Chapter Eleven

CHAPTER ELEVEN

"Hays! Your lawyer's here!"

Early the next morning, Emily was woken by one of the guards screaming for her to get her ass out of bed. It was barely light out, which meant the odds of this being a real visit were low. Oh, and then there was the fact that she didn't have a lawyer.

Emily looked at Lita, who was rubbing her eyes in the lower bunk across from her.

"What do I do?" Emily whispered.

"Why you lookin' at me for? I ain't got nothin' to do with this. No skin to play."

What did that mean? No skin. The only answer was that Lita had no leverage when it came to the guards hauling Emily off to a private cell for some good old-fashioned murder.

"Maybe next time," Emily hissed, "be more specific when you offer to keep someone alive for two days."

"Hey, I'm in prison, bitch. Not like anything's guaranteed here."

No kidding. Emily got up and slid on her shoes. "Isn't it a little early for lawyers?" she asked the guard.

"I was told to come get you. So I'm getting you. Move, inmate." His eyes were cold and heartless.

Yep. Going to die now . Well, at least Lita the Soulless wouldn't get her money.

The guard cuffed Emily's hands in the front, and they proceeded through several sets of heavy doors with cameras encased in protective cages over them. Each door opened remotely with a loud buzz. Security was tight here.

The guard stopped in front of a door with a big glass window. Inside, Charge sat at a table, wearing a gray suit and black tie.

Her heart leapt. He's alive.

The guard let her in, and she locked eyes with Charge. She sat across from him, trying to form a coherent word while the guard cuffed her to the table.

Once he left, she leaned in. "What happened? I thought you were dead."

Charge growled in a low voice, "What happened was that you were supposed to do a job, and you didn't."

"Job?"

"I gave you specific instructions, and you didn't carry them out. You have no one but yourself to blame."

Emily's blood rushed through her veins, panic setting in. Or perhaps it was anger. She wasn't sure yet. "Why did you…call it ‘a job'?"

Charge stared with those ice-cold eyes.

That's what this is? "Did you get me incarcerated to do a hit on Roberts?"

"Emily," Charge warned, like she shouldn't even go there.

She ignored him. "Answer me, goddammit. Is this whole thing really about a contract?" Her face flushed with rage because she already knew the answer. She just wanted to hear him say it.

"What ‘whole thing' are you referring to?" he snarled. "All you had to do was kill one person. One."

Holy shit. Holy fucking shit! This had nothing to do with keeping her safe. Getting her into the supermax was about doing a hit. He'd set her up again. He'd lied. Again. I knew better than to trust him. Dammit, Emily! What's the matter with you?

He added, "I'm out here scrambling like hell to keep us both alive, not to mention save suite forty-five."

"Did you just say that you hung me out to dry because you were too busy ?"

"I didn't say that, but my operators are being hunted, and I must put the team over my life, your life, or anyone else's. You know that."

That was terrifying news about the team, but this wasn't about them. This was about Charge manipulating her and making choices "for the greater good" without consulting her. It was about him hurling a colossal fireball of destruction at the trust between them. The irony was that if he'd told her the truth and laid out the situation, she probably would have gone along with the plan. But he'd robbed her of a choice. Again. He'd played with her life. Again.

Emily's bitter rage bubbled over. "I thought you loved me," she spat, now knowing the confession he'd made after she'd saved him from Dearheart all those weeks ago was just another lie.

Honestly, she'd dismissed Charge's words as a moment of weakness after he'd been pumped full of painkillers, but afterwards, while she'd been nursing him back to health, she began to wonder if he'd meant it.

The morning of her arrest, when Charge just stood in the crowd, had been pretty solid proof that his love confession wasn't real, but a tiny part of her kept clinging to a thread of "what if?"

Now, there was no doubt left. No room for hope. Not that she'd actually hoped anything would happen between them. He was a hit man, not dating material. He's a cold-hearted, manipulative asshole!

Charge jerked his head back, like he'd been taken off guard. "What's that have to do with anything?"

"It's everything." Because he'd told her that while he'd been preparing to do the hit on Ed, he'd watched her from afar and fallen for her. He'd said it was the reason he'd helped her after she'd run from Ed. "You've been playing me this entire time. Haven't you? The story about you loving me was a scam to get me to keep working for you." And it had worked. He'd probably done it because he believed she'd eventually lead him to Ed.

"I don't have time for this right now. And I've proven my loyalty to you."

"No. You said whatever you had to in order to make me trust you." She hung her head. "I can't believe I fell for it." Not to mention, she genuinely cared for Charge. She'd taken a life for him. She'd risked her own ass, too.

"I'm sorry you think that," he said smugly, "but it doesn't change the situation or what has to be done next."

"And just what's that? Am I supposed to take out the warden next? Or the head of one of the gangs here so you get paid?" She pushed back in her chair. "I'm done, Charge. Done."

"Don't be silly. You won't get out of this prison alive unless you pull your head from your ass, Justine, and follow my instructions."

This again. And why did he always call her Justine when he wanted to control her? Did he think it was a psychological magic wand to garner compliance?

He went on, "You only have a day, two max, before someone realizes you have a ten-million-dollar price on your head. You don't have much time, but it's enough time to—"

"No, Charge. No more. I'm not buying into your crap. I mean, look at where I am." She tried to throw her hands in the air, but they were chained to the table. "We both know I'm not getting out of here. Not after I killed that guard. At best, I'll survive a week, and if it's all the same to you, I'd like to enjoy what little time I have left."

Right on cue, the guard came through the door. "Time's up." He freed her cuffs from the table while Charge stared with a pulsing jaw covered in a sheen of inky stubble.

"Yes, it is," she said. Maybe it was poetic justice getting to die in this place. She'd done terrible things in her life, but none were more deserving of punishment than being that coward Justine Hays. She'd known for a long while what Ed, his brother, and friends were doing for money, yet she'd let it go on. Didn't once try to stop them until the teen girls came into the mix. All those women who suffered and had been abused and all she'd done was sit and cower from Ed's fists.

I deserve to die here. Not for killing thugs or rapists, but because she'd looked the other way when innocent people were hurting. And because she'd been stupid enough to trust a hit man.