Page 3 of Devious Whims

“Nervous?” Mike asks, sparing a glance at me.

Nodding, I give him a weak smile. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen him.”

Mike’s eyes flicker with the familiar concern I’ve seen over the past week since I told him about Devon. “And you’re sure he’s safe? Why couldn’t your parents take him?”

I grind my molars for a second, knowing I don’t have the right to be annoyed by his questions. They are reasonable, considering Mike didn’t even know I had a stepbrother. “He has to stay in the state. He could have gone to federal housing, but… I mean, we have the spare rooms, Mike. He’s family.”

He sighs, rolls his shoulders, and impassively stares at the road. “I know. I’m just not sure how I feel about a strange man staying in my house all day with my wife while I’m at work.”

“He’s not a stranger. He’s my stepbrother.”

Mike scoffs. “One you haven’t seen in ten years.”

I bite my lip, unused to this behavior from him. My husband is a very sweet, passive man who usually has no qualms about anything or anyone.

Reaching out, I pat his thigh. “If you’re really uncomfortable with it, I’m sure we can talk to his parole officer about a temporary room at a hotel or something. I’m not sure how it works, to be honest.”

He shakes his head, gripping the steering wheel harder. “No. We already said we’d take him in, but I looked up his record. And…” He’s a murderer is what I know my husband wants to say. The guilt I’ve been suppressing over the past comes glaring back, making my stomach churn.

“Just give him a chance, please?” I plead. Devon isn’t a bad guy, the opposite actually. Though we only knew each other for a year when I was sixteen and he was eighteen before he got locked up, there’s always been an irrefutable bond between us.

Mike blows out a long breath. “Of course, sweetheart. I hope we can be a fresh start for him, a solid transition back into society.”

“See, this is why I love you. You always look at the bright side and hope the best for people,” I say, stretching the seatbelt as far as I can to lean over and kiss his cheek. His face blushes and he smiles at me.

“Love you too, darling.” Mike turns up the volume of the radio, letting the music calm our nerves for the last twenty minutes of the drive.

When he turns off the highway, bile catches in my throat. I’m minutes away from seeing Devon again, and I know he’ll be a different man than the one I’ve been imagining in my head. The stretch of forest down the badly paved single-lane road is an ominous sight. I know it’s isolated on the off-chance that an inmate escapes, but it’s as if we’ve stepped into an alternate reality. One set away from any kind of normal civilization.

We park and I step out of the car, shielding the sun with my hand as I stare at the dreary brick building. The crunch of the gravel as we walk closer to the high barbed wire fence is nearly as loud as my heart beating in my ears.

“You would think with the amount of taxes from us, they could afford the upkeep of this place some more,” Mike mutters under his breath, his hand flexing where it’s resting on the small of my back.

“I don’t think our taxes are prioritized toward criminals, unfortunately. They don’t even allow them to vote, which is inhumane in my opinion.”

Mike chuckles. “I think that depends on the state and nature of the crime. I’ll research it for him when we get back.”

“I’m sure he’ll appreciate that,” I agree. Devon won’t give a shit if he can vote or not. But it gives Mike a purpose, something to latch onto and keep his mind busy.

A correctional officer standing near the gate entrance stares us down as we approach. He adjusts his belt, under his large, bulging gut before putting up his hand for us to stop. “You here for pickup?”

I nod, anxiously. “Yes, sir. Devon Cartwright.”

The man huffs. “Yeah, yeah. Only man getting released today. Just wait right there.”

Mike’s eyebrows pinch at the attitude, and I step closer to him, giving him a look that asks him not to say anything. My husband may be a golden retriever, but all dogs bite when their loved ones are threatened.

Loud banging behind the fence alerts us to the heavy doors opening before two men emerge from the darkened doorway. One is in the same gray uniform as officer pot belly and the other is in a white t-shirt and dark jeans. My breath stalls at the mop of midnight black hair shining in the sun as he gets closer to us. I’m a mixture of emotions at the first sight of him in a decade.

Devon seems taller. Maybe it’s the muscles flexing under the sleeves of his shirt, or the way the jeans cling to his thighs as he walks. Tattoos cover nearly every inch of his arms, hands, and up his neck. He had nearly full sleeves before he got locked up, but the hands and neck are new. I squeeze my thighs together at the pure masculine bad boy energy radiating off of him.

Then his jade green eyes look up, and I’m immediately ensnared in them. My next breath catches in my throat. The tears gathering start to blur my vision as my heart beats so loud I’m sure others can hear it.

We stare at each other and then his lips curl into a smile. My tears spill over, and I run to him. His arms wrap around me as I jump into them, and his nose presses against my neck, breathing me in deeply. My fingers claw into his back as I cling to him, my legs wrapped around his hips. If we were alone, I would tilt his head back and kiss him to finally have a taste of him.

Mike’s chuckles break our spell and Devon slowly lets go of me so I can slide down his body. My husband steps forward, holding out his hand as my stepbrother keeps me pressed against his side.

“Hey, man. I’m Mike, Cami’s husband,” he introduces himself.

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