Prisoned - Marni Mann Page 0,20

to hear me pee, you’re going to see me wash my body, you’re going to watch me get fucking pissed if someone doesn’t bring us some answers and some food pretty soon.” When he paused, it felt like he was reading my face. “If it’s fear, get over it. Right now, it’s just you and me and this goddamn cell. The only thing I care about is keeping you safe and comfortable.”

I wiggled out of his lap and moved over to the toilet. There was no lid, just a big hole and a flushing handle. On the floor was a single roll of toilet paper. I didn’t know if we’d be getting any more, and building a nest would use too much of it, so I dropped my pants and sat on my hands.

Before I peed, I glanced at Garin. His legs were stretched out and crossed, the back of his head resting against the wall, and his eyes were closed. He was giving me the privacy he’d promised.

I shut my own eyes and relaxed my body, feeling the relief almost immediately. When I was done, I washed my hands at the sink and used my pants to dry them. Then, I stayed in the corner, staring at the bars. There were eight of them, at least an inch apart, and through them, all I saw was darkness. “Why are we here?”

I felt his eyes on me, but I didn’t get an answer.

Six

Garin

Two Years Ago

I pushed my chair back, reclined into the soft cushion behind me, and crossed my shoes over the edge of the desk. This was the first time I’d sat down in the last twelve hours, and there wasn’t enough scotch in my wet bar to dull the ache that was throbbing behind my eyes.

It had been a long fucking day.

My marketing director had quit this morning, gone to work for the casino at the end of the strip, challenging his non-compete just one month before the largest poker tournament my hotel had ever hosted. A cocktail waitress had been sexually harassed by a player while taking his drink order. The finger he’d used to rub her cunt with was no longer attached to his hand. When my men didn’t get enough satisfaction from that, they sawed off his whole goddamn wrist. And, to make matters even worse, three of the slot machines had paid out jackpots in the last six hours, totaling over ten million.

As soon as Mario saw that number, he’d be all over my ass. Every night, he received a detailed report of my daily numbers. Those numbers were then sent to all the other bosses in Atlantic City. The board was for show; the bosses were who really ran this casino. They called the shots from back home, and I made sure they were carried out. With them being so far away, there was a lot I could hide. The fucking numbers weren’t one of them.

And, when the bosses got angry, they didn’t take hands.

They took lives.

Someone’s ass was going to get it because three jackpots in six hours wasn’t typical. That was what we usually averaged a week. So, someone was either tampering with my machines, or they were faulting. I had everyone working on getting me that answer.

But, until that answer was in my hand, I needed to distract myself. Maybe I’d call one of the dancers from downstairs and have her come up to my condo that was on the top floor of the hotel. I’d chain her to my bed and pour scotch all over her tits. Her dripping tight asshole and a buzz would help dull this ache in my head.

When I picked up my phone to call the club, it started ringing in my hand. Billy’s name was on the screen.

“Not a good time—”

“It’s never a good time.” He blew into the phone, which I knew was a mouthful of cigarette smoke. “Isn’t it around eleven there? You should be balls-deep inside some slut, not picking up my call.”

“Then, why didn’t you just send me a text?”

“’Cause I knew you’d answer. You always do. Listen, I’ve been talking to some of the guys down at the boardwalk, and I’ve learned some shit.”

This wasn’t making my day any better. The guys down at the boardwalk were a bunch of street thugs who slept on the beach and ate from dumpsters. If Billy was hanging out down there, something told me he was sleeping down there, too.

“Did your Ma