Chapter 13
Willow
“Iguess I’ll be in the car.”
Bryant whirls around and strides angrily out of the prison.
Idiot forgot his wallet at home, and he’s being denied entry for our meeting with Mr. Hunter.
He argued with the officer who checked us in, reminding him that he’s here a lot for meetings, but that didn’t help at all.
The officer simply didn’t care and was unwilling to bend the rules.
“This way, Miss Crane.”
I turn to follow the guard escorting me to the small conference room where inmates can meet with their attorney. Once I’m seated, the guard stands next to my chair.
“Because this is where inmates meet with their attorney, there are no cameras or recording devices. There will not be a guard in here with you, but there is a panic button just under the table.” He points to a spot in front of me, and I lean down to see the red button as he continues.
“Normally, inmates are restrained, but Warden Cooper indicated that you requested Mr. Hunter be free of restraints. Is that correct?”
“Yes. He won’t hurt me,” I say confidently.
“He’s a convicted murderer, Miss Crane. Letting your guard down is foolish.”
Anger prickles my skin at his judgment. “Then I guess it’s my ass on the line if I’m wrong, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it is.” He moves to the door. “When you’re ready to end the meeting, press the green button here,” he instructs, pointing to another button on the wall before exiting the room and letting the door slam behind him.
Well, okay then.
While I wait, I go through the notes I made after Cammie left my house last night.
I’d already made a list of questions before leaving the office, but I couldn’t sleep, so I made another one.
Once I finish reading that, I start on the police interrogation report.
I’m halfway through the words I’ve read dozens of times when the door on the opposite wall opens.
My mouth goes as dry as the Sahara Desert as Mr. Hunter steps inside, his restraints rattling.
He’s much larger in person than he appeared on television, and the ink covering his arms is oddly vibrant in such a cold, impersonal setting.
His muscles bulge beneath the prison-issued, short-sleeved orange scrubs, and there’s a black ‘DR’ emblazoned on the left breast of the shirt.
Craig Hunter is every good girl’s bad boy fantasy come to life.
I don’t know how much time passes, but I finally clear my throat. “I requested he not be in restraints,” I say, irritation in my tone.
The guard—Officer Levins, according to the name on his uniform—looks like he wants to laugh, but he stops himself. “Yes, ma’am.”
As soon as Mr. Hunter is freed, I reach an arm across the table. “I’m Willow Crane. I work at the Pennsylvania Wrongful Conviction Center.”
Ignoring my outstretched hand, he glances over his shoulder at Officer Levins. “We’re good here. I won’t be too long.”
We’re left alone in the room, and when the locks click as they engage, it startles me.
“Scared?” Mr. Hunter taunts.
“I, uh… No, of course not.”
He smirks. “Coulda fooled me, Princess,” he sneers, letting his gaze fall to take in my chest, then lower to the juncture of my thighs.
Heat pools in my belly, which is in stark contrast to the frustration at the patronizing nickname.
“Mr. Hunter, you can—”
“Hades.”
“Excuse me?”
“Don’t call me Mr. Hunter. It makes me sound like a decent man who’s fit to be in polite society. I’m Hades.”
“Hades then.” I sit and make a note in the margin of my notebook. “Hades, you can call me Willow or Miss Crane. Princess is not my name, and I don’t appreciate it being used as such.”
Mr. Hunter—no, Hades—slowly circles the table. “Whatever you say…” I can feel his heat when he’s right behind me. “Princess,” he whispers in my ear.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to correct him, but I don’t. And if you were to ask me why I don’t, it definitely wouldn’t be because I like the way it sounds when he calls me that. It wouldn’t be because the nickname sounds seductive coming from him rather than condescending.
“Can you please sit down?” I say, proud that my voice doesn’t come out all breathy.
He chuckles darkly as he retreats to his side of the table and sits. “Do I make you nervous, Willow?”
Yes!
“Not at all,” I lie.
I don’t know what I was expecting, but being turned on by this man, this prisoner, wasn’t it.
“Look, I don’t have a lot of time today, so let’s speed this up, shall we?”
“Do you have more important things to do than discuss how to get you out of here?”
He arches a brow. “As a matter of fact, I do.”
“Mr. H—” I press my lips together when he narrows his eyes. “Hades, may I remind you that you requested our help. If you don’t want it, I can go.”
I’ve waited years for this moment, spent endless hours thinking about how to help him, written countless letters, and somehow, it’s not going at all like I hoped.
Hades stands. “That would be fucking fantastic.”
Wait… What?
Tears fill my eyes, and I blink them away. This is why people say you should never meet your hero in person. Not that Hades is my hero, but the sentiment is the same.
Angrily, I gather my paperwork and rise to my feet. “You know what? The PWCC is no longer able to—”
“Shut up,” Hades whisper yells, lunging across the table and putting a hand over my mouth. I try to scream, but it comes out muffled and useless. “Do you hear that?”
All I hear is the sound of blood rushing in my ears, not that I can actually tell him that. When he continues to cover my mouth, I close my eyes and force myself to calm down so maybe, just maybe, I can hear whatever it is he’s hearing.
The chaotic sounds of running and yelling penetrate the haze of fear blanketing me, and my hard-won calm disappears. Again, I try to talk behind his hand, but it only causes him to press harder.
“Motherfucker! It’s too early.” His entire body stiffens behind me. “Whatever happens, you stick by my side, got it?” he hisses, and I nod. “If I let go, are you going to scream?”
I shake my head, and he slowly lowers his hand. Sucking in a few deep breaths, I turn around to face him.
“What’s happening?” I demand.
“Oh, Princess, you picked the wrong day to come here.”
“W-why? What is going on?”
Hades grabs my hand and drags me to the door he entered through. He opens it, and I don’t even have time to wonder why it’s not locked before he’s cursing under his breath.
“We’re on our own,” he informs me. “I swear to fuck, if Levins is hurt, someone will pay.”
“On our own?” I cry as he pulls me into the hall, and that’s when my stomach bottoms out, and genuine fear slithers through my veins.
Prisoners are frantically running, screaming, and fighting. Several are scattered on the floor and motionless. Blood sprays the stark white walls, and I have to swallow the bile creeping up the back of my throat.
Hades spares me a glance, and his dark brown eyes spark with rage.
“It’s a riot, Princess. A riot that wasn’t supposed to start so soon.”