no control

• epilogue •

elijah

I couldn't tell how long I'd been in this cell, but it felt like ages had passed. This thin orange jumpsuit smelled like a football locker room and I was fucking starving because I refused to eat the foul shit they called 'food' here.

Why bother when I would be out of here, eating actual food, in no time?

My mind was exhausted from the constant turnover in my thoughts. I spent hours pondering too many what-ifs.

What if Aaron didn't get everything out in time? What if someone went rogue? How did Gladys take the news? What if she left me?

I couldn't force her to stay while I was in here, not while Aaron was occupied doing other things.

I realized speculations weren't going to get me anywhere, so I tried to silence the pestering questions in my ear. At some points, I dozed off into brief naps but would jolt awake minutes later.

After what felt like an eternity, the cell door clicked open and the bitch detective appeared. She flashed me a righteous smirk. I would have so much fun carving her lips out of her face.

"Mr. Zare," she said. "Please, come with me."

I rose from the metal bench and followed her. She led me to the same interrogation room where I'd sat with my lawyer an hour prior. I settled into the same chair across from her.

"Well, well, well," she taunted me. "Looks like you're not so holy after all. Your friend came forward."

I sat up a little. Friend? I didn't have fucking friends. Friends implied trust and I trusted no one. The only remote person aside in my life aside from Angel was Aaron, and that fucker wouldn't—no. He wouldn't do that to me.

Fighting to keep my face blank, I narrowed my eyes on the detective again. "You're going to have to clarify."

She rolled her eyes and pulled out a file from the folder on the table. She showed me a photo of Aaron. My hands clenched into fists under the table.

Shit. Why would he do this? He must have gotten caught.

"He came forward this morning with evidence against you."

I blinked once and swallowed. This bitch better be fucking lying.

"He wanted protection for himself and his family in exchange for intel on you . . . and he wasn't the only one." She pulled out another photo of an older man. "Benjamin Cast has been working alongside the FBI to provide intel on you also."

Holy goddamn son of a bitch.

I kept my face blank. I knew my body language was probably more obvious, but I didn't want to appear guilty. Still, it was hard not to feel floored at realizing I had lived amongst so many fucking rats.

"What are you charging me with?" I asked, voice deadly calm.

She sighed and leaned back in her chair. "Distribution of Schedule I and II drugs."

That's it? Interesting.

They didn't know about the guns or trafficking across state and federal lines.

That could only mean one thing—Aaron didn't tell all. His hands were still in the pot. My fucking pot.

That little bitch would be nothing without me. He was an alcoholic on a downward spiral to ruining his life, his marriage, and his family when I met him.

He knew what happened to traitors. He'd seen me shoot them, cut them, burn them, chop them up into little pieces. Hell, he'd helped me with plenty.

Apparently, he believed himself above the mafia law, our code of silence and pledge of loyalty.

I felt a sick shiver of thrill at the thought of reminding him who he was fucking with. Nobody betrayed me and got away with it.

"We're still adding up all the drugs in your warehouses, so the amount isn't determined yet," the detective went on. "But you're going to jail for a long, long time, Mr. Zare. And I know we'll find more when we get into your house."

My lip peeled back. I didn't keep shit at my house. The biometric scanners in the basement had lockdown procedures that not even the CIA could overwrite. And if they tried, it would all blow up.

"Where is Gladys?" I asked, leaning forward and peering into her smug eyes.

"Oh, that girl is long gone. She bolted at the first chance."

My teeth gritted together. I looked away so I wouldn't reach across the table and strangle the shit out of this bitch with my handcuffs. 

She wouldn't just leave. She promised she would stay. She loved me and no one could convince me otherwise.

"Don't get too heartbroken about it," the detective said. "Can't hold it against her. She thinks you killed her blood. And by now, she probably knows about the drug charges." She shrugged. "Any girl with half a brain would leave your pathetic ass in the dust."

I jumped up from the chair and sent it careening backward into the wall. My body heaved with rage. I glared down at the cop, who just raised a brow at me.

She knew I wouldn't hurt her. Not here, at least.

Motherfucker.

"She was a bit young for you anyway, don't you think?"

My hands itched to throw the table or wrap around this birch's throat. Anything to distract me from the pain ripping me apart from the inside.

She wouldn't leave me. She wouldn't abandon me . . .

But if she did, I would find her.

I would track her down and remind her who she belonged to, whom she pledged her love to. I was not a forgetful or forgiving man.

She would not get away from me again.