Prison Promise (Prison Saints Book 1)

by Demi Vice

  “My walk-in closet will be so big it has a black ottoman in the middle to lounge on. On the side, I’ll have drawers where I keep my black leather wallets, pure silver and gold chains, cufflinks, rings, necklaces—fucking everything.” Jack smiled. “Oh, and my favorite part of the closet? At the end, behind a mirror, the size of a door is a huge ass safe where I keep all of my dirty little secrets and most precious possessions.” Jack gritted his teeth with a smile so big I thought it was going to split his face in two. He was a little too excited about his make-believe penthouse. But dream on, Jack.

  “Oh, is that all Jack? That’s all you want?” I didn't bother to dim down my sarcasm.

  He laughed and shook his head. “Hell, no.”

  “Okay, so how about your dream job?” I asked, propping my elbow on the desk and resting my cheek in my palm.

  “No job. I’m fucking retired. That’s been my other dream since I first started working. The only exceptions being that I get paid millions a year, and it’s all legal, or I work for myself which at that point it’s more like my hobby than a job.”

  “Seems realistic. Age thirty-three and retired. You might get bored, Jack. So, what will you do in your free time aside from reading in your leather chair and smoking weed?”

  “I’ll still invest, work out, and take lots of pictures. A lot of pictures. I want to open a photo gallery one day. One that’s all black instead of the standard white. And each month will be a new theme, full of pictures of my life, my friends, Link—when I find him—my family, etcetera.”

  “Your family?” My brow arched with curiosity.

  “Yeah, wife and kids.” Jack shrugged.

  I blushed, surprised with Jack. “You want a wife and kids? As in plural?”

  “That’s not even a question. I might want the expensive things in life, but I want the priceless things as well…” he paused and looked at me with a killer smile that made my black butterflies fight for attention.

  “I want a wife that loves me as much as I fucking love her. The kind of love that drives you mad when you’re away from each other. The kind of love that makes you wonder, how the hell did you live without them for so long. The kind of love that’ll never die or fade because you know you were put on this world just to find your other crazy half.”

  Jack let out a thick chuckle and shook his head faintly. He blushed just the slightest bit and swallowed down his words before pushing his cuticles.

  He talked to his hands. “If I’m going to settle down with one girl for the rest of my life that means she’s my everything. She’ll be my happiness and depression. My pleasure and pain. My life and death. She’ll be my everything and anything. And I’ll go to hell and back if it meant I could see her smile. Because to me? She’ll. Be. It.”

  Jack bit his knuckle, trying to contain his smile.

  “I’m going to have two kids with her, and they’ll be everything I wasn’t. Healthy, named and dated the millisecond they were brought to me by my queen. I’ll have their names and birthday carved into my flesh, so I never forget, and they will be loved from head to toe. They’ll never have scars on them unless they’re fucking idiots and try to climb indoor trees or something.” Jack chuckled. “At that point, my job will be to be the best dad alive and take as many pictures as I can of my little spawns.” Jack clenched his teeth like someone had shown him a puppy and it was too cute to handle. “And of course. I’ll take pictures of my wife—my life.”

  “Mmmm—sounds like a nice life.” I grinned at my notebook, my palm still pressed in my cheek until I sat up straight. “You didn't strike me as a man who wants the whole…family.”

  Jack shook his head.

  “I do. Oh, my God, I do. In the far future when I find the other half of me I’ll put a diamond on her finger so big that it’ll blind any man that looks in her direction. And I’ll fuck her so good we'll make a baby on the first try.” Jack bit his lip and gave me a mischievous smile. “Or I might do it the other way around. Baby then ring, in case she’s a stubborn little thing.” Jack winked at me.

  “Ha. Ha. Ha. Funny, Jack.” I snarled, but my red cheeks were not working in my favor.

  I went back to my homework, opening a document and started to write my paper while Jack just stared at me with his amber eyes.

  “Now, you have to tell me what you were going to say. I just confessed that I want to put a little Jack in the box.” Jack laughed at his lame joke so hard, the librarian came over and glared at us sternly.

  “My confession? Same as yours. One day I want to be a mom. Except I don’t want to work two jobs, go to school, and barely feed myself without the help of my roommate.” I stated the obvious.

  Jack smiled. “Yeah and maybe when you have a bigger place. I mean, without me? Where would you sleep? Your apartment? God forbid,” Jack teased, and I nudged his shoulder.

  I went back to my homework, enjoying my music while Jack went off to find himself something to read. I drank my watery chocolate drink and typed painfully slow until Jack came back fifteen minutes later with the oddest selection of books.

  There was an economics book, one on photography, a collection of Shakespeare’s sonnets and a couple of comic books: Deadpool and Wolverine. I guess Jack was a comic book nerd too.

  “I figured by the time granny is done picking at the keyboard, I’d be done reading all my books,” Jack teased, dropping into his seat and leaning against the cubicle post once more.

  Jack plucked my earbud out of my ear, and this time I didn't mind him invading my source of sanity and space. I invited him in, letting him choose the music. Like Luke, Jack chose my rap playlist. Tupac, Salt-N-Pepa, Biggie, Eminem, Jay-Z, Kendrick Lamar and so many more. Jack didn’t let me blast it though. We mouthed rap lyrics at a reasonable volume while I mindlessly transferred my paper to the computer, and Jack enjoyed his random issue of Deadpool.

  “By the way, this is a date,” I whispered, leaning into him.

  Jack scoffed. “No, no, no, no. It’s not. A date is where you aren't doing homework or where I’m not reading a comic book. Plus, there’s no flowers, chocolates or door opening. How are you supposed to seduce me without opening my door, Ahrianna?”

  We laughed until the librarian came to us and told us to shut up again. This time we did. Jack read his books, I wrote my paper, and we listened to my music. I caught Jack staring at me a few times and vice versa.

  When Jack was done with the majority of his books, speed-reading through all of them and laughing at the comics. I talked to him about his choices. The economy and photography books made sense, but Shakespeare and comic books?

  Jack had always been a sucker for Shakespeare, hence the tattoo quote on his leg. Jack loved the way he wrote, the characters and names he created as well as the stories. Dramatic, dangerously passionate and tragic. In Jack’s eyes, his stories were as real as they came. Filled with betrayal, revenge, and murder which had been in humanity’s blood for hundreds of years. It was in our nature to fight. To get the top, seek revenge for those we love, and desire the ultimate ending. The happily ever after ending Shakespeare neglects.

  But Jack didn’t.

  He was headstrong about having his dream come true. And try telling Jack, ‘No, it’s not,’ was nearly impossible. As possible as him getting his dream. Ironic.

  As for the comics? He said an old friend from his last cook position was a comic book nerd. Loved all the anti-heroes out there and always compared Jack to them (yeah, I agree).

  After Jack put away his books, he wandered around the library and took pictures. Mostly of me, and, like usual, I hid my face. Except for one time when he made me smile and caught it on camera. I let him keep it, but even if I hadn’t, Jack would’ve never gotten rid of it. Taking in how overprotective he got about his camera afterward. He didn’t even let me touch it, afraid that I would try to erase the photo sneakily. I wasn’t. I looked like me. Not Aurora or Luke, but me.

  Before I turned off the computer I’d been working on for
the last seven hours and sent the paper to my professor, I made Jack look over my paper to make sure everything was perfect. He fixed some spelling errors and grammar mistakes and anything else that didn’t make sense before I got the ‘ok.’ Once that was done, we headed outside to the car Jack ordered.

  “So, your dream?” I hummed, going down the carpet steps of the library while Jack held my textbook and bag. “When do you think you’ll get your penthouse? Forty? Fifty? Maybe sixty-years-old?”

  “What are you talking about? I already have it.” Jack let out a devilish grin.

  “Well, in that case, why haven’t you invited me over?” I smirked, playing along with this fairytale conversation.

  “Ah, yes, but the problem with that is that I’ve already told you I’m unemployed. So, where would I have gotten the money from, Ahrianna?” He tapped his index finger on his chin.

  I shrugged. “Every rich man is a crook in one way or another. So, I would say you did something illegal…like insider trading?”

  Jack let out a scoffed laugh. “Wow, just wow. Way to give me the most vanilla, white-collar crime out there. You couldn’t even make me a badass in your fantasy?”

  “I think we established that I'm not much of a dreamer, Jack.”

  “I can change that.” Jack let a chuckle escape his lips. “How about for my badass million-dollar crimes I’m a…hitman?”

  I looked over at Jack and his vicious smirk. “I can deal with that. I’ve always loved my men dressed in red.” I winked.

  Jack smiled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Okay then, Ahrianna Lore, I, Jack Igor Baron, am a hitman.”

  We headed home in silence as I looked out the car window. Even though Jack didn't agree, this was a date. Or at least to me it was. It was a simple date that had my heart skipping beats and connecting the missing piece inside of me. I felt whole again like nothing was missing, and nothing was wrong.

  Like everything felt right.

  Perfect.

  JACK

  “A pączki. Strawberry filling.” I drooled, looking at the pastry.

  Agata avoided me like the plague—made sense. It had been two weeks since our ‘date.’ Probably one of the worst dates I’d ever had, but in her defense, I wanted to fuck Ahri in the back of the diner, and I was flirting with her the whole time she served us.

  Agata’s brown hair was up high in a ponytail, and her blue eyes never looked into mine. When she accidentally made eye contact, her face burned up like she had been in the sun for too long. After I got back from The Bayne, I saw her only twice. And like every meeting we had, I kept it short, sweet, and to the point. I asked for a donut, paid, and left.

  I should’ve thanked her for never telling her dad about what happened. Me, basically being a dick and telling her to fuck off. I’m sure Wazowski would’ve kicked me out, regardless of whether I’d gotten him that bread mixer or not.

  Oh, well, that was two weeks ago. Didn’t matter now.

  I paid for my food, took a bite, and was about to leave until I heard a shy voice from behind. “Hey.”

  I turned around, taking another bite.

  Agata face burned red as we linked eyes. “Ummm…I was wondering, are you still with Ahrianna?” She rolled the ‘R’ in Ahrianna, making her name sound like royalty.

  I nodded, taking another bite as my stomach growled.

  I had breakfast at the diner each morning while my baby girl served me, and I always left her a generous tip. I’d also happened to convince Ahri for the past four mornings to have a not-a-date with me for fifteen minutes. It wasn't that hard when I ordered her favorite. A grilled cheese sandwich, tomato soup, and a chocolate milkshake. Even at eight in the morning, it was still her favorite.

  I even bought her a chocolate cake on the menu this morning and embarrassed her by singing Happy Birthday loudly, which Felicia and a few other customers joined in. I took my birthdays, and the people I cared about, very seriously. Always will. That’s why I always took the whole month of April off.

  I didn’t give Ahri her gift. In fact, I’d just came back from buying it. I looked down at my white and red bag with the newest phone inside. The same phone I have, but in white. Ahri hadn’t worn black since her sister’s funeral, and she never planned to ever again. I didn’t want her to either. I wanted the colorful, 90’s wardrobe Ahri in my life.

  After phone shopping, I went straight to the bakery for a donut that was calling my name before Wazowski closed shop in a few minutes. Wazowski himself was already gone. He always left early, leaving his daughter in charge.

  I took a bite.

  I was still hungry. I was always hungry with my crazy metabolism and workouts. I never gained weight, only muscle. I still worked out two to three hours each night when I knew Ahri was safe at Diablo’s with Papi Gomez. Around midnight, I would come back from the gym and make my way to the bar. I enjoyed a dark Guinness or stayed sober and smoked my Marlboro’s while I enjoyed Ahri’s company.

  Somedays I would walk her to Maddy’s at the crack of dawn when she didn’t sleep, and other mornings she fell asleep at Diablo’s. I didn’t have the heart to wake her up, drag her out of the booth, and bring her to bed for only an hour or two. So, I watched her. Ahri fell asleep at the bar three nights in a row, and that was more times than I wanted her too. But that was her life…for now.

  Over the past few days, I slowly brought up more about my past, and I'm not just talking about Chicago. I told Ahri stories about my days hijacking cars in New York City and Philly, and about the weekly fights I entered to win some cash. If I won, I made a couple hundred bucks, and if I lost, which was about half the time, I would be broke, bruised, and bloody (the last two I secretly missed). The three lovely B’s which built up my tolerance for pain. That’s probably why I could take the punches from Gomez. I’d been up against lots of Gomez’s in the ring.

  Ahri was never bothered by my juvenile crimes, which I loved. She wanted to hear more, but those stories were for another time. I told her more about my foster homes and parents, and Link. And Ahri told me more about Aurora and Fidget. Ahri wasn’t lying when she said she was closer to Fidget then she was with her sister. They were just as inseparable as Link and I.

  Fidget once stole a Maroon 5 CD to make Ahri happy, but that just pissed her off. She forced him to return it, but later that week she stole it back for herself. Ahri even straighten her brother’s hair, making him look less like a wavy-haired, surfer Californian boy which he hated. He was a Chi-town boy for life. Ahri then told me about the silent CTA rides they took. They rode the whole train ride from beginning to end when they’d had a shitty day. Aurora would sometimes join them, but her life was packed with school or work, so most of the time it was just the two of them.

  The thing is. I’d heard all these stories before from Fidget. He never mentioned Ahri’s name; he just called her his ‘friend.’

  It was heartbreaking that they didn’t talk anymore because of a ‘complication.’ Fuck. I didn’t care how complicated it was, if I missed Link as much as Ahri missed Fidget I would’ve tried to talk to him. Letter or not. I would’ve pushed my pride aside and talked to Link. Forget complications.

  On that note, I had to put a pin in the ‘Find the Missing Link’ project since I wasn't getting anywhere. But it was a temporary pin. I wasn't a quitter. As of right now, I was just trying to figure out how to tell Ahri everything about myself without her wanting to rip out my guts and stomp on them.

  After my breakfast, I would go back to the Wazowski apartment. I told Ahri I was looking for a new chef position, but in reality; I cooked, took photos, read Ahri’s comic books, or tossed some knives into the ceiling or wall. I did anything to fill the boredom like I was back at prison.

  When I got really bored. I reread Fidget’s letter, over and over and over again until the words were carved into my brain. When I wasn’t reading the physical copy, I was obsessing about it. Fidget’s sloppy handwriting which made my chicken scratch look like calligraphy. The ad
ded creases and folds I’d given the letter whenever I shoved it in my wallet. And the black ink fading because the paper was getting so worn out.

  I thought about the letter when I wasn’t thinking of Ahri or distracting myself.

  Over the past four days, I’d even changed my sleeping schedule. It was complete trash, but it was worth it when I had time to sleep with Ahri before her Diablo’s shift. There were days I wanted to pay for her not to go to work, to quit, but I just had to wait a little longer. I was going to tell her about everything, about it all, but not just yet.

  I was going to tell her about my non-vanilla jobs, Wallace, prison, Fidget and the fucking letter. I was going to come clean and tell her I was a selfish bastard who wanted to play a small game to indulge his obsession and curiosity because he had nothing better to do. I was going to tell her, but I was giving her pieces of the puzzle, one by one.

  So, give or take a month or two.

  Maybe longer.

  I guess Fidget would have to wait a little longer until I figured it all out and talked to him again.

  God, I hope he has a good cellmate.

  That boy was too pretty for prison. There were some real pieces of shit in Tavernville who were that lonely and that fucking pathetic. I saw the way they’d looked at Fidget when he first came. I saw how scared Fidget was, but I took care of it. Even though Fidget never directly asked for help. I made his prison life easy.

  I sighed, waiting for Agata to say something else.

  “What’s your point?”

  “Mmmm—does Ahri know that?” Agata spoke shyly.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Does-does she know you’re dating?” She knows she’s mine, I thought. “I just—I think she’s with another man.” Agata spilled out.

  “What?” I chuckled, playing it off like I heard her wrong.

  “I…I shouldn’t have said anything. I’m sorry. It’s not my place.” Agata frantically looked around the counter for something to do.