by Debra Kayn
You struggle to understand your own feelings, but inside you have already survived. That gives you control over your life. The only person who can destroy you is YOU. There are people who deserve to be happy, and after knowing you for two years, you deserve to move forward. Forget the events that scarred your past, forget your guilt, and follow your dreams.
I won't be writing back to you. If you write, I won't read them. Goodbye Christina.
Prisoner #18794
She wiped the tears off her cheeks and shoved the letter back into the envelope. The pain from his dismissal hurt as much today as it did ten months ago. Prisoner #18794 connected with her in a way she didn't allow those in real life to become close to her. No one understood her anger, her fears, her doubts. He gave her security when she needed it the most.
She carried the stack of correspondence back to her bedroom and put them away in her nightstand drawer. In the last year, she realized the reason she kept writing to him for so long had nothing to do with wanting to find out what stopped her from doing whatever possible to find her parents' killer and make him pay for ruining her life, but because she'd become infatuated with prisoner #18794. She sighed heavily and grabbed her purse. That wasn't true either.
She'd become dependent on a convict, furthering her idea something was wrong with her. She understood how to stay away from people bad for her and seek those who wanted to invest in her life, but she couldn't understand why after all this time, she still longed for a man as evil as the man who'd killed her parents.
She'd been wrong when she initially wrote prisoner #18794. People became what they were forced to become as children. Tragic events, neglect, abandonment and yes, murder, played into how victims formed their choices. That's why she took night classes for three years and worked a low paying job to help children who couldn't help themselves. Maybe she could save one of them from having a life like hers.
Leaving her apartment, she locked the door behind her and walked down the stairs and out the back. She had eight days off now that Jeremy was no longer on her caseload and hated the thought of having nothing to do. Even the normal chores of grocery shopping, doing laundry, and paying her bills failed to fill the lonely void.
Two men on motorcycles rode past. She stopped, heart racing, and studied their faces. Neither one of them looked like any of the men she'd seen at the Farrell house. Instead of jean vests with the sleeves cut off, they wore leather vests. She continued walking down the back street behind the hardware store to the grocery store and turned the corner. It was foolish to think Cam would harm her in town where anyone could catch him.
The electrical sign hanging off the bank building flashed information. Two thirty-four p.m. Eighty-one degrees. April twenty-ninth. Her step faltered and she stared at the sign, oblivious to the repeated information. It was Wednesday, a week from when Cam caught her checking up on Jeremy and had invited her back. She shook her head and continued to the cash machine at the side of the building. She wasn't going back there. She couldn't. The judge had decided Jeremy's father was the best choice to raise him and she'd have faith everything would work out over time.
After withdrawing money from her bank account, she continued to the store and bought a few days' worth of groceries. Two women from Silver Girls, the adult business in town, smiled at her in the parking lot. She returned a smile, hefting the plastic bags into a more comfortable position and glanced over her shoulder and admired one of the women's black leather studded purse. While dancing naked for money wasn't something she'd ever do, she admired any business owner who'd try to survive in a mining town.
A teenage boy ran around the corner of the building and pulled a pistol out from behind him. She gasped, freezing ten feet away, recognizing the boy.
"Jeremy?" She dropped her sacks. "What are you doing with a gun?"
Jeremy's brows pinched together. "Hey, Ms. Nickelson, you need to go back—"
"There he is," a male shouted.
"Shit." Jeremy's gaze jumped between her and the three teenagers running his way.
"What's going on?" She rocked back on the heels of her sneakers. "Put that away."
Her head roared, blocking out the noise of the boys yelling. She blinked rapidly, trying to stop the blackness contaminating her vision. Her muscles spasmed and she physically waited for the report of the pistol, the sweet tangy scent of blood to consume her.
"Jeremy, no." She stumbled forward and grabbed his arm. "Give me the gun."
The other boys spotted her and ran back in the direction they came from. She gripped the pistol, holding it out to her side. Lightheaded and confused, she bent at the waist and sucked air into her lungs.
"Ms. Nickelson." Jeremy squatted down beside her. "I wasn't going to hurt anyone."
"You don't know that." She lifted her head and met his concerned gaze. "Why would you have a gun?"
He looked away and swallowed. His young Adam's apple bobbed. "It's mine."
"Yours?" She straightened up and waited until he stood. "You're sixteen years old. It's illegal to carry a weapon."
He blew out his breath. "Can I have it back?"
"Are you kidding me?" She glanced at the pistol and shuddered. "No, you're not getting it back and I'm going to have to talk to Mr. Farrell about what you were doing."
"Shit," Jeremy mumbled. "Look, I don't want to get in trouble. I wasn't going to use it."
"What did you expect to do with the gun when you had it in your hand and there were boys coming after you?" She scooped up her purse from the ground and dropped the weapon inside before picking up her groceries. "That's how accidents happen. You could've killed an innocent child and ruined your whole life."
"Last time Gary and Scott caught me by myself; they ganged up on me and beat the shit out of me." Jeremy's eyes narrowed. "I'm not going to let them do that again."
With the pistol out of sight, Christina's shoulders sagged. "What have we talked about?"
"I need to tell an adult and walk away," Jeremy said. "But you don't know how it is for me. You've never..."
She laid her hand on his arm. "What?"
"Nothing." His gaze went to his feet.
That's the most Jeremy had talked to her. She inhaled deeply. "Did you walk into town?"
He shook his head. "Gunner, one of Cam's friends, brought me to town on his motorcycle. He's picking me up later tonight."
What did Mr. Farrell think would happen sending a teenager into Federal on his own? She clenched her teeth. A kid Jeremy's age could get into a lot of trouble within that long of a period without supervision.
"Come on." She walked and continued talking. "I'll drop these groceries in my apartment, and then I'll drive you back to your house."
"I'll just stay in town and wait," Jeremy said.
She glanced at him. "As your social worker, I need to report what happened today."
"You can't do that." He grabbed her arm, stopping her outside her apartment. "I want to stay with Cam. If you tell, they'll take me away."
It wasn't lost on her that he called his father by his first name. A fake first name.
"Stay right here. I'll be back in just a second." She trudged up the stairs and entered her apartment.
As she put her groceries away, she continued to look out of the kitchen window to the street below. Jeremy stayed where she left him. Her fear turned to worry. While Jeremy had a habit of getting into fights and struggled to bond with others, he never once got caught with anything more than his fists. What could Mr. Far...Cam be thinking?
She grabbed her purse and found her keys. If she reported what happened, social services would contact the police. The punishment would be out of her hands, out of the county's limit and more than likely, Jeremy would find himself back in foster care if the judge declared his home unsafe. He was less than two years shy of turning eighteen years old and on the verge of leaving the foster system. The county already lacked pre-approved safe homes for kids his age.
More than likely, the judge
would put him in the Silver Valley Youth Detention Center. That was no life for a kid who had his whole future in front of him.
Halfway down the stairs, she stopped and held on to the railing. The sight of a child with a gun had scared the shit out of her. Not only could he end up killing someone, he could've accidently shot himself. Once she handed over the pistol to Cam, she'd tell him to get rid of it. Jeremy was too young and impressionable to trust around any sort of weapon.
She stepped out of the building and motioned Jeremy to her car. Once inside, she put her seat belt on and backed out onto the street. The air conditioner blasted her in the face, cooling her overheated skin.
"You got the window fixed," Jeremy said.
"Yes." She toned down her attitude, because someone had to be on the kid's side. "Your father shouldn't have had his men break it."
"He paid for the repair." Jeremy shrugged. "He didn't hurt you."
She counted to ten. "There are certain things that never should happen, Jeremy. Like breaking my car window and a sixteen year old carrying a pistol."
Jeremy slouched in the seat and gave her silence. She headed out of town and took the gravel road to Cam's house. She gripped the steering wheel tighter and the headache behind her temple beat with her pulse. Cam had sworn she'd be back in a week, and here she was returning to a man who thought nothing of hurting her.
Chapter Four
The floorboards under Christina's feet creaked each time she moved in Cam's living room. Cam placed the pistol she'd handed over to him on the coffee table and waited to see if she'd start lecturing him again. Her mouth hadn't stopped talking since she pounded on his door ten minutes ago.
"Don't set the pistol down." She finally came to a stop and put her hands on her hips. "Haven't you listened? The whole problem with Jeremy having a gun is the easy access. Lock it away where children can't get ahold of it."
He waited several seconds without doing what she advised. "Are you done talking?"
She nodded. He continued to watch her. Obviously seeing Jeremy in town with a loaded pistol upset her. He'd told the kid to use the weapon only in emergencies, and it looked like he'd have to sit down and draw him a damn map to figure out what that meant.
"I gave the pistol to the kid." He lifted his chin and raised his brows when her mouth came open. When she pursed her lips and stopped herself from talking to him, he continued. "You don't need to report this to the police. I'll take care of it."
Her jaw dropped. He stepped closer, enjoying the way she gasped. One minute a pit-bull about the kid, the next second, she'd gone speechless. The way her hand shook when she handed him the pistol and her eyes flittered over him, lingering on his chest, spoke volumes. She was nervous to be inside his house and scared to be around him.
He understood, because of her past, why guns frightened her. She'd told him a lot of things over two years, and yet she couldn't see what was right in front of her face. The only thing he wanted to do today was get her to realize he was prisoner #18794.
"Christina...," he said, softer than normal.
Her chin lowered to her chest and she whispered, "I only want to help Jeremy. I'm not here to cause trouble."
He knew every one of her thoughts and feelings. He wouldn't be interested if she didn't care about the kid. Did she have any clue he was the same man she'd written to for two years? His chest tightened, and a primal need to speed things along came over him. She'd handed him everything, and it was time to take what he wanted.
He pulled out a pre-paid phone and called Gunner. "Get rid of her car."
Christina's gaze snapped to him. Warmth filled him as fear shone in Christina's sexy brown eyes. He wanted her afraid, because he enjoyed the process of winning her over. He needed her vulnerable and relying on him again. The same way she'd needed him for answers when she believed it was safe to write him
"I'll take it out to the old forestry road on Thompson Pass," Gunner said.
"That's fine," Cam said. "When you're done, I want you and Willy on guard tonight. Christina is going to be my guest and we want to make sure she stays safe."
"What?" She shook her head, backing away from him. "I'm going home."
He disconnected the call and caught her around the waist when she attempted to flee the house. His body reacted instantly, throbbing in places that would get her attention quick if she continued to squirm in her fight to get away.
"Let me go." She swung her purse, and he snatched it out of her hands and tossed it to the floor.
"I invited you back last week. You're here. Now you'll stay," he said.
She dug her fingernails into his arm. He hitched her tighter and higher against him, carrying her to his bedroom. She kicked his bad knee. He grunted, walking straight into his room, and tossed her on the bed. Her legs went one way and her arms flew out to stop her from crashing into the wall.
"I don't want to stay."
"You don't have any choice, until I decide what I'm going to do with you."
"Do?" She rebounded quickly and scrambled off the bed, heaving for breath. "Why are you doing this?"
"Because I take what I want, and I want you." He shut the door and turned the deadbolt.
Since all the Moroad members came and went as they wanted in his house, he'd made sure the first thing he did when he got out of the pen was install a lock on his room. Now he was thankful for the added security. He'd keep Christina inside until she calmed down. The last thing he needed was her going to the cops and reporting him for negligence or some fucked up charge. Law enforcement would to haul his ass back behind bars.
"You asshole. Let me out," Christina yelled, banging on the door. "You can't do this. Open the door."
He limped back into the living room, scooped up her purse, and sat down on the beaten couch. Ignoring the pain in his leg, he dumped everything in her bag out on the coffee table.
A black wallet fell off the wooden surface and landed by his boot. He picked it up and unsnapped the leather, fingering through her money and finding her driver's license in the first flap.
Christina Nickelson, five feet four inches, one hundred and thirty five pounds, born April fifth...twenty-six years old. He stuffed the license back in the wallet, and scooped her makeup, her hairbands, her brush, and a roll of quarters back into her purse.
The front door opened and Jeremy scanned the room. "Where is she?"
Cam finished picking up Christina's belongings and sat back. The kid's red face and angry eyes reflected his emotions. Cam rubbed his thigh. Soon enough, Jeremy would lose the vulnerability that came with his age and become a hardened Moroad member if he could contain his anger.
"Locked up." Cam pushed himself off the couch. "She'll stay in my room until she learns to keep her mouth shut."
"You're not going to hurt her..." Jeremy shoved his hand in his hair. "Shit. This is my fault. She saw the gun and freaked. I didn't know what to do, except do what she asked."
Cam picked up the pistol and handed it back to Jeremy. "Maybe next time you'll learn to keep your weapon in your pants, hidden until it's absolutely necessary to use it."
"I was only going to—"
"I don't give a fuck what you were going to do." Cam waited until the kid tucked the weapon in the waist of his jeans and pulled his T-shirt over the bump. "I know what it's like to grow up with a shitty life. You need to protect your life. A couple punk ass kids aren't going to do shit to you, except bang you around. Learn to fight. When, and only when, your life is in danger do you ever shoot to kill. You wound someone or miss or leave a witness, you'll find your ass sitting in prison. Think about that before you even put your fingers around the gun. You made a big fucking mistake today, and now your social worker wants to report the incident to the cops."
Jeremy held his head with his hands. "They'll take me away."
"Not if she doesn't tell," he said.
"She'll tell." Jeremy bent at the waist and groaned. "They'll throw me in juvie."
Cam sighed, losin
g his patience. "I'll make sure she doesn't have a chance to speak to anyone."
Jeremy frowned. "I don't want you to hurt her."
"That all depends on her and what she does in the next few days." He walked around Jeremy and stopped at the door. "You want to be a Moroad MC member, you'll follow the rules. If I find you helping her escape, I'll bury you both. You screwed up today, and now I need to fix your mistake. I'd suggest you go find something else to do and stay out of trouble, because that's the last time you'll go against the rules."
He walked out onto the porch. His knee, already tight and swollen, struggled to keep up with his pace. He hopped down the porch steps, letting his good leg take his weight, and waved Stache over to him.
"I want bars put on the outside of my bedroom window. You'll find some T-posts in the shed that'll work." He walked with Stache to the other side of the house and caught movement at the window in question. "You might want to work fast, because there's a woman inside who'll do anything to escape."
Stache looked toward the window and grinned. "I'm on it."
Christina knocked out the screen and one very sexy leg came out of the opening and dangled outside. He motioned Stache off to grab the supplies and stepped over quietly beneath the window out of sight.
He grabbed her ankle, intrigued at the heat coming off her body. "You want to get shot?"
She tugged her leg, but he refused to let go. Muffling her scream, she stuck her head out the window. "You can't keep me here. I'll call the police."
"Your phone is in the living room where you can't get to it. You could try yelling, but the closest neighbor is two miles away." He leaned closer and kissed the bare skin above her ankle. "Now get your pretty head inside the window before Stache comes back, thinks you're escaping, and follows my orders to shoot you on sight. It'd ruin my day to have to bury a woman."
He left her ankle go and she disappeared from the window. A dull thud came from inside muffling her indignation and the word asshole from her lips. He walked away, more amused than anything. Confinement and fearing for her life would make her more willing to listen and accept him. It was only a matter of time now.
