Mikala's Passion (Pulse Series Book 2)

by Rose, Jennifer

  “I’ve made up my mind,” she looked at Landon with trepidation. “I must be out of my fucking head, but I’m going.”

  “Let me know when, because you’re sure as hell not going alone.” Landon ordered.

  His attempt at being a badass was cute at most. He was her bodyguard/bouncer but he felt more like her best friend, the big cuddly bear that protected her.

  “Yes sir.” Mikala rolled her eyes and saluted. “I wasn’t planning on going without you.”

  She chewed at the inside of her cheek as she dialed the number to make an appointment. Landon watched her closely as she scribbled the date and time on the back of the letter. When she hung up she looked at Landon, knowing exactly what he would say next.

  “No.” she said.

  “No what?”

  “I’ll tell Mason after the meeting, he’ll only worry for nothing.”

  “The fact that he’ll worry is why you should tell him.” Landon warned and she knew he was right.

  Mikala placed her hand on his forearm. “I have to do this, if Mason knows he’ll stop me. I can’t let that happen. I’m not asking you to lie, I’d never do that. Just keep it a secret until after the meeting. I promise I’ll tell him everything. Please?”

  Landon grinded his teeth and shook his head. “Wish I could tell you no.”

  ***

  Several days later, Mikala stood on the bottom step staring up at the Nashua Street Jail. To say she felt intimidated would have been an understatement of gargantuan proportions. In fact she was quaking in her boots quite literally.

  “Do I look alright?” she asked Landon.

  “Sure if you’re going to church or a PTA meeting, kidding, you look very nice.”

  “Very nice, those are words every woman wants to hear.” She fussed with her t-shirt, tugging at the hem. “As long as nothings showing I’m past caring.”

  She had been informed of the strict dress code, and followed it to the letter. No skin, no short skirts, no shorts, no baggy anything, no sweats, no hat, scarfs or jackets etcetera, etcetera and no jewelry. So she chose fitted black dress pants, a plain white t-shirt and tennis shoes she had to borrow from Eden. She slipped her engagement ring off and placed it in Landon’s palm, watching as he tucked it deep into his pocket.

  “You don’t have to do this. We can turn around and leave.” Landon put his hand on her shoulder as a reassuring gesture.

  “Landon, I’ll be fine, I promise you,” she said, as Landon held open the huge double doors and she stepped inside.

  Patted down, made to walk through metal detectors and questioned as if she were the criminal, Mikala gave a nervous smile to the burly, miserable looking officer that glared from the photo in her passport, to her face and back again. Once he was satisfied she wasn’t some kind of psycho mass murderer on America’s most wanted list, he showed her to a waiting area. A dozen or so other visitors sat silently fiddling with the visitor pass they were given to gain access to the inmates lounge. Some looked to her as if they were on the wrong side of the doors, making Mikala edgy as hell. She flinched when her name was called over the loud speaker in the corner of the room. All eyes homed in on her the minute she stood.

  A large steel door opened into the room and a female guard waved her past. She was relieved of her pass and patted down again, then taken to a room that resembled a café with small tables and two seats at each, bolted to the floor. Told to take a seat, she sat as close to the door as possible, for a quick escape, she tittered at how illogical her thoughts were, since the doors had a magnetic locking system that couldn’t be opened from inside.

  Once the visitors for the set time period were all seated a guard shouted, “Keep your hands on your side of the line at all times, you have one hour.” Mikala looked at a yellow line painted across the table, then a bell rang and the inmates came into the room. All dressed in orange jump suits like something from a crime drama, she watched as one by one they sat with friends and loved ones and hurried conversations started. One hour seemed like a short time if you wanted to visit, but for Mikala one hour felt like far too long to spend with a man she detested so vehemently.

  When Ross Stiles spotted her, he raised his cuffed hands to wave as a guard escorted him to the table. “Stiles, you have twenty minutes.” He stepped back without taking the cuffs off and not far enough away for privacy. Not that she wanted to be alone with the man.

  “I’m glad you came,” he said, when Mikala made no attempt to speak. “You look nice.”

  He sounded different. It was disturbing to expect the severe, dictating tone that spewed from his mouth so easily, only to be greeted by the even-tempered voice of a person seeking exoneration. A prickle of anxiety raced up her spine and her scalp tingled causing her to visibly shiver. She wrapped her arms across her belly and breathed in a deep cleansing breath.

  Big girl panties, she recited again and again in her head, until she grasped hold of the ounce of courage she needed to get through the twenty minutes.

  “Can we get on with this, Mr. Stiles?” Mikala swallowed back a huge lump in her throat. It was bizarre that her trepidation from earlier had been replaced with annoyance as he attempted to play nice so she could get this over with. “I don’t have all day, say what you have to say.”

  The clunk of the hand cuffs on the metal table made her flinch. She stared at his interwoven fingers and noted bruises on his knuckles and dirt under his unkempt nails. Her mind wandered to thoughts of making an appointment for a manicure, such crazy things to think about at a time like this, she thought.

  “Miss Santino, please bear with me, I have so much to say and so little time to say it.”

  “Then say it,” she snapped.

  “I understand your anger, I do. I did terrible things to you, things I myself have trouble comprehending.” Ross lifted his hand to his face rubbing his jaw, the chain on the cuffs rattled and he lowered his hands to his lap.

  Mikala sat glowering, too numb to notice a single tear run down his cheek.

  “I can’t take it back, what I’ve done to you, but I’d be willing to if I could. You are my only regret through all of this. You are the innocent victim of a raging beast that knew no other way to deal with the pain of a severely broken heart.” His eyes meet Mikala’s stare and he tilted his head as if to study her silence. Little did he realize what was seething behind her eyes.

  “I am your only regret?” Mikala asked, with a grain of venom injected into each syllable. “Are you fucking kidding me? Do you have a clue? Let me fill you in on the amount of people that suffered because of you.”

  She leaned into the table’s edge as she spoke. “While you were hell bent on revenge and you thought that you were making me pay, it was the people that work for me that paid, their children that paid, the homeless shelter and the charities that I donate money to on a regular basis, they all paid. You see, what you do to one can hurt so many innocent others.”

  He opened his mouth to speak and a single glare from Mikala stopped his progress. “If you’re looking for forgiveness, think again you bastard. What about your wife and her lover, I’d say they paid the highest price of all. I may not be a religious person Mr. Stiles, but I do believe in a higher power and I believe that come the day, you will be punished for the evil things you’ve done. And…” Mikala took a deep breath before standing. “If there is indeed a place that we refer to as hell, may you burn there for all eternity, you sad-ass piece of shit!”

  “But Miss Santino,” He attempted to stand but the guard put a quick stop to that idea by placing his hand on Stiles’ shoulder, slamming him into his seat. “I need,”

  “Your needs are of no concern to me.” Mikala nodded to the guard taking a step before stopping and turning. “Mr. Stiles, I hope you never sleep another night for the rest of your life and that should your eyes try and give into sleep, that the faces of your wife, her lover and everyone you ever harmed including myself will haunt you. Sweet dreams you son-of-a-bitch.”

&nb
sp; The guard nodded and the doors lock mechanism opened with a loud clink, a buzzer sounded and Mikala pushed her way into a long silent hall. She pressed her back to the wall and inhaled deeply, opening her constricted lungs to take in air, air that she found in short supply while she was locked in the visitor’s room with Stiles.

  A voice called out to her, “This way please.”

  She straightened, smoothing nonexistent wrinkles from her t-shirt and made her way along the hall. The only sounds were her shoes echoing as she walked to the exit and her heart pounding in her ears.

  The atmosphere changed once the door opened and a strong sense of accomplishment, resolution and pride engulfed her thoughts.

  “Done,” she whispered.

  ***

  Landon was seated on the steps outside totally engrossed by something on his phone when Mikala shot through the double doors plunking her ass down beside him.

  “That was quick.”

  “Yep.”

  “What did he want?”

  Mikala rested her head on his large bicep. “I think he wanted me to forgive him,”

  “And?”

  “I basically told him to go fuck himself, eat shit and rot in hell.”

  Landon held up his fist, “You go girl,” he said, waiting until Mikala made a fist and bumped knuckles.

  After opening the car door, Landon waited for Mikala to have a seat and leaned in with his hands on the cars roof. “By the way, uh…Mason’s home…and he knows.”

  Mikala’s eyes bugged out and she threw her head back on the seats headrest. Her heart was beating like a steel drum and she was so close to throwing up she had to clamp her hand over her mouth. “I’m a dead woman.”

  “I’m sure you’re exaggerating.”

  “You don’t know Mason.”

  “I’ve known the man for over fifteen years,” his words stopped short, he closed her door rounding the car and climbing in to the driver’s seat. He clicked his seatbelt into place and sat with his hands clutched to the steering wheel. “I’m your body guard, what’s he going to do?”

  Mikala sunk into her seat. “Drive slow, okay?”

  ***

  “Landon…Mikala.” Mason addressed each, setting his beer bottle on the bar and standing. “What can I get you to drink?”

  “I’m good,” Landon said, stepping forward awkwardly.

  “Mikala?” Mason asked.

  “I’ll get myself water,” Mikala answered.

  Mikala noted Mason’s use of her proper name, twice in a row. She was most definitely a dead woman.

  “Allow me. You’ve had a busy day.” Mason narrowed his eyes, fetching a glass of ice and a bottle of Perrier from behind the bar, slowly pouring the bubbling water into the glass.

  “Please, join me.” He gestured to a nearby table.

  He was acting all smooth as silk, but Mikala was not unfamiliar with the uglier take-no-shit side of Mason Reed. Even though Mason was all gruff and grumbly and his bark was most definitely worse than his bite, she was glad Landon was locked at her hip.

  “At least you had brains enough to take Landon here with you,” he said tipping his beer bottle towards London.

  By the way Mason was conducting himself and keeping his temper carefully locked away, Mikala knew that conceding was in her best interest. Mason would eat her alive if she attempted to pussy foot around the subject of a certain inmate visitation.

  “It’s not like I was going to meet him in a dark alley somewhere,” Mikala snarled back, prepared to give as much as she got.

  “What was so important that you felt you had to sneak around behind my back?” Mason asked.

  “I was not sneaking behind your back,” Mikala narrowed her eyes. “I was going to tell you…when we got home.”

  “How do you think that’s not sneaking around?” Mason snarled. “You leave here knowing that you’re going to visit that lunatic and you don’t tell me, that my dear is sneaky.”

  “I’m sorry Mason, but if I told you what I was doing, you would have stopped me.”

  “Fucking right I would have,” Mason sat forward clamping his hand around her wrist. “That son-of-a-bitch has caused enough bullshit in your life; he doesn’t deserve another minute of your time.”

  “No he didn’t, but I deserved a minute to tell him a few things,” Mikala pulled her hand free. “And like it or not, I will be there when Stiles is sentenced.”

  “And I’ll be there with her,” Landon said. He stood dipping his hand into his pocket, taking Mikala’s hand in his and slipping her engagement ring back on her finger. “Every step of the way, until Mikala is free of Ross Stiles and the nightmares he has caused her, until she can sleep at night and she doesn’t need me anymore.” He looked to Mikala. “I’ll be in my room if you need me.”

  “Lando, I never said I didn’t support Mik, it’s just not right keeping me in the dark.” Mason said.

  “Then make yourself available man. If the woman’s too scared to tell you, you’re the one in the wrong. Do something about it.”

  Mason’s brows raised as the brazen words that Landon assaulted him with seeped into his stubborn brain. Regrettably he knew London was right, that he had this stern overbearing attitude that kept people at a distance, he just didn’t realize he was keeping Mikala there too.

  “Sugar, I fucked up again, but so did you,” Mason somewhat confessed, after watching London leave. “Come here.” Mason slid his chair back and tapped his knees.

  As angry as Mikala wanted to be, it simply wasn’t in her, she needed to feel Mason’s big strong arms wrapped around her. She settled her rear end onto his lap allowing his arms to circle her waist, and nuzzled her face into his neck.

  “Please baby, never be afraid to tell me anything,” he said, lifting her chin so he could see her beautiful eyes. “I want you to come to me no matter what. I want to share the good, the bad and everything in between. We can’t have secrets and survive. Promise me.”

  With a glazed stare Mikala spoke, “I promise. But I need you to try and understand.” Mikala nuzzled into his neck again touching her lips to the light stubble on his jaw. “This is something I have to do Mason, I’m never going to be able to relax and get on with my life, until I know Stiles can’t hurt me anymore. I have to do this and you have to back off.”

  “I’ll back off a few feet, that’s as far as I can manage. You’re my world, sugar. I can’t stand at a distance and just watch. I’d never forgive myself if something happened because I was kept in the dark. I need that much, agreed?”

  For a grueling few moments, Mason waited while Mikala sat silent. She was every bit as pigheaded as he was, with every bit as much determination and desire as he had, he loved and hated that about her. He could rip his hair out at times, wanting to throw her over his knee and spank her like a naughty child, and at other times all he wanted was to get her body beneath his and make sweet slow love to her. Mikala simply infuriated him.

  “As long as you hold my hand, and never let go.” Mikala entwined her fingers with his.

  ***

  A handful of people sat in the large courtroom while sentencing for several other prisoners took place ahead of Ross Stiles. He sat in a boxed off area to the right side of the courtroom and Mikala could feel the eerie continuous stare he had fixed on her. Her focus remained on the judge seated behind his grand podium as he sentenced each prisoner and then instilled his own punishing wisdom upon each, before slamming his gavel onto the sounding block. Each time the sound resonated in the air, Mikala involuntarily jumped and Mason’s hand squeezed a bit tighter.

  “Are you sure you want to be here?” he whispered.

  Finally she peeled her eyes away long enough to look into Mason’s. “Never more sure,” she said, turning her gaze straight ahead.

  “Ross Stiles, rise.” A bailiff ordered.

  Mikala forced herself to remain focused on the judge while her heart anxiously raced and her head buzzed with a new pain to join the old ache from two da
ys prior to this one.

  Judge Weiler who Mikala estimated to be approximately sixty, with a full head of white curly hair and a permanently etched scowl across his forehead, took a sip of water, cleared his throat and slid on his reading glasses. He allowed them to rest precariously on the tip of his nose as he read aloud Ross Stiles’ charges. Once he was finished, the room sat silent as he allowed a dramatic pause to permeate the courtroom as he studied Stiles’ face.

  Weiler followed Stiles’ gaze to Mikala and narrowed his eyes. “Mr. Stiles,” he said, with an unsympathetic demand. “Eyes front and center and keep them there, am I understood?”

  He turned to the judge without a word.

  “It has been brought to my attention that you have been in contact with one of your victims, a Miss Mikala Santino. It is also my understanding that you did this against advice of counsel. Might I suggest in the future Mr. Stiles, that you take counsel’s suggestions seriously, for the good of all involved? I am taking it upon myself to grant an immediate Cease and Desist order as well as an injunction ordering you to establish absolutely no contact in any shape or form, whether it be by phone, by letter, or even carrier pigeon, with Miss Mikala Santino. Should you fail to comply you risk reevaluation of your sentence and additional time will be added. That being said…” Judge Weiler met Mikala’s eyes and a tiny smile crossed her mouth as her way of saying thank you.

  He continued on with a verbal backlashing, the likes of which she had never heard before. There was style and polished refinement embedded in each word, the kind of insulting panache Mikala wished she possessed. He pretty much told Stiles he was a slimy, scum eating bastard, that should live the rest of his days in a dank, vile, virus ridden environment with no contact what-so-ever, except for with a mischief of hungry rats and other vermin.

  “Therefore I sentence you to the maximum the law will allow, life imprisonment...”

  Those were the last words Mikala heard before tears started streaming down her face and Mason wrapped his arms around her shoulders. Landon handed her a tissue, she wiped away her tears and eyeballed Stiles.