Page 44 of Death's Deal

I don’t look up, but I can feel the prison guard’s heated gaze on the back of my head as I scribble my own name. I don’t give a shit. It doesn’t matter. I stopped caring what others thought years ago.

He growls out, “I can’t say I’ve seen you as one of Mayhem’s guests before.”

“First time for everything, I suppose.”

Not blinking at my comment, flatly he grumbles, “Stay over there until you’re called forward.” Handing me back my ID and a visitor badge, I walk away from the crotchety old bastard.

It doesn’t take long until the officers start calling us through for our security searches prior to entry. As far as I’ve been concerned, Mayhem was dead to me in all the ways that counted. Even now, he’s nothing more than a source of information.

After a quick body search and entering into the visiting area, I take a seat on one of the steel rows of tables to wait.

Sitting, watching others as they pile in with their kids, the room crowds up quickly. The sounds are light, and the feel is sullen yet excited. When the doors open from the other side and the inmates begin to appear, the sounds of happy kids, joyful wives, old ladies, and girlfriends now sit quietly, each patiently and silently waiting.

One after the other, each of the men in cream-and-orange or brown-and-beige outfits pile into the room, taking a respective seat across from their loved ones. Eventually the face I need appears. With his hair tied tight into a long dark braid, Mayhem’s dark gaze sharpens as he sees my ass awaiting him. Wearing a plain white tee and orange prison pants, tight to his well-trimmed and aged muscles, his once-raven-black hair is now peppered gray, strung down his back reaching close to his ass. His sharp dark brown eyes shine upon seeing me. As always, he’s an assuming man.

Mayhem strides across the room as if he’s the king of everything. “-yázhe'.” His smile widens as he calls me... son.

I don’t share his enthusiastic reply.

“Mayhem.”

Narrowing his gaze, “What brings you to see me after all this time? I thought you said you’d never come.”

I’ve always been direct, and I don’t have the time to dance around the subject. “This isn’t a social, Mayhem. I don’t plan to be here more than a few minutes. I want answers about Hylo and the Queen.”

The quick smile dissipates, replaced by a glower. Glaring at me as if I’ve just flung hot coals on his skin, I see the wheels turning deeply in his mind before he crosses his arms, purses his lips tight, and stares.

“Nothing to say?” I question.

No response.

“Nothing to say or nothing you want to say?” I ask again curtly.

“Same thing,” he finally replies flat-out. I hate his stubbornness. His resolute demeanor has always been a hard pill to swallow.

“I’m not asking for you to cross her, I just want the truth about the woman I thought dead.”

“She is dead.” Deadpan and without remorse, his cutting words are as sharp as always. “Hylo died in that car. You saw the casket. The funeral.”

“I thought I did.” Shaking my head, I counter, “She isn’t dead. You knew that all along though, didn’t you?” I don’t wait for his reply as I continue on, “N’ now, I’m being dragged into another mess because of her. Because of your lies. Jaz is—” I pause, thinking that card is not one I wish to play yet. “Jaz is pissed and so am I.” Pounding my hand on the table, the heavy clunking noise alerts the guards. Blowing out a breath, I lift a hand to show I’m sorry for the outburst. With a quieter tone, flaring my nostrils, I demand, “Tell me the truth for once in your miserable life.”

Nonchalant, he replies, “I can’t tell you what you want, Bennett.”

“Won’t. You won’t. Not will or should for what you owe me.”

He waves a hand around the room. “I think I’ve done my time for what you and the club are owed.”

“Not enough as far as I’m concerned.”

“Kid, you’re gonna need a better reason to visit me after all these years, other than to bring up a dead woman.”

“Don’t toss shade my way. Where is she? I know she’s still alive, I just don’t know where she is.”

Gritting his teeth, the words slither out of his tight lips, “I taught you better than to listen to gossip from the old ladies. Hylo died.”

I don’t dare tell him I already dialled the number, and the woman’s voice who answered left a chill up my spine. “It isn’t gossip. I know the truth.”

Sitting back, resting on the round stool, with his thick arms crossed and a resolute look in his eye, with a quick move, he leans forward, resting on his elbows. His quirky smile is devious and dangerous. “You don’t want the real truth. Truth is an answer that can hurt more than any lie could.” Going silent for a second and leaning back, that quirky smile turns to a frown. “Some shit is just best left dead.”

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