Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 71632 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 358(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71632 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 358(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
Money talks, folks.
Only my heart is constantly being abused by my brain over this fact, because, well, let’s face it, it’s pretty obvious Enzo is only dealing with me because he knows he’s getting his debt paid off. I know this. He knows this. But a small part of me kind of hopes that maybe if we spend a little time together, we might be able to get past this and talk, finding that old connection and letting this go so we can both move forward.
If I can forgive him, which I’m not entirely sure I can at this point, then he can forgive me.
Right?
When I arrive at the prison, I go through all the security checks and sign in, then I go into the visiting room, which is a large open area with more than one set of tables and chairs. Usually, there are two or three guards in at a time, watching everyone. Contact is not acceptable, and we have to sit across from each other at a table. I find one and sit down, waiting for them to bring the prisoners in.
There are only two other people here today, and that makes me a little sad, I guess. I mean, sure, it’s a prison, and these people are in here for doing the wrong thing, but unless you murdered or raped someone, don’t you deserve to be at least visited by someone? Out of the hundreds of prisoners here, only three of us are visiting. That speaks volumes, doesn’t it? And it begs the question, what did these people do to make everyone that is supposed to love them turn their backs?
I think that’s an even scarier question.
The door buzzes and opens, and I turn to see three prisoners being escorted into the visiting room. My eyes fall on Enzo, and I hate the way my heart beats. I hate the dull, throbbing ache, because as soon as I look at him, I see the moment I walked in and saw my sister on top of him, her hips rocking, his hands clutching them, his head back in ecstasy.
I don’t think I’ll ever not see that image.
Ever.
My eyes lock onto his ice-blue eyes, and the ache grows deeper. His hair is long, but nothing like Mason’s. It is just past his shoulders and a light, honey brown. He’s got stubble that is verging on turning into the beginnings of a beard. Something about being in a prison, I think. It’s like if they’re clean shaven, they’re weak? I don’t know, but it seems most of them let them grow out, giving them a more rugged appearance.
Enzo, compared to the bikers I’ve been spending the last few days with, is seemingly a great deal smaller. I always considered him to be quite a well-formed man, well-muscled and toned, but he appears almost ... weak to look at. I give him a small smile, to which he simply nods his head. That hurts. All the years we spent together, the moments we shared, it makes me sad that this is what it has come to. It really does.
He sits down at the chair across from me, and for a moment, we just stare at each other in silence.
“Don’t know why you’re here, Saskia, but I’m hoping it’s to share some good news about my debt, otherwise you know I have nothing to say to you.”
“It is about that,” I say, my voice not wavering, because no matter how much it hurts, I’ve never been one to crumble with weakness or pain in front of anyone.
Hell, when I found Enzo in bed with my sister, I never let him see my pain. I lost my mind, don’t get me wrong, but I didn’t cry in front of him, I simply told him what I thought, and then I turned and walked out. When I got home, then I cried. Then I rang Chan, and I cried some more, but never to him.
No.
Never to him.
“I’ve got a new job,” I continue, and my chest aches. It aches because he’s so cold, and while I understand it, I’m trying my hardest. I wish, maybe, that he’d put his pride aside and see why I did what I did. It might not have been right, but neither were his actions, and yet I couldn’t escape them and had to deal. I wish he would, too. “It’s double the pay, extra if I work harder, and I’m going to have the money by the time you get out.”
He stares at me, then nods. “Good.”
Good.
God. Why does that hurt?
Why can’t I find the balls I’ve come to love so dearly and tell him to shove it? If it was anyone else, I would. So, why the hell can’t I do it with him?
Frustration grips my chest.