come to the front of their cells and wrap their hands around the bars. The crazy bastards bite the air, showing their yellow teeth.
One guy, a drug cartel leader, places his fingers against his temple in the shape of a gun, and mock pulls the trigger. He’s telling me he’s going to shoot me. I doubt it. I’m too good at covering my tracks, and when I get out of here, I’m going ghost. No one will be able to find me.
I keep my shoulders back, back straight, and head held high to make sure I can always see where I’m going. The minute someone casted their eyes down was the minute they got attacked.
Weakness isn’t allowed.
The guys taunting me as I walk by their cages would never challenge me when we’re free to roam. No one touches me. I’m a king in here, and I plan to be a king out in the world too once I get my chance.
The buzzer to the door and the lock sound at the same time to signal the large metal opening for us. The door is old, tan paint chipping to show the silver beneath, and the square window in the middle of it is cracked. The place is a real shithole, but us criminals don’t deserve any better.
Only I do, actually, because I didn’t do the crime I was charged with. I’m not a saint, never have been, but if I’m going to go down for something, I want it to be for my own doing, not someone else’s.
“Third booth,” Andrews says, pressing his hand between my shoulder blades and driving me forward.
I crack my neck, turning it side to side to relieve the tension of wanting to turn around and show that guy just who he’s fucking with, but his time will come. I have to be patient. My chains continue to jingle as I walk by a few guys talking on the phone to their visitor on the other side of the glass. Orange jumpsuit after orange jumpsuit fill each space until I come to the booth reserved for my visit.
The big brown eyes staring back at me have my feet frozen on the spot. I can’t move. Can’t breathe. What is she doing here? She isn’t supposed to be here. She is supposed to be gone, away from me, safe.
She has a blackeye and a busted lip, her flawless complexion is bruised, covered in abuse, and all I have are questions.
“Sit down, inmate.”
I twist my head over my shoulder to look at Andrews, and he squeezes his baton, the side of his jaw flexing, as he silently urges me to disobey.
Not a chance.
I swivel my head to the glass again, where the woman that haunts my fucking soul sits on the other side, completely untouchable.
I never thought I’d see her eyes again. With a racing heart, I sit and pick up the black phone to the left of me. She does the same.
“Gabriella,” I say her name on a broken breath. “What are you doing here?”
“I know. I know what you said.” She glances away, and the light above us illuminates another bruise on her cheek.
“What happened?” I can’t say I’m glad to see her. She’s the woman who makes my heart beat quicker than any illegal job I’ve ever done. She’s forbidden, wrong, a seduction that I can’t give into.
She is lawless.
“He found me,” Gabriella whispers as a tear falls down her cheek.
My racing heart stops beating the second I hear those three words. “That’s impossible,” I reply. I got her a new name, new passport, an ID, birth certificate, and forged divorce papers. There’s no way my brother could have found her.
I cared so much about her and triple checked that she was safe and out of harm’s way before I got sentenced.
See, I’m in love with my brother’s ex-wife, and there is no chance in hell we can ever be together. He will kill her, and I’ll never forgive myself. So I’ve always stayed a hundred steps away from her to stop myself from bringing her to where she belongs.
Safe in my arms.
“He told me to come here. To send you a message.” She covers her mouth with her hand and lays the phone on her shoulder to take a moment to get herself together.
Her dark hair has lost its luster and shine. Her nails are short, and I can see where she’s been picking at the cuticle from the stress she’s been under. When