by Jane Henry
“Of course,” she said. “Watching a chick flick with Sally tonight.” Lame. Sally was Sabrina. Still, it made me smile.
The sudden loss of damn near everything made me reluctant to hang up the phone. I’d give anything to be back in the penthouse, and to see Haven again.
“Be good,” I whispered into the phone, and just as the guard took it, I heard her parting, “You, too.”
I hung my head, defeated at the sudden loss of all that was bright and good in my world right now. But I had to prove that I could do this. I owed this to Eli. To the other Masters. To Sabrina, and Haven.
A large, burly man covered in so many tattoos I could hardly see a blank patch of skin beneath his prison jumper pushed past me and knocked me off kilter. I almost stumbled, and he only chuckled.
“Hey! Watch it!” I snapped before I even realized where I was or who I was, and the burly guy easily three times my size turned a pissed-off look on me.
Shit.
But before he could do anything, the corrections officer inserted himself between us, and shoved us both apart.
“Shut it, Warner,” the CO said to me. The other prisoner narrowed his eyes until I could barely make out his pupils.
“You remind me of someone,” he said. “He was a CO, looked just like you, but a redhead. Didn’t know when to keep his mouth shut.” He tipped his head to the side.
Fuck.
But before he could say another word, the guard pulled him away and handed him the phone. “Take your damn call and stop causing trouble, or you skip your call today.”
With a look of hatred and a grunt, the guy grabbed the phone and put it up to his ear. I, on the other hand, got the fuck out of there and was grateful for my escort back to my cell. I was at least thankful it was clean in here. Haven assured me everything was scrubbed down routinely, other inmates so scared of catching whatever disease or infection the previous inmate had, they kept themselves clean. The whole place smelled sterile.
It was a two-man cell, a pair of bunk beds attached to the wall. Across from the beds was a table about one-foot wide, a steel toilet in the wall with no seat or lid attached. The whole room had to have been eight feet by four, and the memory of Caelan serving time made me shake my head. He’d take up the whole fucking room.
I climbed onto the top bunk and pulled the threadbare blanket up over my shoulder.
I talked to no one. The only one I needed to talk to I’d see in the morning, if what Haven had just told me was true. Tonight, I was the silent one who hopefully would be out of here in a day or two.
The door to the cell creaked back open before the guard clicked it shut with a bang. I looked quickly, but my cell mate didn’t even acknowledge me.
I realized then how much I’d come to rely on the others. There was no Caelan to run interference and knock some skulls together for me, no Anson with his quick wit and nimble feet to cause a distraction so I could run, no Walker to have my back. I’d have given anything to have even Xavier in his cool, calm, collected assholery. I turned and faced the wall, the memory of my brother’s death now making nausea roll through me.
Would I face the same fate?
I needed tomorrow to get here fast.
I closed my eyes, the vision of wide green eyes behind black-framed glasses soothing me. She’d be there when I got out, and I’d make her mine.
I rolled over, the crick in my neck singing a sorry tune, my back aching, and at first, I couldn’t remember why. What had I done the day before to cause such pain? Then it all came back to me at once.
Fuck.
I lay as still as I could, listening to hear if anyone else was up yet, but it was never really quiet in a cell. Someone was always running water, talking, turning over on the creaky beds, or singing. Down the hall, I heard a few people carrying on a full conversation in a language I didn’t know, someone else coughing, and closer to me, the sound of a toilet flushing.
If everything went according to plan, and Walker had performed his magic, I’d be hauled out to do roadside clean-up with Luis after breakfast. I watched everything I could on my way to eat and grabbed a chair, needing to blend in with the others. The man next to me grunted into his bowl of oatmeal, and a brief scuffle behind me was quickly ended when the corrections officers stepped in and separated the two. This was a hopeless place, where every detail was carefully planned to keep people safe. No access to privacy. No bathroom sinks, but instead a little measured drip of a faucet. And this was where my brother had chosen to spend his time?
The guard who’d taken me to make the phone call the night before came up to me and stood by my side. He was tall and thin, his blue eyes sharp, hair shaved high and tight. I looked up at him, choked down some dry toast, and followed it with some coffee.
“Hey,” I said.
He shook his head. “I can’t believe how much you looked like that CO I knew. He was a Warner too. Eli Warner. Maybe a relative of yours?” His gaze grew probing as if he waited for a flicker of recognition, but I’d learned to mask emotion.
My stomach churned at the sound of my brother’s name. “Oh yeah?” I asked, thankful that I had my past ability to bullshit on my side. I kept my voice nonchalant. “No idea. Stranger things have happened, I guess.” And even though it killed me, I had to end his suspicions. “He still around?”
The guard looked at me strangely. I knew this look. I’d pulled enough cons to know this guy was onto me, and he didn’t believe I had no connections to the man he once knew. Fuck.
“No. He’s dead.”
Bile rose in my throat and I swallowed hard but didn’t look away. “Sorry to hear that.”
“Hunter!”
He turned and walked in the direction of where he was called. I took my tray and emptied it into a bin to be washed. I’d have Walker run that name.
I breathed out. Maybe Hunter was Eli’s friend? I had no idea.
Hunter came back, frowning at a paper in his hand. I knew what would be coming if Walker had done what he was supposed to. I’d been arranged to be escorted out for community service, and he knew that this wasn’t right, that I wasn’t supposed to be going with him anywhere. Hell, if this arrest had followed the usual procedure, I wouldn’t have even been in the general population to begin with. I looked to him.
“My name on that sheet?” I asked in a low voice.
His jaw tight, his eyes flicked back to the sheet. His head jerked in a nod.
“Then I guess I need to go with you.”
He shook his head, disbelieving, but I was jostled away from him in the crowd. I breathed out a sigh of relief, feeling like I just dodged a fucking bullet.
I followed the others as we were corralled into a van, the guards carrying and wearing visible weapons. Luis and I were supposed to be behind bars. Men convicted of crimes like his didn’t get community service.
I looked over the faces of the men near us, my focus on finding one man. Six foot one, dark skin, shaved head, clean-shaven. It wasn’t until we were driven to the roadside and handed our tools to clean the road that I spied him, a good twenty paces ahead of me, the scroll of a tattoo on his neck visible when he bent down to begin his work.
I made my way toward him with quick, purposeful steps. Luis stood several yards away from the others, and as I neared him, my body tensed. I had to play this right.
I stabbed at the ground with my stick and nabbed a candy wrapper. My time was short, every word I uttered crucial.
“Luis.”
I turned to face him, when he looked up at me in surprise, his eyes guarded. I didn’t waste a second.
“Pretend for a second I have red hair. Remind you of a guy you knew?”
“What the fuck, man?” he said.
“Eyes down, clean the fucking road,” I ordered. “We have no time.”
He did as I said, spearing the litter with vehemence.
“No time to show you I’m someone you can trust so I’m laying it all on the line,” I said in a low voice, as a gu
ard passed us, and then moved out of earshot. “You knew my brother, Eli Warner.”
“What is this shit?”
Ignoring him, I continued. “My brother’s death wasn’t an accident. You already called that one. Haven Wright, Max Pederson’s attorney, mentioned that you told Max you and he were framed by the same people. When I ask a question, nod your head once for yes, one shake to the side for no.” I waited for him to acknowledge he’d heard me and when he gave me a firm chin lift, I pushed on. “You were framed for the rape of Carmen Bianchi,” I said low. A quick nod. “You are innocent?” A harder nod of his head.
I speared litter, the anger and injustice rolling through me as I took it out on the road around us.
“You tell me what you know, and I’ll get you out of here.”
“Motherfucker,” he muttered in bewilderment. “How do I know you’re telling me the truth?”
I looked at him then. “You’ve got to trust me.”
He didn’t respond. I had to push forward. “Why were you framed?”
He nabbed an empty coffee cup. “I was dating Stella Bianchi. The Bianchi family didn’t like it. Because of my ties to Stella, I knew too much about the Bianchi family, and thanks to me, your brother did, too.”
Son of a bitch.
“What did you know?”
He swore under his breath. “I’m supposed to tell a guy I don’t know shit that’s already gotten people killed? I was supposed to be murdered, man. The only reason I’m standing on two feet is because Stella intervened.”
He knew shit about the Bianchis, and my brother had been searching for incriminating evidence that could get the Bianchis thrown in jail.
“My brother believed you were innocent. He wanted to prove it. And I do, too.”
We grabbed trash in silence for a minute. I was experienced enough to know not to push. I had to let him tell me himself. I’d given him what he needed to trust me and now it was his turn. My patience paid off.
“They own a bar named Silver,” he whispered.
“Yes.” My breath hitched but I kept cool.
“You gonna remember this shit?” he asked me with a mirthless chuckle.
“I don’t forget anything,” I said honestly. “Fuck, sometimes, I wish I could.” I hadn’t meant to say that part, so I slammed my mouth shut.
“I know what you mean, man,” he said.
I risked looking up from my work to make eye contact with him, and the fire in his eyes renewed my conviction. I’d get him out of here if it was the last thing I did.
“Tell me what you know. I’m taking this information to people who can help you.” He looked at me in silence for a moment, and I felt the solidarity, knew in my gut this man knew pain like I did, and wanted vindication.
“I don’t know you from Adam, man,” he said with a shake of his head. “But I knew Eli. I’ll do it for him.”
And then he began to talk.
Weary from the sun beating down on me, I slumped my way back to my cell. Any minute now, I’d get the word and be able to walk, if Walker’s magic had worked. The names Luis had given me ran through my brain without ceasing. I’d engraved them into my memory, ready to give them to Walk in a debrief when I got out of here.
I’d also told Luis he needed to make Haven his attorney of record immediately. The only way I’d be able to communicate with him back and forth would be through her. I’d told him my first goal was to find the evidence to get him set free through the courts. But if that wouldn’t be possible, we’d also set up a contingency plan to get him out.
And shit, I needed to get the fuck out of here as badly as he did. I needed a shower in my own private bathroom, to wash away everything I remembered, everything I knew, and replace it with… what?
Haven.
Would I be able to make her mine when I got out of here?
Fuck. I had a new purpose in life.
So wrapped up in thoughts of my future with Haven, and ready to get the fuck out of this place, I almost missed the big, hulking form that blocked my path. What the hell?
It took me a minute to realize this was the same man I’d run into the night before. He stepped in front of me, stuck his foot in the cell, grabbed me around the waist, yanked me in, and pulled the cell door shut behind him.
Fuck.
The cell was so tight he couldn’t swing, but his knee slammed into my groin, then his elbow hit my rib cage. Red hot pain shot through me as I fell to the floor, and as I did, I would almost swear I saw the guard, Hunter out in the hall. “Hey!” I yelled, before turning my attention was yanked back to the man in my cell. He loomed over me, and my stomach rolled with the knowledge that there was nowhere to go. My mind conjured up the image of Eli, right here in this fucking dismal place, succumbing to the same realization.
“You son of a bitch,” I hissed, knocking him back harder than I thought possible. He crashed into the bunk with a dull thud and scream of rage, then lunged at me, bending my whole frame toward his. His knee caught my groin so hard I saw literal stars as I doubled over in pain. Winded and immobilized, I wheezed for air as his foot struck my back with a dull, aching thump. He lifted my body and cracked my head against the cold concrete. Everything went black.
Five
I tapped my pink fingernails on the cool metal table top, just about out of patience. I hated prisons—hated the pungent smell of bleach and despair, the flickering yellow lights that washed the whole place with sickly color, the way that every surface was unyielding, and every clash and clang and buzz echoed with deadly finality. Most of all, I hated the way that the damn place was designed so that everyone and everything within was forced to wait.
I’d gotten good at hiding my instinctive hatred, of course. I would’ve been the shittiest defense attorney alive if I broke down at the end of every client meeting when the prisoner was escorted through their door, back into the bowels of the prison, while I sauntered out the other door to fresh air and freedom and life. Instead of dwelling on what happened to my clients between visits, I tried to apply myself to getting them freed instead. And while I was in this room, I tamped down every emotion so I could appear ruthlessly calm and competent and collected, the way my clients needed me to be, never letting my anxiety show.
Until today.
Until Ethan was the man on the other side of that door.
I had tried my best to keep cool. I’d pulled my hair back into a sleek twist, worn my most professional black jacket, skirt, and heels, and spent ten minutes deep-breathing and centering myself out in the parking lot before walking in. It hadn’t helped. Tension prickled along my shoulder blades and every ounce of my consciousness now focused on the man who’d soon be walking through the thick metal door in front of me. The man I’d loved nine years ago. The man I’d hated since then. The man I was pretty confident I was falling for again…
The man I would see released today, goddamn it, if I had to bust this place apart with dynamite myself and pluck him from the rubble.
Nine years ago, he’d figured out exactly what I wanted in a man and fit the role to perfection. I’d fallen for him hard, and when I’d finally been forced to accept that he’d played me—when he’d broken our date and abandoned his apartment, leaving my small town in a hurry and taking my parents’ savings with him—my heartbreak and shame had been relentless. When the police hadn’t found a trace of Tad Warner or his friend, that shame had doubled. Many a night, I’d only managed to fall asleep by conjuring images of him being led away in handcuffs. I’d wanted him to be tortured in prison. I’d wanted him to rot there. I’d become a lawyer to protect other people from hustlers like Tad Warner.
The irony of the current situation wasn’t lost on me.
Now, here I was, using that very law degree to free him. Here I was, nearly busting out of my skin with the need to make sure he was whole and safe. Here I was, ready to fall for him all over again—the real man, this time, I was confident—and to take him to my bed.
I blew out a br
eath and fought the need to get up and pace. What the hell was taking so long?
Two days, we’d said. Two days, he’d be in here. He’d given me that cocky smile and told me not to miss him too much. I’d reminded him snarkily that I’d survived for years without his overbearing, bossy presence in my life, and I was confident I’d survive forty-eight short hours.
That had been a week ago.
When a call from the prison had come in on the second day, I’d been giddy with excitement, expecting Ethan to update us on what he’d learned and give us the code word that said he was ready to come home. We’d been talking and laughing about some stupid comment Walker had made, but when I’d seen the familiar Bonneville number come up on the phone, I’d glanced around the kitchen table, where the Masters had been scarfing down inhuman quantities of the steak sandwiches and homemade potato chips Sabrina had prepared, and shushed everyone with the words, “It’s him!” I’d put the phone on speaker and accepted the call.
But it hadn’t been Ethan.
There had been a fight, the woman on the other end of the line had told me, a bad one, and they were notifying me as Ethan’s emergency contact. Ethan wouldn’t require transportation to the hospital, but he would need to be moved to the medical wing. Words like contusions and lacerations, clean chest x-rays, and possible concussion had rung in my ear. They would be monitoring him for the next several days, keeping him away from the general population until he could give a statement about the people who had attacked him. He was medicated, she said. He was safe.
But I knew that was a lie. He wouldn’t be safe until he was home with me.
And that was the moment, sitting at that table with the phone in my slack grip, that I’d faced the truth about my feelings for Ethan. I wanted him to live. I wanted him free and happy. I wanted him to get justice for his brother. I wanted him to kiss me, and hold me, and spank me like he threatened, and fuck me, and I couldn’t hold onto the past anymore.
Xavier had been the one to stand first. He’d removed the phone from my hand and started speaking to the woman, claiming to be my colleague. I’d mumbled some explanation to the others before walking myself directly to Ethan’s room and burrowing into the pillows that still smelled faintly of his cologne.
