by James, Marie
“From what you’ve told me,” Grant says, mimicking my position on his own bunk, “she won’t stay away.”
I swallow the emotion clogging my throat and make a mental note to remove her from my visitation list tomorrow.
No sooner than I close my eyes do I feel a shove to my shoulder. I dart into a sitting position, immediately on edge, defensive—the only way to be in this place.
“Hey, Blaze,” Sanchez, a crazy Latino motherfucker I never should’ve gotten involved with, sits beside me on my bunk—a sign of disrespect if you haven’t been offered the respite. He’s got some brass balls.
I sneer at him—probably a stupid move—but I’m not afraid of this asshole. Even though I’ve been warned by other inmates not to fuck with him, I don’t let my brain process what I’ve seen this psycho do to those who’ve crossed him.
“I got something I bet you’d be interested in,” Sanchez says, his eyes deadlocked with mine.
The undeniable pushiness in his tone makes me take stock of the situation. I glance around him, unable to hold his menacing gaze any longer. Two of his over-sized goons stand a few feet behind, itching to take action if I so much as hint at contempt in my voice.
This asshole doesn’t have to watch his back. He’s got a horde of minions willing to watch it for him. That should’ve been my first clue to keep away from him, but addiction is a motherfucker. My body’s need for drugs when I was initially locked up kept me from thinking with a clear head.
His offer, the third day I was here, shaking in my bunk from withdrawals, didn’t sound as bad as I’d thought it would. I was able to pay him for the drugs with my size rather than reimbursing him or his gang of lackeys on my knees and elbows. More than once, I stood guard while other addicts paid for their drugs in much more elicit manners.
The crackheads and petty offenders tend to stay away from the big guys in jail, but they have no problems taking things from Sanchez when they’re twitching and scratching at their skin like they’re covered in fire ants. They aren’t, however, as willing to clear their debt when the time comes. A quick shudder runs over my body at memories of shit I’ve seen in this place.
The only reason I can smile in Sanchez’s face right now is because I’m paid up. I made sure of that when I distracted the guards while some poor fucker got shanked in the bathroom two weeks ago.
“I’m getting clean, man. I don’t need your shit anymore.” The first week without a fix was one of the most horrific times in my life, which is saying something. The residual withdrawals also contributed to my outburst with Fallyn. I couldn’t admit to her I was getting clean, because then I’d have to confess I’ve been using in here.
“I have a job for you, Blaze.” His voice lowers to a menacing growl. Not because he’s afraid—he has guards terrified of him as well—but as a way to get me to comply through fear. “You’ll do it, or you’ll end up in the bathroom like Homer. You remember the last time you helped me out, don’t you?”
My pulse thrums in my ears as he loops his arm over my shoulder, daring me to shrug him off so beefed-up thug one and two can sweep in. Sweat mists my skin, pooling on my upper lip, but I have the peace of mind not to react. Showing fear is the last thing I can afford to do.
“Fuck,” I mutter, running my hands over my scalp. “I don’t want your fucking pills.”
I’ve always taken payment this way. If I have them, I’ll use, making the last couple weeks obsolete.
He shrugs. “You can get payment some other way.”
I shake my head, my spine stiffening. Other “guards” get reimbursed in sexual activities, and that’s so far beyond my moral standings, I won’t even consider it.
“I’m done, man,” I mutter, shifting my weight and edging a couple inches away. The heat of his glare burns me. I look up at him, almost to the point of begging him to leave me the fuck alone, even though I know it won’t do any damn good.
The look in his eyes confirms my suspicions. If I help, I end up high. If I don’t help, I end up hurt or dead. Lose fucking lose.
“No more,” I state with more bravado than I feel, my eyes deadlocking right back on his. Chills race over my skin at the evil grin that spreads across his face. He doesn’t say another word as he stands from my bunk and walks away. The slight nod of his head as he passes two of his low-life protectors is the only warning I get.
The moment Sanchez clears his men, the big one rushes me. By the half second glint of light off a strip of metal, I anticipate just how bad this is going to be.
My muscles flex, but from my sitting position, the only defense I have is using my arms and hands to ward off the attack. With clear advantage, he strikes out with the knife. Pain seers though my forearm, forcing me to lower it. As I tuck it closer to my body, blinding, burning heat radiates from my shoulder and chest. I have no idea how many times I’ve been hit, but if the warmth pooling in my lap is any indication, it has to be at least half a dozen.
My eyes cross as Sanchez’s goon’s weight is ripped away, the pressure lifted, only for the blood to rush out, making my head spin. Throaty shouts sound out in the distance as everything blurs and gurgles until my harsh breaths are the only thing I hear. My vision flashes in and out, the black spots and stars tearing my attention from the numbness spreading. Fire rips through me, but it dulls, until the only pain is the one in my heart knowing I’ll never see Fallyn again, and my parting words were accusing her of being a whore.
Chapter 23
Fallyn
“Where you going?” Brittney’s expectant voice brings a smile to my face as I grab my keys from the table near the front door.
“Heading to grab some coffee before jumping into an all-night study session,” I answer. “You’re welcome to join me.”
She’s off the couch and pulling on her flip flops before I can even finish my offer.
“Shit,” she mumbles, throwing her hands out for balance as she runs into the coffee table. “I thought we were going to stay inside all damn day!”
I can’t help but laugh. “You can leave here without me.”
She just shrugs, walking past me out the front door. Outside of going to work, she never leaves by herself. I don’t think she’s afraid to leave the apartment, she’s not the shy type, she just doesn’t want to do things alone. Pulling the door closed, I lock up and we argue back and forth about absolutely nothing as we make the short trek across campus to the coffee shop.
“Can we stay here to drink them?” she asks as the barista hands over our order. I roll my eyes in a tease and smile as I nod my head toward the comfy, half-moon shaped booth in the corner I already had my sights on. Making our way over to it, I stop short when a familiar handsome guy steps up to it with clear intentions to sit there.
A few seconds faster than us, Brittney, who’s concentrating on stirring the whipped cream on the top of her coffee, nearly sits on his lap before realizing he’s there.
“Oh shit,” she says as she scampers away.
He chuckles, deep and masculine. “You can sit here, bella.” He indicates his lap. “But how about I introduce myself first?”
I grin when Brittney’s nose scrunches in confusion as Stone lays the charm on thick.
“My name isn’t Bella,” she corrects, and I sigh at how clueless she is.
“It means beautiful in Spanish,” I mutter as I nudge her, and they both look over at me. Noticing me for the first time, Stone’s grin spreads wide.
“Cariño,” he whispers softly.
“Hi, Stone. I see you’re once again trying to steal my table.”
I try to hide my grin when Brittney’s eyes dart between the two of us.
“Seems to be a reoccurring problem I have. May I join you beautiful ladies?”
“Of course!” Brittney says enthusiastically as she slides in to the booth.
I slide in next, propriety taking over because I want to keep him to myself. I haven’t spoken a word to her about Julian Stone even though we’ve met twice for
coffee. His flirting continues, but he’s cognizant of the boundaries of our relationship and his lack of chances at anything romantic.
“Do you know each other?” my friend whispers as Stone pulls the strap of his messenger bag over his shoulder and takes the spot beside me.
“We met a week ago,” I say with what I hope sounds like nonchalance.
“I’m Brittney,” she informs him as she reaches across and offers her hand.
“Julian Stone,” he breathes against her hand, and I almost laugh as she swoons when he kisses it rather than shaking it.
“She’s my roommate,” I offer. Stone lifts an eyebrow at me as he releases her hand, and Brit sighs loudly, falling victim to his charm.
“How do you two know each other?” I wouldn’t think anything of her question if her eyebrows weren’t waggling up and down suggestively. She’s been trying to persuade me to ‘get back on the horse’ since my last visit with Blaze, and again this morning when I called the jail to schedule a visit and they informed me I was taken off the list. Blaze has ensured I can’t deny his request to stay away. Being the good friend she is, she let me cry on her shoulder and then told me to suck it up and move on once the tears subsided.
“I stole this exact table from her last week and forced her to sit with me.” He winks at me, giving her more fuel for her fire. I could kick him for it. Thankfully, he doesn’t mention the other times we’ve hung out.
“So, this is like destiny then? Meeting here twice?” I hate the fantasy and awe in her voice.
“Ah,” he says conspiratorially, leaning closer to her, “if only the fairy tale princess wasn’t already spoken for.”
Brittney startles, jerking her head back a few inches. “You know about Blaze?”
His eyes narrow, gaze falling to mine. “Blaze? Oh, Cariño, tell me you didn’t marry a guy with that name.”
Brittney chuckles beside me, finding humor in his lightheartedness where I only find an inert responsibility to defend my husband. I know the reasoning behind his namesake, and the fact that he hates it makes me defensive.
“Can we talk about something else?” I plead, making eye contact with Brittney, hoping she understands the situation with my husband isn’t up for discussion.
My shoulders ease at her almost imperceptible nod. They chat back and forth, much of the conversation like the one he and I had a week ago. She admits school just wasn’t her thing and commends him for being in his third year of pre-med, only nudging me twice at his obvious level of success, as if he’s the perfect catch. I resist the urge to remind her that Blaze once had the world at his feet as well and it only took one miscalculation for that to be torn to shreds, but I stay silent. My mood from earlier is seeping back in and I want nothing more than to head back to the apartment, curl up in bed, and cry a thousand tears.
“So, I’ll catch you later?” I snap my eyes up to my friend as she begins to slide out of the booth.
“Where are you going?” I’ve missed half of what they were talking about while brewing over my husband’s rejection from the visitation list.
“I have to get ready for work. You guys stay and chat. I’ll see you later tonight.” She gives us both a quick wave and disappears out the front door of the coffee shop.
“She’s very talkative,” he says as his eyes find mine.
I scoot a little farther away from him now that part of the booth has been vacated. “She’s hell bent on convincing me to move on from Blaze.”
I want to beat my own ass as the words slip from my mouth.
His grin spreads, crinkling the corners of his dark eyes. “You should listen to her.”
I shake my head and scoff. “Love doesn’t work that way, Stone.”
“You seem more heartbroken than in love, Cariño.” The accusatory tone of his voice forces my hackles to rise.
“You shouldn’t speak of things you’re uninformed on,” I begin, but the ringing of my phone gives him a temporary reprieve.
I smile when the familiar number from the jail lights up my screen, so sure Blaze has changed his mind and his calling to ask me to visit.
“I have to take this,” I say, standing from the table and walking toward the exit.
He nods and picks his messenger bag up from the floor, reaching in to pull out his laptop.
“Hello,” I answer on the fourth ring. My smile falters when a woman begins to speak rather than the familiar double click and message acknowledging a collect call.
“Ms. Porter?” I hate the bored sound of her voice already.
“Speaking,” I reply, still not used to being called by my new last name.
“I’m required by law to contact the next of kin when an incident takes place in our facility.”
Incident? Next of kin?
My knees weaken as I reach out to find something to grab ahold of before I fall to the sidewalk. Blood runs cold in my veins and my eyes begin to lose focus at the threat of tears.
“Wh-What are you talking about? Is Blaze okay?”
Warmth surrounds me before I can collapse, and I realize Stone has his arms around me.
“Blaze Porter was stabbed eight times. Most of the injuries were to his arms and chest.”
Words like missed his heart, no damage to vital organs, and lucky to be alive come through the phone as I crumple against Stone’s wide chest.
“Where is he? I need to see him,” I manage through my sobs.
“Ma’am, he’s back in the infirmary at the jail,” she says, her voice monotone, as if delivering devastating news is an agitation she shouldn’t have to deal with.
“H-How? He just got stabbed. Has he not gone to the hospital?” I shake my head, trying to understand.
“Ma’am,” she retorts, even more annoyed, “the injuries occurred a week ago. I’m afraid I can’t provide you with any more information due to his request.”
“That doesn’t make any sense. I’m his wife. I have a right to know what’s going on!” At my cry, I’m met with the double beep indicating she’s hung up on me instead of giving me the information I so desperately need.
Shaking uncontrollably, I clutch the phone to my chest as it seizes with fear.
“This isn’t the place,” Stone whispers as he lifts me like I’m weightless and begins walking.
The crowd starting to form around us doesn’t even register as I tuck my face into the crook of his neck. This is the first of many times I’ll allow myself to lean on Julian Stone.
Chapter 24
Blaze
Four days. That’s how long it takes before I cave and enter Fallyn’s apartment. I’ve watched her front door relentlessly since being released and know her roommate works the night shift at a casino on the strip, so I wait until she leaves before I twist my key in the lock.
It’s New Year’s Eve—almost one year to the minute since I met the gorgeous Fallyn McIntyre. One year since I lost my heart to the woman I’ll love every second for the rest of my life. Just over four months since I acted like the piece of shit I always knew I’d end up being and pushed her out of my life.
I’ve only seen her leave her apartment a couple times in the last four days, but I know she’s home now, and I can’t help but wonder if she’s thinking about this night the same way I am—an anniversary of sorts.
Silence greets me as I close myself into the apartment and softly flip the lock back into place. Shrugging off my jacket, I fold it over the back of the couch and make my way to her room. I wipe my sweaty palms down the front of my jeans, trying to ignore my pulse as it thunders in my ears. I know she’s going to freak out when she sees me, but it doesn’t extinguish my need for her in the slightest. She may throw me out, call the cops, insist I leave and never come back. I was fully expecting divorce papers while I was in lock up, but they never came. I’m taking a gamble by showing up, betting on our love she’ll be receptive. I don’t need her immediate forgiveness, just the opportunity to explain my unacceptable reasons for keeping her at a distance.
I know I should walk away. Anyone within an arm’s length of our fucked up situation has the same opinion, but I have to try. My heart’s not whole when she’s not around. Being in this town, knowing exactly where she is and not touching her, talking to her, holding her…it’s unbearable.
Expecting to find her asleep, I stiffen when I hear her gasp as I open the door.
“Blaze!” She clutches her chest, clearly startled anyone is here, not to mention her asshole husband.
“Hey, beautiful.” My heart warms, the acute ache I’ve felt for months easing a fraction. Standing in the doorway, I wait for her to chuck something at my head. If months of pain and unanswered questions didn’t separate us, I would walk straight to her and kiss her perfect lips before she could say another word. It’s been our thing since the night of the first party, but I’m not pushing my luck tonight.
She stares, wide eyed, as if a ghost has invaded her privacy. Closing the textbook in her lap, she wipes at the tears that fall to her cheeks.
“I’ve missed you so much,” I confess, taking a few steps farther into the room. I attempt to swallow the lump of emotion filling my throat. My wife has always been the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever met, but the sight of her tonight makes her even more so. I lick my lips, wanting to feel just how soft the tears have made hers.
Her chin quivers as her eyes scan over me. “You didn’t have to. We could’ve been seeing each other every week for the last two plus months.”
Her rough tone is betrayed by the waiver in her voice. She’s not angry, but heartbroken over what happened the last time she visited me.
“It was destroying you. I could see it in your eyes.”
“It was tolerable, Blaze.” She crosses her arms over her chest, almost defiant in rejecting my reasoning. “You accusing me of cheating and refusing to see me destroyed me.”
