Total pages in book: 158
Estimated words: 144908 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 725(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 483(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 144908 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 725(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 483(@300wpm)
He had learned to use silence as a child to keep from giving his “instructors” more joy. He had used that silence in prison to keep from killing. He was used to it now. He lost himself in his music or working with his hands, but he had withdrawn from the human race as much as possible. He let the others handle all of the niceties. No one questioned his silence. Sometimes he wondered if they even noticed. He learned not to care.
On the fifth day after the discovery of the bodies, Master heard the guards outside his cell and knew Absinthe had come for him. The two men were talking in low tones, not at all happy that he was being released.
“Vasiliev, your fucking lawyer is here. Get your ass up and collect your things.”
Barry Adams wasn’t a bad guard. Surly most of the time, but he did his job, and he didn’t push the prisoners around. He didn’t like Kir Vasiliev, and he made that plain. He thought Master was guilty as sin of every crime he’d been thrown in prison for but somehow his brilliant lawyer kept finding a technicality, or a witness, something to overturn the conviction.
“Seems like this is a hotel for you, a revolving door,” John Sippo added, gesturing for Master to walk out of his cell. “Why are you always in solitary?”
Master just looked at him. There was no point in conversing. None.
“He’s a troublemaker, can’t get along with anyone,” Barry said. “Get moving, Vasiliev—you know the way by now.”
Yeah, he did. He walked straight to the front desk, where Absinthe waited while they handed over his personal items, all of which were in an envelope. The two fell into step without a word, the guards walking with them to let them out.
“We’ll be seeing you soon,” John said.
Master didn’t turn around or even bother flipping him off. He wasn’t coming back. Not even if Czar commanded him to. He was done with prison. He was never going back, not for anyone. Not for any reason. They could kill him first.
He took a deep breath of freedom and then slid into the car with Absinthe.
“You okay?” Absinthe asked.
“Yeah. Just fine. Need to head to the club.”
“Czar wants you to come straight home. He’s anxious for any information you have, and there’s a situation developing we need to take care of.” Absinthe eased the car into traffic.
“Take me to the club, Absinthe, or fucking drop me off at the corner and I’ll get a ride.” Master pulled open the glove box and took out the wallet with his own ID, credit cards and the fat wad of cash he liked to carry. He shoved the one he’d been arrested with inside. It had his driver’s license and little else personal. Prison had already taken too much of him; he wasn’t giving anything else of himself if he could help it.
Absinthe glanced at him, a quick, shrewd once-over. Absinthe had a gift. He could hear the truth, even compel it. He knew Master meant exactly what he said. He shouldn’t be surprised or even alarmed. After every prison stay, Master did as he was programmed to do. He found a woman and he used her hard. That was what the club was for. The women there were looking for men like Master, or at least thought they were.
“The club it is,” Absinthe said. “I’m sorry it took so long for me to get you out of there.”
Master shrugged his shoulders and stared out at the cars and trucks on the highway. Absinthe handled the Audi with ease, moving through traffic without calling attention to them. They did everything that way, as if they were still in the shadows. They probably always would.
“Talk to me, Master,” Absinthe said.
“Don’t have a fucking thing to say,” Master murmured, not turning his head. He knew better than to say a word around Absinthe. He could see inside a man’s head, hear truth in a voice, and it wouldn’t be a good thing.
Master was feeling . . . murderous. It wasn’t an unfamiliar feeling when he was first out of prison. There was always that transition he had to make. From prison survival of the fittest to the latest edition of whatever self he was going to be. He’d been an animal in a cage, with too much time to remember every single thing done to him when he was a child and teen. The moment he entered a prison, the memories were there, threatening to swallow him whole.
Master didn’t just have to fight physically to stay alive, it was a mental process as well. Each time he was alone in his cell, the memories swamped him. It was impossible to push them away. He couldn’t close those doors on the nightmare of his childhood, and every time Czar sent him back, it felt as if he were being abandoned to his past, to those monsters.