dutchman's throat for not being able to keep his fucking mouth shut. Fuck it. I'll add it to my list of shit to do when I got out. "Wrong guy," I said, turning to look at the guy invading my personal space.
Small yellow lights lining the walkway outside my cell and the light from the half-moon through a high window on the far side of the cell block was all the light I needed to make out that the guy in my cell was huge. A wall of muscle sat on the ground a few feet from my bed, a cigarette hung from his lip, black and white tattoos covered the backs of his hands and one side of his neck, his dark hair cropped close to his head.
His eyes were black and in the light of the half moon he looked like a man possessed.
I may have been the devil, but with my blonde hair and blue eyes I know I didn't look the part. This guy looked like the floor had opened up and he'd just stepped through the gates of hell and into my cell.
"What do you want?" I asked.
"I need your help." He never took his eyes off of me.
"I don't know you. Why would I help you?" I swung my legs over the side of the bed and sat up.
“You killed the guy who hurt your family, am I right?” he asked.
“Allegedly,” I reminded him. I wasn’t about to admit anything to this guy. For all I knew, he was working for the DA and wearing a wire.
He laughed and shook his head. “I understand why you would say that, but I’m coming to you because I’m out of options.”
“I’m semi-retired,” I admitted.
“Well, Jake, I need you to semi-unretire, because my girl is in trouble and there are people that need to be killed.”
This guy wasn’t fucking around.
“Even if I wanted to help you, I can’t do shit from in here and I’m not getting out anytime soon,” I told him.
“You’ll be out.” He stood up, then lightly rapped on the bars. Seconds later, a guard appeared and opened my cell to let him back out. “And I’ll be in touch.”
When he was long out of sight, I realized I hadn’t even gotten his name.
What the fuck had just happened?
EIGHT
When the guard came to get me from my cell, I figured that I was on my way to meet with my lawyer to work out some sort of defense strategy. When we passed by Visitation and went into a room where they handed me the clothes I was wearing when they processed me, I was utterly confused. I didn't say anything just in case it would make them realize their mistake and I was led back to my cell.
When I took my first step of freedom outside the gates of the jail, the bright light of day blinded me after spending so much time in a dark cell.
The first person I saw was Bethany, who honked the horn of her car and waved me over. "Get in," she ordered, leaning over to open the passenger seat of her SUV.
I got in and waited until we were on the main road before I said anything.
"Why am I out?" I asked. "Where's Abby?" I should have been happy, but my frustrations got the best of me. "Bethany, what in the fuck is going on?"
"The DA dropped the charges, and Abby is at home with Georgia," she said casually, shrugging her shoulders, then adjusting the air conditioning vents.
"Why would they do that? How can they go from not setting bail to releasing me in less than 72 hours?" I was free, but I was on edge. Something wasn't right.