Chapter Thirteen

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Sitting behind his desk, Warden Perry raised a gray brow. "You're telling me that you killed a guard at Vanderhorst, and you want to press charges?"

"Yes. I killed him. In self-defense. They're running a sex ring, too, which is why I was transferred here. The warden didn't want to draw more attention to his operation, and he knew his staff would kill me in retaliation. So he sent me here to let your staff do it instead. You also need to know that I didn't kill the second guard, Summers. That was the warden. Summers tried to intervene on my behalf, and that turned out to be a big mistake for her."

He laced his hands and rested them on his large belly, staring with narrowed eyes. Emily didn't know if he was in on anything corrupt here, but if he was like any of the other powerful men she'd come across, he'd try to save his own ass before being taken down.

Just have to make it clear: he can go down with the ship or join me. "Before you say anything else, though, you need to know I will go public with or without your help. There's no keeping this a secret."

"Is that so?" he asked.

"Yes. And if you're a smart man, you'll listen to my entire story before deciding what you do next, because there's way more to this book than her cover."

He leaned back in his chair with a smug, amused grin. "By all means, go on. I'm all ears."

"Great. Because I am— was —a member of a group of hit men…"

***

Emily had no idea what would happen next, but for the first time in years, she felt like her soul wasn't weighing her down. No more cowering, lying to herself, or believing she was a victim of a cruel world.

She'd laid all her cards on the table to Warden Perry, who now knew everything. And, given the speech she'd made earlier to her cellmate, Emily's secret was out at every level of this establishment.

Just have to make sure the truth goes public no matter what. Justice needed to be served to the powerful people sponsoring the heinous crimes along the border, to the sick individuals running the prison she'd just left, and to whoever killed Summers.

Emily was escorted back to her cellblock and uncuffed. She went directly to find Lita, who sat on her bed, perusing a very tired copy of US Weekly .

"Whatchoo want, bitch?" Lita said, not bothering to look up.

Knives wasn't around. Good, we're alone.

Emily grinned. "How'd you like to make twenty thousand dollars?"

Lita busted out laughing. "What? You win the lotto?"

"There's a ten-million-dollar price on my head with the cartel. You could, of course, try to cash in on that contract, but it would mean dealing with them. Or, the more likely scenario: spending the rest of your life in here for killing me while watching one of the guards or the warden take the credit and collect the money. Not fun. That's why I'm offering you twenty grand. Free and clear. Money only you will know about."

Lita's snide grin melted away. "I'm all ears, girl."

"Good. Because I need you to listen closely and then write down every word when you get out."

"You want me to write a story?" Lita arched a dark brow.

"An article. I've seen those big books by the window, so I know you're not incapable." Lita was also assertive. "In fact, you're perfect for the job."

***

This plan held little chance of succeeding, but at the very least, Emily could go out with a clean conscience no matter what happened.

No doubt Warden Perry would sit on Emily's story for a few days. He'd want to assess the facts and figure out what his personal exposure was. If he stepped in on her behalf, he'd be connected to a political scandal. If he stayed silent, he might end up becoming an accomplice. After all, he knew the entire truth now, and looking the other way would make him just as guilty as Warden Mitchel.

The trick was to back Perry into a corner, and the only way to do that was proving she'd meant what she'd said about the truth getting out no matter what.

That was where Lita came in. If she did as they'd agreed, Emily's story—flush with hard facts any journalist could confirm—would be public in six days. There wasn't a news organization out there that wouldn't want to cover this story, but Emily figured they'd have better luck going to the local paper in El Paso first. As a backup, Lita would post on social media, too, and tag the FBI, Homeland Security, and every major news outlet. It was a dark, sad, delicious story of surviving in a world most people were never exposed to. Some didn't even believe it existed.

But it was real. All of it. The drugs. The guns. The money. The human enslavement. Please, God. Please let this work. Get me out of here. Expose these assholes. With Lita's help, she stood a chance.

"Inmate, what the hell are you doing?" said a tall man with light brown hair and stunning blue eyes. He was built like a gladiator, with broad shoulders, strong arms, and muscled legs.

"Who are you?" Emily asked, sitting alone in the cell.

He pointed to the name stitched into his beige shirt. "Collins. But you can call me Hunter."

Hunter Collins… He looked like a dream from a superhero movie. Clean cut. Beautiful lips. Sparkling eyes. Had God been listening to her prayers for help and sent an angel? Then again, he was a guard.

"What do you want?" she asked drably.

He leaned into the cell and whispered, "A friend sent me. To protect you."

"I don't have any friends."

He cracked a charming smile. "We both know that's not true."

She narrowed her eyes, studying him. He seemed too happy, too good looking and fit to be a guard in a hellhole like this, where the employees were just as miserable as the inmates. "Who are you really ?"

He lifted his chin. "Forty-four."

She frowned. "Sorry?"

"I'm the last resort. I'm only activated when necessary."

What. The. Shit? He was an operator for suite forty-five? She hadn't met all of the hit men, but his number didn't ring a bell. How had he gotten into the prison dressed as a guard? Maybe the same way Charge had gotten her into the supermax without a trial.

"If you want to live, Emily, you'll do what I say."

This again? She did not want Charge's help. Her connection to him and the group was over. In fact, she was about to expose them all. Not out of vindictiveness but because there was no other way to tell the world what was really happening on that border or how she'd ended up in prison without a trial.

"And if I don't?" she asked.

"I've been instructed to take you out. You know too much."

Kill me? A lump formed in her throat. She'd spent the last twenty-four hours coming to grips with the fact that her life was likely over, but she'd expected the fatal blow to come from a gang member or the prison staff. Not Charge himself. Well, an operator sent by Charge.

Jesus Christ, Emily. What did you expect? She'd gotten mixed up with a bunch of hit men.

And Collins is right. She knew Charge would take measures to protect his team. Especially now that she wasn't under his control. For all he knew, she'd end up doing something amazingly stupid like making a deal with the feds to get out of prison. Or I might go public.

Collins added, "But if it makes you feel any better, if it comes to that, I'll go down with you."

"Huh?"

He shrugged. "That's the price of failure for a job like this. Sampson has made it clear that if I can't get you free, then you must die, and so will I. He's not fucking around."

"Sampson" was the code name used for whoever ran suite forty-five, which had actually been many individuals over the years, since the torch got passed from one leader to another. Continuity purposes. "Sampson" always stayed invisible, behind the scenes, so no one knew who he or she really was.

For example, to the team, Charge was just another operator. Behind the scenes, Charge ran the entire operation for years, and Emily had been in training to take his place. Of course, that all went sideways. The point was that no one really ever knew Sampson wasn't a real person. Made him much harder to find.

"Let me get this straight," she said, "Sampson told you to keep me alive, but if I don't do what you say, you'll kill me and then yourself?" This didn't sound like Charge at all. Charge would do anything to protect his operators.

"If you don't do what I say, then we have no hope of getting you out of here in one piece. So, yes, plan B is to execute you to minimize our exposure. And yes, I'm fucked if that's how this plays out. But I won't be killing myself. I just know Sampson won't let me live if I fail."

Bullshit. Charge would never do that. This was an emotional ploy meant to garner her cooperation. Charge knew she had a sympathetic heart and wouldn't want this man to die because of her.

"What are the terms?" she asked.

"Terms?"

"What does Sampson want, Hunter? I mean, if you get me out of here, there must be a price."

"No terms. He just wants you . Free. Safe."

She wanted that too, but not like this. Charge would want something in return, and she was done with all this corrupt, dirty, deadly crap. "No thanks."

"Didn't you hear me? My job is to protect you until we can get you free, but it will require your full cooperation."

"Then go home. Or put a bullet in my head right now," she snarled.

He jerked back his head. "You want to die in this place?"

"What gives you that impression?"

"You just asked me to kill you."

"No. What I said was that if you require my full cooperation, you're not getting it." She exhaled sharply. "I don't want your help. And tell Sampson I'm done dealing with him, and I mean it."

"But I can help—"

"I'm not interested in your help. "

"Then what do you want?"

She didn't know this man, so she wasn't about to go through her long list of wants. "You can find out with the rest of the world next week."

"Justine, what are you planning?" he asked, his displeased tone tinged with a threat.

"Nothing. Nice to meet you, Hunter Collins. Goodbye." She picked up her book and slid into her cot. Just then, Lita walked in, returning from work. She took a long look at Hunter, who snarled and left.

"Whoa, girl. Did they upgrade the guards? And, shit, right before I'm leaving?"

"Trust me, you don't want to get mixed up with that man. Stay far, far away from him."

Lita gave her a curious look. "Danger follows you everywhere, don't it?"

"What makes you think it's danger and not just my stupid choices?"

Lita shrugged. "Because I made a shit ton of stupid choices, girl, and I still didn't end up working for no hit men. Don't have a ten-mil contract on my head neither. You got danger issues, girl. Big-time magnet."

"Guess I'm just lucky." Emily went back to reading her magazine.

"Or maybe it's just that lions are territorial. They don't like having you around."