I give a little shake. “No harm done, I have a hard head. What can I do for you?”
He ambles over, his eyes a little too assessing for comfort and hands me a clipboard. “Got some paperwork here for you about the inmate you worked on yesterday. Confidential, you understand?”
My heart beats double-time in my chest. “Paperwork.”
He nods to the clipboard that I didn’t realize I’d taken and heads for the door. “It’s all there. You take care now.”
I know before I even look at the page what it’ll be and who it’s from. There’s a possibility the guard will inform Vic, but Gracin would have paid him to keep quiet. I entertain the thought of throwing it straight in the trash, but I can’t make myself do it. My ears ring as I focus on the version of me he drew this time. It’s how I must have looked right after he brought me to the brutal edge of a powerful orgasm. My eyes are still closed, and my mouth is full and soft and a little bruised. For the first time, he’s included himself in the drawing. Just his hand on the side of my throat, his thumb on the edge of my jaw. It wouldn’t seem significant to anyone else, but it’s everything to me. He signed it with his full name, and under the signature are three words: Come to me.
I’m on my break, but I don’t care. Eating is now the last thing on my mind. The impatience, irritation, and rage that’s been building beneath my skin all day like a geyser churns and churns with each step I take. I clutch the clipboard in my hand like a shield, and I haven’t decided if I want to throw it at his head the moment I see him or not.
The part of me that didn’t scoff at his audacity to beckon me luxuriates in his attention. It’s a low, mean facet of my personality I didn’t even know I possessed. I glut myself on the knowledge that a man like Gracin—a powerful, dangerous man—wants me. I may be his only option, but it doesn’t seem to register when all his attention is on me. Even though I know I’m walking a treacherous path with fatal consequences at either end, I can’t seem to make myself stop.
The officers at the entrance to his cellblock must have been bribed as well, because they turn a blind eye when I appear. Loud cranks and clangs of the door opening, which are followed by an accompanying shout, are the only sign they’re aware of my presence at all. I linger just outside the gaping maw of the prison block, and the chilling realization that the next step I take will be a defining moment overwhelms me with indecisiveness.
I take an unsure step forward, pulled by the inexplicable connection that’s spurred so many of my rash decisions. The dark parts of me find solace in the blackness inside him. Like finding like and set ablaze.
I approach the cell I know is his, unaware or even conscious of any inmates in the surrounding cells. I can hear them catcalling and banging on their doors, but it doesn’t faze me. The bars on his cell are in desperate need of repainting. Flakes of gray slough off onto my palms as I grip the iron with both hands.
“Why did you summon me here?” I say. “We had a deal.” My words are saying no, but my voice is all wrong. Breathy. Like a little virgin who isn’t quite sure she wants to go all the way despite how good she knows it may feel.
His abs contract as he lifts to a sitting position. Try as I might, I can’t look away. Surely, I deserve a place in hell for the long seconds I spend staring at his bare abdomen.
He doesn’t notice or doesn’t comment as he gets up from his bunk to cross to the bars. His posture is deceptively relaxed with one shoulder against the metal. I have a feeling all the things he doesn’t say are only stored up for another time, but only because they don’t serve him in this moment.
His reaches through the enclosure, his expression contemplative as he twines a lock of my hair around his fingers. Like a cat toying with his prey. “I think the more important question, Mrs. Emerson, is why you came?”
Words knot in my throat and horror leeches all the blood from my face. “Because we crossed a line and you need to know we can’t do it again.”
He abandons my hair for my jaw, his finger tracing from the point of my chin to the curve of my ear. I start to step away, then realize his other hand wraps around my wrist. I couldn’t move even if I wanted to. When had he taken hold of me?
“So you’re saying you came to see me because you don’t want to see me again?” His voice is so smooth, so guileless and entrancing, I find myself leaning toward him, wanting to taste his words right from the source. When the fingers investigating my chin scrape up and over my lips and I do taste him . . . the earthy flavor of his skin bursting over my tongue like an aphrodisiac, I shake my head to clear it.
“Stop twisting my words.” I try to yank my arm out of his grip but to no avail. His hold is more effective than handcuffs. “Let me go.”
He cocks his head like he knows how badly I want him to keep touching me. “I don’t think I will. We’re not finished.”
“Finished with what?”
I’m horrified and ashamed to find the back and forth has gotten me wet. It’s all fun and games until the realization dawns that I like this. Not just the forbidden aspect, or the danger, but the wrongness.
There must be something wicked inside me. Those parts Vic broke pieced themselves back together, but the jagged edges don’t quite fit anymore. Panic spurts through me hot and vital—instinctual. He doesn’t hold me hard enough to bruise, and somehow that only intensifies his draw, but he doesn’t let me go, either.
“Our conversation,” he says in a low voice. “Now answer the question.”
“Gracin, please.”
He sucks a deep breath through his teeth, and it causes the hair on my arms and the back of my neck to stand on end. He shifts closer, pressing his body against the bars between us. He’s so close I can feel the heat of him through the metal. If I moved, even the slightest bit, we’d be chest to chest. The temptation makes me shiver.
His groan causes the bars to vibrate, and my blood hums in response. “Say that again.”
I tug at my arm, but his grip tightens, and he pulls me forward so that we’re almost touching. I’m so far over the line that I don’t even know if it was intentional or not. “Stop,” I say, without an ounce of conviction.
With his forehead against the bars, he closes his eyes. “Say it, little mouse.”
“I will if you’ll let me go.”
“Say my name.”
I wish I weren’t trembling. Showing him any vulnerability is only asking for him to exploit it. “Please.”
He growls.
“I—”
“Say it.”
“G-Gracin.”
“Excellent, little mouse. Now tell me why you came. Tell me why you look like you’re about to fly out of your skin.”
Knowing that silence is my only safe option, I shake my head.
His hold on my wrist gentles and I can feel his breath on my jaw. “Tell me.”
“You were right.”
“Good girl.” He nearly groans it. The blatant sexuality in the sound is almost too much to bear. “How was I right?”
I should be worried about the officers, about my job, about my sanity, but there is no room for anything but Gracin.
“I stood up to him.”
“To your husband?” he asks, though, from the smug expression on his face, he knows who I’m talking about.
I try, and fail, to stop the shivers that wrack my body because of his proximity. Focusing with him near is futile. “He tried to . . . he tried to hurt me again.”
His sneer is as sharp and lethal as a blade to the throat. “I bet he did.” There is a beat of silence before he asks, “What did you do? Did you hurt him? Hmm, little mouse?” The last word is soft, nearly purred in my ear.
“I tried to.” My voice is barely even a croak, but my words light him up. “I was making dinner, and he came at me. I didn’t mean to cut him, but I was holding a knife, and he wouldn’t stop.”
“Don’t be ashamed,” he says when my gaze drops from his. “He’s the one who should be ashamed. No man should pu
t his hands on a woman.”
I look pointedly at him and raise an eyebrow even though his record never indicated anything of the sort. “I would never hurt you, little mouse. That’s why you came to me.”
“I came because I’m an idiot.” I try to put energy into my voice, but there is none left. “What do you want from me? What game are you playing?”
“I’m playing a most dangerous game, and you’re the prize. Our deal is off, Tessa. I want you, and I’ll take you any way I can get you.”
Breath strangles in my throat. “I won’t—I can’t do that again.”
“Liar,” he croons as the fingers not wrapped around my wrist trace the fading bruise on my lip. “You're not upset because you didn't like it. You're angry because you loved it.”
Protests stick in my throat, and I’m about to answer when the alarms sound. Someone must have reported us after all. My response is drowned out by shrill screams from the sirens. Time’s up. I glance back at him, and his smile is slow and predatory. He's scented blood and is preparing for the kill.
“Tell me,” he yells from his cage. “You come back and tell me, little mouse, if he doesn't look at you differently. If he doesn't have a gleam of respect in his eyes the next time he attempts to hurt you.”
“I won't do that.”
His grin gains a razor-sharp edge, eyes glinting with the red alarm lights as they flash. Officers finally burst through the doors and race down the hallway, but I can't hear the shouts over my panicked thoughts and thundering heartbeat. They rush by me to unlock the door to his cell, and he releases me, backing away with his hands held over his head in a supplicating gesture that we all know is only for show. Even though he’s the one behind bars, somehow he still holds all the power.
He keeps my gaze locked with his, and I take an automatic step in retreat. No matter how much distance I put between us, I can still feel his hands on me.
"I'll talk to you tomorrow, little mouse. They cleared me for work detail. ”
“Are you okay?” Annie asks as she relieves me a few hours later.
“I'm all right,” I say and wince when my voice sounds as if I took a chainsaw to it. I clear my throat. “It’s just been one of those days.”
She nods her understanding, though, really, she has no idea, and for that I’m grateful. If she knew precisely what I’d done, she’d be running just as fast as she could in the opposite direction. We’re trained not to get close to inmates for exactly this reason. We lose our objectivity, and that can be dangerous, even deadly. One mistake . . . one misstep and we could fuck up and cost someone their life. Or lose our own.
I berate myself for my stupidity and utter selfishness. It must have been insanity, I reason. Nothing else would explain why I let Gracin touch me. Why I let him do so much more than touch me.
No.
I can’t go there.
“Take care of yourself,” Annie says to me as she winds a stethoscope around her neck.
I say something appropriate back, or at least I hope I do. Annie seems to accept my response and starts checking over charts. God, I need to pull myself together. I push my fingers into my eyes until I see spots.
Compared to my own life, Annie has it easy. She’s about twenty-five, maybe. I’m only two years older, but it feels like a lifetime of differences separate us. According to her, this is only a temporary job, and she plans to use the experience to get a job as a traveling nurse. She wants out of this city and to see the country. I’ve never been out of Michigan, and I don’t foresee an end to my life at Blackthorne, at least not while Vic has any say in the matter. He likes keeping me well and truly under his thumb. She’s happily single, and I suffocate a little bit more each day I’m married to Vic.
A sigh turns into a yawn as I make my way back to the lockers to retrieve my things. My self-pity is exhausting. I put myself into this mess. My marriage to Vic, my . . . whatever with Gracin. Both are entirely my fault.
I wave goodbye to the people at the front desk, but they pay no more attention to me than they did this morning. Sometimes, I think I could walk into the prison with a gun like a stark raving lunatic and no one would bat an eye. It’s as if they’ve trained themselves not to look at me. It happens that way, I’ve learned. People don’t want to see what scares them. They don’t want to help you with your problems. They want you to stay the fuck out of their lives because the complication of your pain is too inconvenient.
The icy wind tears through my hair as I push through the doors. I tug my jacket closer and lean forward, which only serves to let the cold slip down my neck. I let out a bark of laughter. I just can’t win. Story of my life.
The interior of my old car is no better, and it takes three tries for the beleaguered engine to turn over. While the inside warms, I huddle into my jacket and rest my head on the steering wheel. I shove my hands, already frozen blocks of ice, between my legs to try to get them to thaw. In the thick of a Michigan winter, it’s mostly pointless, but the actions are comforting.
I could use a little comfort.
A lot of it.
Tears pool in my eyes, but I blink them back, which makes my eyelids sting. All my life it has felt as if I’d been looking for affection—something that seems to come so easy to everyone else. My parents—if they could be called that—wouldn’t know the meaning of the word. If they weren’t screaming and slapping each other, they were screaming and slapping me. If they weren’t doing that, they were pretending I didn’t exist.
I must have made the perfect target for Vic. I was no innocent. Not since Tommy Blankenship coerced me into the backseat of his Ford Taurus with all the charm and promises his high school senior quarterback reputation could muster. Of course, there hadn’t been any affection there, either. The roll in the backseat had lasted all of ten minutes, not that Tommy gave a good goddamn about that. I couldn’t fault him. His slight was born from ignorance and not maliciousness.
Still, I should have learned after that, but of course, I didn’t. Following sweet fumbling Tommy was a string of boys and then men who only seemed to feed the nothingness. After earning my bachelor’s of science in nursing, I met Vic. And, stupid me, I thought he was different.
Boy, was I wrong.
He didn’t show me the face behind the mask at first. In fact, he was the most charming man I’d ever met. He lavished attention on me like I was the most fascinating woman he’d ever met. There were impromptu dates, which I later learned he couldn’t afford, but by the time he proposed, I was well and truly under his spell. It made the day he first hit me all the more shocking. It didn’t take long after that for me to learn what my new life entailed.
I bark out a laugh that’s as humanly possible for it to be as my hands finally warm up enough to grip the wheel with some semblance of control. Control. Now that’s a joke. I haven’t felt in control of my life . . . ever.
As I pull out of the parking lot, I shake my head in denial, but the thought whispers through the walls I’ve thrown up, as determined as the freezing wind in search of skin. You were certainly in control in Gracin’s arms. And just like that, I’m not cold anymore. The desire that’s been so hard-won during three years of marriage seems so readily called to the surface where he’s concerned.
Wind batters against the car as I carefully navigate the slippery streets back to the house Vic and I share. The confrontation with Gracin today only underscores a fact I’ve been ignoring myself.
I can’t stay with Vic.
I don’t know how I’m going to manage to get away from him. Even thinking it to myself makes me want to tremble in fear, but I know I have to. What other alternative do I have, though? Let him kill me? I won’t lie to myself and say I hadn’t contemplated that. Just let him end it once and for all. Death would almost be a relief.
There’s a part of me that simply won’t let myself give up. I almost hate myself for it, but despite the times he’s tried to beat it out of me, he hasn’t quite managed yet.
I begin to p
lan as I make the long trek home. No doubt, Vic will take retribution for me fighting back, but I will do what I do best . . . I will endure. But only for one more day. One more day, and then while he’s at work late tomorrow, catching up on what he missed today, I’ll make my move when I get off my shift. I’ll run and hide as far and as long as it takes to be free of him.
Gracin—what happened between us was a mistake. I shiver as I pull into the driveway and idle for a few more precious seconds of peace. Kissing him, letting him touch me and give me pleasure was a measure of control, of freedom, that I haven’t had in a long time. It gave me the wake-up call I needed to break out from under Vic’s control. I’ll leave it at that before anything else happens. Intuition tells me he's just as dangerous as he appears and I’ve had enough manipulative men for a lifetime.
A light blinks on in the living room window. Vic is no doubt waiting for me inside. Watching, seething, biding his time. Tonight’s punishment will probably be worse than anything I’ve ever had to live through, but live through it I will, because tomorrow . . .
Tomorrow, I will be free of the prison of my own making.
My gait is slow as I navigate the slippery sidewalk. A bone-deep weariness settles over me, making each step a small feat of its own. My show of defiance the night before had caught Vic off guard, but tonight, he will be ready. He’s had all day to think about the disturbing things he wants to do to me.
I open the door with steady hands and find him sitting on the couch watching a football game, which makes me want to laugh all over again. The entire time we’ve been together, Vic has espoused the idea of watching sports. He prefers the news or documentaries. That’s how I know he’s only pretending for my benefit, trying to lull me into a false sense of security.
“I’m home,” I say lightly because two can play at this game.
He grunts but doesn’t look my way. As I walk by to put my purse and jacket in the coat closet, I don’t miss how his hands clench reflexively on the arm of the sofa. I bet he imagines them around my throat. I go straight to the kitchen to begin fixing dinner. Around an hour later, once the sharp implements are out of the way, he makes his appearance in the doorway.
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