Pawn (The Pawn Duet #2) - T.M. Frazier Page 0,30

tell you—”

Percy cuts me off. “No one told me shit. I know what you're up to because I recognize myself in your eyes. I couldn’t see it before, not until I changed and started seeing everything differently. We want the same things, Mickey. To end it. All of it.” He sits down on the edge of the bed. The usual hate-filled eyes I’m used to seeing glaring at me are gone, replaced with a much more tired version. And he’s right. I see myself in his eyes.

“When?” I ask, pushing off the wall and joining him on the bed. “When did you change?”

He sighs and looks down at his hands. . “When I was in prison. I…I just changed my mind. I saw clearly for the first time. Things, people, the world, but mostly myself. It all became…clear. For the first time.”

“Why?” I press, curious as to what can change beliefs he’s lived his entire life upholding and wondering if whatever changed him can be sucked into a syringe and injected into the rest of them.

“Why?” he laughs. “Because I feel like shit all the time. Because I was, am, angry all the time. I’m tired of being angry. Of being this person.”

“How do I know you’re telling me the truth and this isn’t some sort of elaborate trap to get me to confess?” I ask, cautiously.

Percy pulls a bandana from his back pocket and swipes at the back of his neck. When he pulls it away, it’s covered with ink and the tattoo is smeared across his skin, revealing scarred raised ink-free skin underneath. “There’s this program in the joint,” he starts, “to help inmates rid themselves of the tattoos from gangs and hate groups. To erase the symbols that link us to our past. I started with my head and the ones on my neck are mostly gone now. I’ll eventually do the rest of my body, but it takes a long time and a lot of sessions to get them to go away and as much as I don’t want to sound like a fucking pussy, it hurts like a son of a bitch.”

“That’s why you’re growing your hair back,” I realize, pointing to the blonde stubble on his head.

Percy rubs his palm over it. “Yeah, also, you know that the men of The Reich are supposed to grow their hair out when they get married. Skinheads are the soldiers, and Darius has always wanted me to be a leader. Our marriage is supposed to solidify that, and I guess it doesn’t hurt that I won’t have to have April painting my head every morning.”

“That’s the girl who is always coming out of your room in the morning? I thought…”

He raises an eyebrow. “You thought she was one of the Reich’s girls? A whore?”

“I was going to say consenting sexual participant working to meet the needs of the men of The Reich,” I correct.

“Of course, you were,” he laughs. “Well, good. I guess if someone has to see her coming out, it’s not bad that’s the impression they got, but no, she’s a makeup artist. She does the one on the back of my neck and the one on my throat. The ones I wouldn’t be able to hide, even with a full head of hair.” He looks down at his colorful arms, sleeves of bigotry displayed in beautiful colorful art. “I still have a lot of work to do,” he sighs. “And I’m glad these are gone.” He runs his fingers over his throat, head and neck, but I can still feel them there. I can remove them from my skin but the reason I want to take down the Reich is because I want them gone from here,” he places his open hand against his chest. “It’s going to take more than a few sessions with a laser to remove those.”

“What do you want from all this? What’s the reason you came back here after prison?” I ask.

His eyes are both determined and sad.

“Redemption.”

There’s a knock at the door. “Michaela,” a voice calls out. “Darius wants to see you to talk about the recruitment.”

“You better go,” Percy says. “We’ll talk more later.”

I turn to leave, then stop. “How…how is she?” I ask, because I have to.

“She’s safe…for now.”

8

Pike

The door to King’s studio is unlocked. It squeaks and groans as I push past it and enter the dimly lit, unoccupied room.

Again, I check the message King sent me. It ordered me to be here at eight