Page 19 of Prisoner

I’m swirling the dark liquid in my tumbler round and round, listening to the ice clink against the glass.

“My man,” Dax says, the humour in his tone evident. “Look at you.”

“Fuck off, Dax,” I grunt. He laughs and sits himself down in one of the leather armchairs on the opposite side of the desk. I tilt my hat up slightly so I can see him.

“Classy.” He waves his hand out in front of him, regarding my appearance, my long legs stretched out on top of the marble desk, ankles crossed. I glance down at myself and put the tumbler down to do up my belt. Dax laughs again and I groan.

“Shut the fuck up.”

He holds his hands up in surrender, a hint of a smile still on his face, and I groan again, wiping my hands down my face.

“She talked a little,” he says. I look up at him and drag my feet to hit the floor, sitting up straighter in the chair.

“What did she say?”

“Well, whilst you were in here jacking off, I asked her again why she killed Carlo, besides him being a dick. She said, and I quote, ‘He personally hurt me. So I personally hurt him.’”

“What does that mean? How did he hurt her?” I question.

“No idea, man. She wouldn’t give me much more than that. She just went quiet. Looked a little sad.”

“Theodora Harlow has nothing to do with business. Her father never let her near anything important enough, so what could Carlo have done to her when she was never involved?” I know he doesn’t have the answers I want, but none of this adds up. Yeah, my father wasn’t a nice man, but this was personal to Theo.

Dax shakes his head in defeat. We’ll have to get her to talk, but we’ve got plenty of time for that. I, on the other hand, need to get my shit together.

“What is it about her, man?” Dax interrupts my thoughts of Theo once again. I sigh, lifting my feet back up and putting my hat over my eyes.

“Fuck if I know.”

8

THEO

The next morningwhen I wake, Puck is back, sitting on his stool at the entrance to my cell. I don’t speak while I watch him briefly smile at me. I didn’t see him again after Dax left my cell yesterday. I curled up into a ball on my mattress and didn’t move until I heard the lock of the doors and then I fell asleep. But I know Puck has been sitting there ever since the doors unlocked, protecting me from all the other inmates in here.

My mind drifts back to yesterday’s interruption, King’s hand around my throat, slamming me against the wall. Twice.

My tongue briefly licked his lips as I licked my own. The betrayal I felt for myself, giving him any kind of intention of my desires.

It’s not something I’ve thought about for a long time. I hate the guy. But when I saw the bulge in his trousers grow and the intensity in his eyes, his fingers wrapped around my neck, my life in his hands. It was exhilarating. I’d never felt heat like it.

But then he stormed off like a child. I thought something was happening, but clearly, I’d misunderstood. Then Dax questioned me again about Carlo. I didn’t want to lie, but I didn’t want to give them any more power over me. I know what I know and it’s the only proof I have. They wouldn’t believe me, anyway.

But Dax makes me comfortable. He isn’t intimidating or rude like his cousin. They’re like bad cop good cop. No wonder they are such a feared duo.

So when Dax left my cell, I curled up in a ball on my mattress and just didn’t move. I thought about my innocent mother, buried in the ground. I thought about my father, who didn’t even fight to protect me before King took me. Just fed me to the wolves without a goodbye.

And much to my dismay, I thought about King and his hand around my neck, his breath blowing over my lips.

Puck still has his eyes on me and my emotions are everywhere, overwhelming me. Craving some affection, I pull back the sheet and shuffle towards the wall, tapping the empty space on the mattress next to me. Puck smiles as he makes his way over and lies down, barely fitting on the mattress with me.

“Can you hold me?” I ask timidly, and with a small smile, he brings his arm up and I lift my head before laying it back down in the crook of his arm and chest.

We just lie here quietly, enjoying the company. His fingers lightly tickle my arm and his breath lightly blows over my scalp. I know it’s only been a day and a half since I met him, but it feels like I’ve known him forever.

“What happened to your arms?” he questions, feeling the burned skin underneath his calloused fingertips. The burns on my arms don’t bother me. They’re growing fainter by the day, but whenever I think too much about it, it’s like I can feel them burning all over again.

“My mum drowned in our bathtub and as I rushed to get to her, I knocked over a candle and set fire to the drapes. This happened whilst I was trying to put it out.”

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