Bad Behavior [Confuct Series #2]

by Jennifer Lane

  Sophie was dumbfounded. “That’s—that’s how you got arrested for aggravated robbery? You were trying to protect Joe?”

  Grant exhaled loudly. “Yeah, but I screwed up and got caught.” He gave a fake smile, one which conveyed sadness more than anything. “And now—” he gestured to the parole office “—here I am.”

  Sophie slowly leaned against the wall, stunned and absolutely hating that his family had taken him down like that. Grant Madsen hadn’t belonged in prison at all. Grasping that Logan had put both of them behind bars, she felt more connected to Grant than ever.

  Sophie tentatively stepped forward, not caring at all that they had an audience. “I’m so sorry,” she murmured, her eyes locking on his before she gently wrapped her arms around his waist and rested her cheek on his chest. Tears sprang to her eyes. She’d just learned of one more occasion Grant could have been killed by his destructive family, and she felt pure gratitude that he was still alive.

  Grant felt her nestle into him, smelled her clean lavender scent, and automatically enveloped her into his arms. They clung to each other tightly while Marilyn and Jerry looked away, suddenly fascinated by the details of the dingy room.

  “It’s okay,” Grant rasped in her ear, so quietly only she could hear. “I found you.”

  He felt her body shake with sobs and held her even tighter.

  After a few moments, Jerry’s wistful expression hardened as he cleared his throat. “Christ, Taylor, are you crying again?”

  Sophie released Grant and backed away, keeping her head down and sniffing. As Jerry reached over to get her some tissues, she asked, “What is it about your office that always makes me cry?”

  “It’s because Jerry’s such a teddy bear,” Marilyn supplied with a smirk.

  Jerry gave her a lighthearted scowl in return.

  Grant took notice of that exchange. They really did seem to be lovebirds.

  As Sophie wiped her eyes she felt her phone vibrate once more in her pocket. When had Grant managed to type this message? But when she looked at the phone, her face fell.

  “Great,” she said. “My dad’s calling again. I must have encountered mortal danger in the hour since his last call, so he needs to check up on me.”

  “Just don’t tell him you’re anywhere near me, and he’ll be fine,” Grant said.

  Marilyn was thinking the same thing. Will Taylor hadn’t been too pleased with her for helping Grant avoid a return to prison.

  Jerry glanced at his watch and began to herd the two toward the door. “Time’s up,” he growled. “See you next week.”

  “He sounds like Hunter,” Sophie said as they stepped into the hallway. “Like we’re leaving a therapy session.”

  “Nope.” Grant shook his head. “We don’t have therapy again for six days.” He looked at his watch, adding, “Six days, twelve minutes, and fifteen seconds to be precise.”

  She laughed. “You’re really looking forward to our next session, aren’t you?”

  Having just relived one painful scene from his past in the parole office, Grant was hardly eager for more of the same with Dr. Hayes. He sighed, draping his arm across Sophie’s neck and giving her shoulder a squeeze. “Can’t wait, Bonnie.”

  ***

  “He’s gonna be in a fucking cage,” Angelo Barberi snarled at the corrections officer who was frisking him a bit too eagerly and thoroughly. “You think I can fit a weapon through a five-centimeter hole in the grating?”

  The officer finished patting him down and gave a tight smile. “I wouldn’t put anything past you greasy wops.” He gave Angelo a shove into the visitation room. “You got fifteen minutes.”

  Angelo angrily adjusted his shirt and tried to suppress the urge to turn around and beat the shit out of that fucking zit-faced CO, who looked all of twenty years old but acted like he owned the goddamned place. He hated visiting Gurnee, especially since his acquittal on extortion and racketeering charges five years ago. The trial had been quite public, and law enforcement was still seeking payback for Angelo’s Get Out of Jail Free card. He hated coming here, but he knew he had to be here.

  He strolled past the open tables where cons were reuniting with loved ones and headed to a caged area off to the side, reserved for the most violent offenders. A child-killer like his brother certainly fit that description. Truth be told, Angelo was relieved that Enzo would be enclosed in a cage. The metal barrier definitely worked in Angelo’s favor, given what they needed to discuss. He’d witnessed his older brother’s insatiable rage on multiple occasions, and he preferred to make it out of Gurnee alive today.

  He took a seat outside the cage and awaited the arrival of the prisoner. Feeling rather tense, he sucked in some deep breaths, which led to a coughing fit.

  Angelo was still coughing when two COs led Enzo Barberi into the cage, the chains of his Y-cuff rattling as he shuffled forward. In contrast to the small patches of gray coloring Angelo’s temples, Enzo’s hair had gone completely gray. But they were still the same height—a little over six feet—with matching black eyes. Those two pairs of eyes now stared each other down.

  After plopping their chained prisoner on the wooden bench, the COs backed out of the cage. “Have a nice visit, Barberi,” one of them scoffed.

  Angelo was shocked when he did not hear an immediate “Fuck you” come out of his brother’s mouth. Instead, Enzo ignored the comment and studied his brother. Something had definitely changed.

  “You look like shit” were the prisoner’s first words.

  “I was just about to say the same to you,” Angelo responded, noticing that the gray of his brother’s hair seemed to have leached into his ashen complexion. “How long you been out of the hole?”

  “Just got out this morning,” Enzo bitterly replied. “Fucking warden. Figures the CO I punched was the warden’s motherfucking private pet. Twenty-two years. I’ve been on the inside for twenty-two years, and that’s the first time I’ve been in the hole. It better be the fucking last time too.”

  Angelo winced. He’d heard that Enzo struck a guard upon learning his son Logan had been murdered, and if he’d just been released from solitary, he probably hadn’t learned the identity of the killer yet.

  “You should up the ante with the guards,” Enzo commanded. “I’m not getting the same preferential treatment I’m used to.”

  “Uh, Enzo, business ain’t so great lately. I’m not sure if we can swing it. We’re already forking over five hundred a month to each of those assholes.”

  Enzo narrowed his eyes and Angelo coughed a few times. “What do you mean ‘business ain’t so great’?”

  Clearing his throat, Angelo admitted, “We’re having a few, uh, personnel problems.”

  Enzo clenched his fists, and his brother could see he was trying to control his reaction. Leaning forward, Enzo fumed, “You find Logan’s killer, Ange. Find him and…” His teeth clenched. “Find him, cut off his dick, and shove it down his fucking throat.”

  Having no idea how to respond to this order, Angelo sat frozen, so his brother continued speaking, his voice low and tight. “Do you know how fucking miserable it is to be locked up in this shit-dump while my son’s murderer goes free? To be stuck in here while some cocky son of a bitch struts around town, thinking he can pull one over on me?”

  Angelo slowly raised his eyes to meet the belligerent gaze of his brother. “Logan’s murderer did not go free,” he said quietly.

  Enzo lunged forward, then sprung back, recoiling as his chains restrained him. “You caught him? You got Logan’s killer?”

  Angelo had no choice but to avert his eyes, sickened to be the one to deliver the news. With palpable waves of fury and anticipation coming through the metal grating, Angelo could wait no longer. “It was Carlo.”

  A stunned silence blanketed the cage. Enzo had endured some horrendous incidents in his lifetime, but even he succumbed to shocked stupor upon hearing Angelo’s confession. Was he telling the truth? He wouldn’t lie about this, would he? When
Enzo could finally speak again, his voice was controlled. “Your son…killed my son? Carlo killed my boy?”

  Angelo nodded, still not meeting Enzo’s eyes.

  “Look at me, you fuck.”

  Angelo obeyed his older brother, finding Enzo seething now, the control in his voice long gone.

  “Your son Carlo—the reason I’ve been locked up in this shithole for twenty-two years—he m-m-murdered my son.”

  Gulping, Angelo confirmed, “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  The one-word question was so vehement, so forceful, that Angelo found himself flinching, despite the protective cage.

  “I—I’m not sure. He was always jealous of Logan—you know that.” Angelo sighed loudly, defeated. “There was something wrong with Carlo from the start. I…” his voice dropped off “…I didn’t raise him so good.”

  Enzo shook his head disgustedly. “You think just because I saved Carlo once, I won’t retaliate this time? This is my son’s life we’re talking about, Ange. You better fucking hope you can protect that little sniveling bastard—”

  “He’s already dead,” Angelo interrupted.

  “Carlo’s dead?” Enzo asked, his eyes narrowing. “Did you kill him?”

  Angelo’s eyes widened. He could never kill his own son! His flesh and blood! His cheeks colored, remembering how he’d detested the reminders of Carlo’s screw-ups, how many times he’d wished his son was gone. Now Carlo was gone, and Angelo felt no reprieve. All that was left was remorse.

  Finally Angelo answered. “It wasn’t me who killed him. It was…Grant.”

  Enzo’s jaw went slack, and his face whitened. He remembered Grant on his first day at Gurnee: dressed in prison blues, his defiant bravado completely failing to hide his fear at facing his father.

  Then he flashed back to those big, sky-blue eyes framed by a chubby little face, looking up at him through glassy tears. Half-drunk, Enzo had towered unsteadily over the boy with a folded belt in his hand. Grant pleaded in a small, strained voice, Please, Dad. Please, no more. I’ll be good. I promise.

  Enzo shuddered.

  “Do the cops know?”

  Angelo nodded.

  “Why isn’t Grant back inside then?”

  “It was self-defense. Carlo came after a couple of girls, and Grant intervened. They, uh, apparently wrestled for the gun, and it went off. Carlo got shot in the chest.”

  This didn’t sound like his younger son at all. This didn’t sound like behavior the fucking pansy Joe Madsen would approve of. “Did Grant—did he know Carlo killed Logan?”

  Angelo nodded guiltily. Despite himself, Enzo felt pride blooming in his chest. His son, formerly an utter waste, had exacted revenge for Logan’s death. Grant had taken care of business more expertly than Enzo’s own men, swiftly seeking justice while neatly keeping himself out of prison. Enzo was impressed.

  “You give Grant a message from me,” Enzo ordered, and Angelo listened intently. “You tell him I want to see him. I need to talk to him. And if you so much as touch him for what he did to Carlo…”

  “I already told Joe Madsen I wouldn’t retaliate.”

  Enzo’s face flushed a crimson red. “Who the fuck cares about Joe Madsen? You promise me you won’t touch my son, and that’s all that matters.”

  “It’s done,” Angelo replied succinctly, suddenly overwhelmed by sadness. “Carlo deserved what he got.”

  As the announcement blared that visitation was over, the two COs unlocked the cage and hauled Enzo to his feet. “Tell Grant I want to see him,” Enzo reiterated as he was led away.

  Angelo tiredly shuffled to the parking lot, Enzo’s parting words ringing in his ears. There’d be no way in hell Grant would willingly visit his father.

  As he eased into his car, Angelo glanced at his reflection in the rearview mirror. Enzo was right. He did look like shit.

  ***

  “Is that wind?” Sophie inquired over the phone. “Are you outside?”

  “I’m at a construction site,” Will Taylor lied. Glancing around him at the neat rows of headstones, he continued trudging toward his destination.

  “At least it’s a warm wind,” she said.

  “Yes, the Windy City’s much more tolerable in the summer,” he agreed. “Listen, honey, I know you have to get back to work, but I just wanted to check on you.”

  “Dad, I’m fine.”

  He bit his lip, and his grip tightened on his cell phone. Unable to control himself, he blurted, “You’re not spending too much time with Grant, are you?”

  She sighed wearily. “I just saw him at our PO’s. You do realize we’re living together, right?”

  “You know you’re always welcome in my house. You’d have much more room.”

  “We’ve been through this before.” Sophie felt her throat tighten. She didn’t want to end this conversation with yelling once again. “I have to go,” she said coldly.

  “Okay,” he reluctantly agreed as he arrived at Laura’s plot. They exchanged hasty goodbyes, and he folded his phone. He squatted next to his wife’s grave and tapped the phone to his forehead with one hand. A sense of dread consumed him. “Please, God,” he whispered, bowing his head. “Please keep Sophie safe.”

  All he heard was the faint howl of a breeze rustling through the ash trees lining the graveyard. Glancing at her headstone, he spoke quietly. “I’m sorry, Laura. It’s my fault. I’m so sorry.”

  He remained huddled near her grave for several minutes before the shrill ring of the phone interrupted his reverie. When he saw the caller ID, he stopped breathing.

  Reluctantly flipping open his phone, he listened for a moment, then nodded grimly. “You’ll have your money,” he pledged. “I’ve learned my lesson. I’ll never forget again.”

  5. Confession

  “Wow, that was fast!” Sophie’s hand shot into her purse as she heard the soft bell indicating she had a text message. “I didn’t even notice you typing.”

  Grant smiled proudly. “Ben’s working with me during breaks on the ship. That kid’s texting skills are amazing.”

  “How is your nephew?”

  Grant sighed. “He’s your typical teenager: rude, lazy, and exasperating.”

  Sophie frowned for a moment, then giggled as she read his message, remembering the day they’d traded hotdog puns at the baseball game.

  Are your buns warm?

  Grinning, she leaned in to him and murmured “McSailor’s got mad skills too” before planting a soft kiss on his temple. Grant cupped her chin in his hand and brought her lips to his own. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a blond man step into the room.

  Grant straightened up in his chair and nodded to Hunter, who smirked and shook his head.

  “I’ve never seen so much PDA from a couple in counseling,” their therapist said.

  The couple in question rose from their chairs, a soft blush forming on Sophie’s high cheekbones, and accompanied Hunter down the hall.

  “But I bet you’ve never seen a couple mandated for therapy as a condition of their parole either,” said Sophie.

  “That’s true.” Hunter opened his office door and the three took their seats. “It’s actually nice to see some loving affection, as opposed to partners screaming at each other all the time.” An added bonus was that every time he witnessed Grant caressing or kissing Sophie, Hunter’s attraction dissipated slightly. Grant was undoubtedly heterosexual, which comforted him.

  “So we’re doing okay, then?” Sophie asked, turning her gaze to Hunter.

  “I’d say your relationship is doing more than okay,” he said, “especially given all of the traumas you’ve gone through.”

  Grant felt a rush of relief course through him. He didn’t know why the psychologist’s opinion mattered so much—Grant was still a bit suspicious of this therapy thing—but his relationship with Sophie meant the world to him, and it was quite reassuring to receive the shrink’s stamp of approval.

  Nodding toward Sophie’s left arm,
Hunter gave her a warm smile. “It’s great to see the sling gone.” He glanced at Grant, who also seemed happy the reminder of the gunshot wound had vanished. “So, how’s it been going?” Hunter inquired. “Have you two been practicing an interdependent relationship?”

  A pink color spread on Grant’s olive skin and Sophie emitted a tiny giggle.

  “I think you might’ve made a better case for an enmeshed relationship,” said Sophie with a laugh. “At least by Grant’s definition of enmeshed—the partners lying one on top of the other.”

  “Sophie!” Grant looked mortified, his cheeks now crimson.

  She laughed again. “It’s okay, Grant. It’s okay to talk about sex in therapy.” She looked to Hunter for confirmation. “Right, Hunter?”

  “Absolutely.” He nodded, trying to ignore the stirring below his belt as Grant blushed adorably like a schoolboy. He was so damn cute! “Sex is an important part of any relationship.”

  Hearing those words out loud, his thoughts drifted to Bradley and the steamy session they’d enjoyed last evening. Suddenly Hunter felt better about his arousal. “Sex inevitably comes up in couples counseling.”

  “We have to talk about sex in here?” Grant asked, horrified. “With you?”

  “Surely you’ve talked about sex with other guys before,” Hunter reasoned. “You were in the Navy, for heaven’s sake.”

  “Well…um, yeah,” Grant stuttered unconvincingly. “But they weren’t…” He squirmed in his seat. “No offense, sir, but they weren’t gay.”

  Hunter was taken aback. He desperately hoped Grant hadn’t picked up on his attraction. Flustered, his gaze darted about the room before landing on Sophie.

  “I’m sorry, Hunter,” she said in a tight voice. When both men looked at her with puzzled expressions, she continued. “I’m sorry for Grant’s homophobic comment.”