Page 111 of What's Left of Us

But none of that compares to this moment.

And when the door opens, and I see Jakob Volley step inside in his prison-issued jumpsuit, it takes everything in me not to smile.

To seem unfazed.

Like my arm doesn’t kill me every day.

Like, I’m not a miserable bastard whose life was altered drastically because of the asshole being cuffed to the table.

Jakob Volley takes one look at me with two bruised eyes and a split lip and shakes his head like he’s disappointed in what he sees. “Thought you’d be…bigger. Doc didn’t clear you for exercise yet?”

My fist tightens under the table. “We’re not here to talk about me, Volley.”

His head cocks. “No? Because I have a feeling this little visit has everything to do with you.”

The smile I offer him is casual. “Last I checked, it was you who told your attorney you wanted to speak with me.”

His eyes drop to the table. “Maybe I changed my mind.”

“Do those black eyes have something to do with your sudden change of heart?” I ask, leaning back in my chair. I rest my crossed arms on my chest to show him I’m relaxed. My shoulders aren’t tense. My palms aren’t clenched.

He needs to see that he didn’t break me.

Not completely.

“It’s a rough place,” he dismisses. “Not exactly a place you make many friends.”

I’d imagine not. “If you didn’t want to talk to me, you would have told the guards to send me away,” I point out. “So, why don’t we get right to business then and cut the shit.”

He lifts his gaze.

His right eye looks fresh. The swelling has the lid half-closed, and the coloring doesn’t match the darkened purple and yellow of his left cheek.

I ask him the main question that brought me three hours to the city. “How badly do you want to live?”

He sits straighter. “That a threat?”

Scoffing, I roll my eyes. “I don’t need to threaten you. It’s clear you’ve got plenty of people here who are willing to put you in your place. I’m asking if you want a chance to live out the rest of your sentence without the beatings and blackmail. Somewhere safe.”

Interest sparks in his eyes.

“Thing is,” I continue. “I can’t do that without answers. And it seems like you’re the person who has what I’m looking for.”

“According to who?”

“Michael Welsh.”

His nostrils flare open at the name.

“You’re familiar,” I state. “I already knew that though, Little J.”

His eyes narrow, nearly closing the right one completely. It tells me that Conklin was right. Jakob Volley is Little J.

“Why don’t we start with how you know Welsh?”

“You think I’m just going to talk?”

I shrug. “That’s up to you and how badly you want to get out of here. You told Estep you wanted to speak with me, which means there’s a reason. I’m sure somebody found out, somebodyyou’re afraid of, and tried to scare you into skipping the meeting. Unless you get into brawls every day here.”

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