by Gage Grayson
“Did you say something, sir?” Bear asks quietly.
“Yes,” I answer him, not really paying attention. I clench my fists, feeling all my rage and confusion come together inside me like violence is a solid thing that can be felt.
This is what always happens when I get upset. It’s so sharp and dark inside me; I must let it bleed out.
There’s no choice. This is how I was made, and I stopped fighting it a long time ago.
“Bear, you’re right. I think I should go back downstairs.”
I start to step toward the door.
Bear’s still wearing the bruises from our last tackle, so he backs up pretty quickly as I approach.
“You okay, Mr. Covington?”
“No, I’m not okay, Bear, you fucking idiot,” I snarl at him. We walk down the hall together, Bear giving me a bit of room.
“Do you…do you need something?” He doesn’t even want to ask. It’s hard to get good help these days.
“I want you to contact my guys for me. You know the number—they’ve already been helping you out, yes?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Right, then tell them I’ll be waiting for the call. It’s of the utmost importance they contact me. Immediately.”
“Yes, sir. I can do that.”
We walk along in silence. I’m going to talk to Benny too, and give him the same instructions. I’m going to get everyone I have on this.
I must see her. I have to see Alison.
I have that feeling—that cold darkness inside.
If I don’t find her, speak to her…people will get hurt.
Alison
I’m staring a beady-eyed, fluffy teddy bear in the face. His nose is black, and he has a cute little stitched smile stretched across his face.
Surrounding him are candles in all different scents—lavender, Georgia peach, limoncello, cinnamon apple, and clean linen, just to name a few. But there’s more than I can even begin to process.
Also strewn around the table are countless individually wrapped chocolates and a big vase with two dozen roses.
“Who could this be from?” I ask myself sarcastically.
I set down my shopping bags right there at the door and walk over to my gift-covered, California king-sized bed. I graze my fingers along the bear’s soft fur and smirk.
In the bear’s comically sized arms, camouflaged by the overall display of lavish gifts, lies a large heart-shaped envelope. I take it and examine it closely.
I tear the top flap of the envelope from the adhesive and pull out a giant card. The front says I’m sorry.
I open the card, and reading the inside sends a flood of butterflies fluttering through my stomach.
You were right.
I’m more than aware of how creeped out I should be right now.
I should be worried. I should tell someone about this. Anyone.
This isn’t safe.
How did Jaxon get this here?
How did he find out where I live?
How did he know I love candles?
I haven’t divulged any of this during our meetings. Not even one hint. Have I?
But now I have this bear and candles and chocolate and flowers in front of me, all as a gesture of how much he appreciates me and all that I’ve done for him.
Maybe he’s coming around after all.
He made a mistake. He knows that.
And he’s remorseful. At least enough to apologize to me. And that’s a hell of a start, if you ask me.
He must really care about me. It must’ve been an incredible amount of effort to get this bear in here.
I walk back to my door and examine it for any signs of forced entry. Nothing. And I’m on the second floor, so there’s no real probability that someone climbed through the window.
He’s got me stumped—absolutely puzzled. Somehow, he managed to get it here and have it all set up.
And whoever did it did a beautiful job. Everything’s so well laid-out and just incredibly beautiful.
Color me dazzled. Wooed, even.
Jaxon Covington is a remarkable man. That charm, the wit, the big heart I’m getting to see right on his sleeve—at least when I'm around.
I’m beginning to see that I’m wearing mine around him as well. And while that’s a scary idea, being that it’s just utterly new territory for me, I’m willing to embrace it.
For him.
For this.
I need to continue our sessions. I need to help him more—to see him progress even further toward being a clinically sane man.
What a joy it’ll be to have my first major case be a full, successful rehabilitation.
It really must’ve taken a lot for Jaxon to admit fault and to absorb the blame for his mistake.
I climb onto my bed and lie next to all my new gifts from Jaxon, opening candles to smell their individual scents, unwrapping and eating a few chocolates, and just moving around, gently and truly appreciating what Jaxon has done for me.
After a few moments, I decide to get up and get the roses into a vase. I grab the massive bouquet and bring them to the kitchen.
I grab a large glass vase from under the sink and fill it with water. Then I take a pair of scissors and cut the ends from the stems on the flowers and place them in one by one.
Once they’re all in, I take a deep whiff of the fresh petals and rest the vase on my dining room table.
It can serve as a constant reminder of Jaxon’s gesture and how I shouldn’t be so discouraged.
After all, everyone makes mistakes. Gosh, even I’ve made plenty lately. And just because he’s made the case just a little harder doesn’t mean I shouldn’t recognize progress.
And then it dawns on me that not going to work today made me miss my session with him.
But I need to see him. I need to acknowledge the changes he’s made. I need to reward them.
Because what good is a positive deed if it goes unrecognized?
I do some quick thinking and give my boss a call. As my phone’s pressed to my ear, my heart’s thumping hard.
“Yes, Alison?”
“Yes! Hello, sir!” I return. “I wanted to apologize for my absence today. I was feeling terribly sick. I’m just now getting up and around.”
I know it’s wrong. I really do. Lying is not the way I should go, but I need to be careful, and this is the safest way to stay out of trouble and stay on assignment.
“I’m sorry to hear that, Ms. Hughes. I trust that you’ll be back to work tomorrow?”
“Yes, absolutely. I just want to be sure I can cover everything I need to with Jax—Mr. Covington,” I stammer.
“Okay? What are you suggesting?”
“I just need to be able to block out a little extra time just in case I can’t get all that I need done at once.”
“I see. Well, I appreciate your dedication. Being sick, especially. I think we can arrange it. Take the time you need tomorrow. And rest up.”
“Thank you, sir!” I say and end the call.
There.
Now I can be sure to properly thank him for my gifts and get working on making him better.
I’m just so excited that he’s made this much progress. That he’s come so far.
Psychopaths don’t show remorse—and Jaxon has. This is the biggest revelation the world is about to see, and I can’t wait to be a part of the unveiling.
I turn around and head back into my room to marvel more at the rest of my gifts.
I take a couple of the candles and light them on my nightstands before I lay in my bed, eating my chocolates.
Nothing can bring me down right now.
Jaxon
Night has come, and the prison’s getting quiet.
I’m lying in my bunk, sweating about Alison. By now, she should’ve received my gifts.
I made certain my employees knew the significance and importance of this. The greatest care was to be taken.
I trust my people. They’re well-trained and paid even bet
ter. Still, I have to allow for a margin of error, or perhaps Alison’s mental state when she receives the gifts.
I play with a small piece of elastic as I lay in the dark. Twisting it between my fingers, I make weblike shapes. The memory of her scent, her skin, and wild hair folding around me is threatening to overwhelm me.
I close my eyes, sinking back into the shitty pillow and saggy mattress.
I let my mind indulge. You don’t get this fucking brilliant by holding out against your own mind. Embracing my insanity didn’t just keep me alive—it kept me successful.
I’ve never gotten any evidence that I should react differently to the sharpness within me. I’ve always been lucky, always been rich. The worse I got, the more the universe bent to my will.
Just look at what I have now. Everything I’ve ever wanted.
Ali.
All my actions have brought me here.
I let my hands fall on my chest, fingers tangled in my little web as I sink into the security of my own thoughts. I let my obsessed mind roll over the memories.
Pressed against her and the wall, soft breasts against my chest, sweet lips near my ear. The scent of her, the delicacy of the first ever sexual response—hot and throbbing between the legs, goosebumps rising over her skin as it thrills to my touch.
First. First ever and only.
I told you the universe was on my side. What else would keep an incredible creature like her virginal until she can be touched by my cock?
The world’s a stage. All its props, all its characters exist only for my amusement.
I open my eyes and start playing with the string again, making shapes. As I frame each new shape, I see my precious Ali caught in the webs I weave.
Her pale eyes and dark lips press against the edges of the string. I feel such an intensity, it’s as if I can materialize her here.
Why hasn’t she contacted me? Surely, she got my gifts.
I feel a hard stab of ice in my gut.
I told my people to shower her with gifts. I didn’t ask anybody to find out where she was. I don’t have anyone tailing her.
God! How fucking stupid! How could I forget such an important detail?
The answer is, of course, that she plays with my mind. I’m so focused on her, I’m losing track of my usual clarity.
Those gifts might be sitting unopened on her bed because she got mangled in a car wreck and dying in a hospital somewhere.
I feel a touch of panic. I sit up on my bunk, throwing the string to the floor. It’s after lights out, though some guys still have lamps on while they worry away their hours.
I told you, I’m kind that way. Why not let them have their fun? The guards love it, too.
I’ve got them in on fine cigars and booze, and for them, a shift down here’s like visiting an expensive gentleman’s club. No one’s ever run the prison as tightly as I do, even from the inside.
I need to make some phone calls. I get up and grab the bars, looking out.
No one’s nearby. I’m about to call out when I hear the buzz of the security doors.
There are a few wolf whistles and such. My ears are pricked up like an excited racehorse.
Could it be?
Under the common calls of horny men, I hear someone utter quietly, “Shh. That’s the boss’s piece. Lay off.”
A smile breaks over my face. I can hear the guards on the metal walkway, escorting her to my cell. Relief and excitement wash over me, like ripples of pleasure down my spine.
Ali.
Almost here. My hands grip the bars tightly.
She comes around the corner of the stairwell, two guards with her. They come quietly to the door, pulling it open slowly and quietly.
They give me a nod as they melt away. I step back from the bars as she walks into the cell.
“Jaxon.” Her face is drawn, and there’s a tear in her eye.
“I’m here, baby.” I put my arms out, and she rushes in to my embrace, gripping me around the waist.
My arms go around her, and even though I’m tempted to crush her hard against my chest, I cradle her gently, stroking that long wild hair as she presses against me.
She looks up into my eyes, and I lean down to kiss her. She gets up on her toes and returns the kiss. Sweetly, gently, our lips touch.
Her hot breath blows across my face, and I let my hands slip up to her shoulders as I draw her close.
The kiss starts slow and gentle. I know exactly how this is playing out now. I’m content to gently and hesitantly kiss her back, touching her with the utmost care, as if she’s a fragile crystal statue.
She leans into me, arms searching around my waist, pulling me closer. Her mouth pushes harder against my own, beginning to explore with her tongue. I feel heat blazing a trail through my chest and belly and down to my cock.
Careful, careful.
Well, that just settles it. If there’s a God, he fucking loves me.
Or maybe I was claimed by the devil so long ago that God keeps his big fucking nose out of my business.
One thing’s for sure—no matter what method you use, you can’t argue with results. That’s how I’ve always measured everything. If I keep getting what I want, there must be nothing wrong with what I’m doing.
Look at me now—in a shitty prison jumpsuit with a sweat-soaked, hundred-year-old mattress, and I have a beauty of fire and ice in my arms, begging for me, alive and burning with my love.
I wrap one hand around her shoulders and let my other hand slip down to grab her ass and give one of the firm cheeks a squeeze. She presses her hips into me, feeling my hard cock pressing into her belly. She grinds against it, and her hands explore over my back and arms.
Fuck, I wish I was wearing anything except this greasy fucking jumpsuit.
She pulls back, bringing her hands up to my face.
“Jaxon…you have to get out of here. You need to work with me. This is a terrible place for you. It’s not good for you—you can’t possibly get better in here.”
I smile, taking her hands in mine as I return her even gaze.
“I’m pretty comfortable in here, honey. It’s not so bad.”
“But there’s so much violence,” she whispers, eyes darting around. “Surrounded by people who are completely criminal can’t be a good environment for you. It undermines everything I’m trying to do. It’s perfectly obvious you have the capability to not be truly dangerous. At the very least, you need a bit of fresh air.”
“I know, honey. But we all make do with what we have. I’m content that things will work out correctly eventually. For now, what can we do?”
She grips my hand determinedly. “I’m getting you out of here. Just for a little while. That’s what we’re going to do. At least until I can get enough proof that you’re completely safe and competent.”
“No way! How’re you going to pull off a stunt like that? What about the guards? Official procedures?”
She smiles. “Well, I told the guards upstairs what I was planning. They said it was fine. If I needed to take Jaxon Covington out of here for medical reasons, that was perfectly okay. No forms to fill out, nothing. I’m taking full responsibility for you, so they were okay with it.”
The grin stretches wide across my face, and I only just manage to hold back the peal of laughter. I just bet they agreed.
The lower-level guards wouldn’t bat an eye, and now my hold over this place has strengthened to the point that even those dealing regularly with the law won’t stand in my way.
It all comes down to fear in the end. Fear and greed.
Who are they more afraid of, me or the law? The law might lock them up, put them on trial.
But they’ve seen the damage I cause firsthand. They fear me far more than the law.
I own most of the fucking law, anyway.
And the greed…well, that lives in the heart of every man. I’ve never held back with the gifts I give. I repay loyalty tenfold over service given, because once you activate someone’s greed
, they become yours.
The vast majority of humans are pathetically easy to control.
Not my Ali. Not her. All this has taken so much more, and it’s all been so worth it.
Grinning like a school kid—and hoping I look appropriately innocent—I grip her hand. She smiles back at me.
“What are we waiting for, honey? Lead the way.”
Alison
I’m almost giddy as we get hit by the night air. Even though it’s so late and I’ve had a long day, there’s a sort of expectancy to the evening. As if it’s only 6:00 p.m., and I’m a teenager again, heading out to capture the excitement of a Friday night.
Not that I did that much, but I understand the emotion behind it—the feeling that you own the world and all that’s fun in it.
It’s not because I’m technically breaking a prisoner out of jail. It’s because I’m with Jaxon.
It feels like the first real date I’ve ever had.
The walk through the prison was disconnected from reality. The shadows seemed to lengthen, and all the other inmates were like caged animals, looking out at the lucky one that got free.
I expected them to look at me, maybe taunt my body like something out of Silence of the Lambs, but every single one stayed quiet.
The upper office floor is almost deserted at this time of night. It’s something I knew I could count on. However, the security checkpoint just breezes past us.
Here I am, with my half-assed cock-and-bull story about a field trial of a medical hypothesis, all ready to wow the laymen with my mastery of long words, and they just nod and let us out.
Let Jaxon out.
I should be scared. I should be full of doubts. He has a proven history of violence.
It’s not just an idle note on a psychiatric file. Its recorded fact…and something I’ve seen with my own eyes.
I want to say I care. I want to say I really believe he’s trying to be a better person and he won’t hurt anyone.
Truth is, I don’t know anything like that.
I just want to be with him…free and unchained.
The idea that he might fuck someone up makes me ache between the legs. Part of me wants to see him lose it.
