His Mafia Prince

(ARLO)

A muscle jerks in Miles’ cheek. "I mean, I trust that you’ll do what is expected of you. No. I won’t trust you for real, Arlo. Not after the shit you pulled on me."

"I have a feeling that you don’t trust people whether or not they kidnap you," I say and he looks at me warily without arguing. "What do you think our odds of getting out alive are?"

He grimaces. "Not great. We have to try though."

I agree pointing to the pile of clothes on the cot. "What do you want me to do?"

He hesitates for a bit then says, "Grab a coat if you can find another. We need to create two fake dummies."

I head over to the boxes and begin to dig through the clothing. I wonder how many men have been kept prisoners in this cellar. It is an unsettling thought. Will my clothes end up being dumped alongside the ones in the boxes if Dalton kills me in cold blood?"

I watch Miles from the corner of my eye. He moves around, stabbing the air with the broken fishing rod. The way he thrusts the pole with such a brutal force intimidates me. I shiver to imagine how agonizing it will be to have that pole shoved into your eye socket or the body. I will do whatever it takes to survive. What I can’t say I look forward to however is piercing somebody’s eyeballs with a fishing rod.

I stuff an old sweater into the cavity of the coat I found. "how will this work? We aren’t exactly sure of what time they’re coming tomorrow."

Miles pauses his fighting and glances at me "We have to be ready before daylight. We can’t afford to hesitate. You should let me know right now if stabbing Dalton will be a problem for you."

"How many times do I need to tell you that I’m ready to do what needs to be done? I’m more than ready to stab that fucker."