Page 11 of Enemy of the State

I’ve never been a soft or gentle guy, even before the army. I’ve never been the hold-your-hand, buy-you-flowers, cuddle-you-through-the-night, tell-you-all-my-warm, fuzzy-fucking-feelings guy. I’m all hard lines and sharp corners. A wolf, a predator, to my core.

According to the women I’ve dated relatively recently, I’m hard to love and even harder to put up with. I’ve been told I’m cold and detached. What they don’t know is that I’m protecting them, shielding them from my inner darkness.

Even if I could tell a girlfriend about what I do for a living—which I can’t—I could never truly be myself with her. I’d never feel comfortable enough to unlock the vault I keep the darkness locked inside.

There are guys here, guys like me and Jace, who hide the dark, depraved parts of themselves from their wives and girlfriends. I used to be one of them, shutting down my darker inclinations, pretending they don’t exist. Not anymore. Now, I just fuck my fist.

I don’t want to pretend I’m something I’m not in order to receive a woman’s affection. I don’t want to close my eyes at night knowing I’m a fraud. I respect myself too much to be inauthentic and I respect women too much to truly unleash myself on them.

So, imagine my shock to find myself standing in front of Lou’s cell a few hours later, gauze and disinfectant in hand.

Looking into her cell in person for the first time, I’m glad I brought supplies. It’s fucking filthy. Disgusting would be too benign of a word for this place. The foul smell that always permeates this hallway is somehow even worse as I stand in front of Cell Eight.

Louhi is sitting against the back wall, her head rolled to the side, eyes closed. The steady rise and fall of her chest tell me she’s alive; though I’m not sure if she’s conscious. She didn’t lose enough blood to pass out, but I know the excruciating pain I must’ve caused her earlier, so I wouldn’t be surprised to find that her body put itself to sleep to cope. Something foreign tugs inside my chest, squeezing tightly as if begging me to study the feeling, but I ignore it.

I fish the key from my pocket and use the retinal scanner to unlock the small cell. Careful to leave the barred door open, I take a step inside, resisting the urge to cover my nose or gag from the repulsive stench.

Telling myself that it’s because I need to keep her alive until I have answers, I squat down in front of her and squeeze the bottle of disinfectant, sluicing it over her exposed and bleeding toes. Missing toenails won’t kill her, but the infection she’ll undoubtedly get in here certainly might.

She hisses even as her eyes remain shut. I’m not stupid enough to think that she didn’t know I was here from the moment I approached her cell.

“I don’t know whether to thank you or throat punch you for that.” Her dulcet voice carries through the small space. Regardless of the content, her voice is what I imagine it would sound like to speak in cursive handwriting: formal, refined, and sophisticated.

I can’t help the chuckle that snakes its way up my throat as I pour more of the runny liquid disinfectant over her feet, and she pops open her lids to level a glare at me. I smirk behind my maskas her attention remains narrowed on me. Averting my eyes, I pull the roll of gauze from my pants pocket and wrap it around her toes.

When I finish, I look up and meet her dark gaze, the color of strong coffee.

“You know that I’ll keep having to hurt you until you tell me what I need to know.”

Even in the low light, her eyes appear to soften marginally to a warm cocoa color. “I know.”

I nod in understanding as I get to my feet and retreat from her cell, Major Thompson’s dark warning replaying in my mind like an obnoxious pop song on the radio.

I’m rounding the corner as I leave the infirmary after returning the first aid supplies when I literally run into Borman. He mumbles an apology and starts to move past me when an idea sparks to life in my head, and I stop him. “Can you have the cells in Block One cleaned this week?”

His eyes nearly bug out of his head in surprise, but he doesn’t speak, leaving me with a curt nod and heading down the corridor. The cells in Block One were cleaned three weeks ago and aren’t due to be cleaned again for another two or three. I like to keep the accommodations in Block One less than ideal, but seeing Lou’s cell this evening bothered me more than it should. The other assholes residing in that block will simply reap the benefits of my newfound generosity.

Back in the barracks, I sink onto the end of my bed, dropping my head into my hands as I lean forward. I tug my mask from my head aggressively and rub at the back of my neck, feeling weighed down from the day and the little terror living in Cell Eight. I toy with the mesh mask between my hands, spinning it around and around.

Jace and I were Special Forces when we were hand-picked for this assignment. Don’t get me wrong, it’s a nice change from the active combat we experienced, so I find it hard to complain. We’ve been at Exile Island for two years and there are some perks to beinghere, like the ability to explore this tropical paradise on occasion. Unbeknownst to the prisoners, we’re located on a remote island three hundred miles off the coast of Hawai’i, but it’s not part of that state. No one knows about this place since it’s owned by the United States government, and it’s not on any map I’ve ever seen.

To get here, you have to take a long-ass boat ride from Oahu or helicopter. If you’re asking, I find the chopper method to be preferable, but I rarely leave, so it doesn’t really matter. Jace and I both have three more years apiece in this tropical hellscape before we’re granted the opportunity to bail or sign up for another round. Though, we’re afforded more leave opportunities here than we were when we were Special Forces—even if I hardly take advantage of them. Jace has one coming up where he’ll get a full week back on the mainland.

The man on my mind appears in front of me a moment later, raising the back of his hand to feel my forehead. I swat him away as he chuckles. “Are you sick? Borman said you asked him to have Block One cleaned.”

He sinks to his bed next to mine, his honey fucking eyes—damn you, Lou—assessing me.

“Have you been down there lately?”

“Uh, yeah, I feed Louhi, Samuel, Kazi, Solomon, and Carlos every day. Why?”

“You haven’t noticed how fucking inhumane those cells are becoming?” I ask, my brow furrowing. They’re downright inhospitable, even by my standards.

“I have, but that’s the point—for it to get so bad that they crack wide open and their secrets spill out.”

I sigh. Yeah, that’s the point. Or itwasthe point. I don’t know if it was the sight of a beautiful woman slumped next to a pile of her vomit that changed things for me or if I’m going soft with age, but it suddenly feels wrong. Maybe Jace is right, maybe Iamsick.

“They need to be cleaned,” I remark sternly. That’s all theexplanation Jace or anyone else is getting from me regarding the cleaning of Block One. Jace may be my best friend and second-in-command, but I still outrank him, and seeing as I’m in charge, what I say goes.

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