Chapter 7 Callisto
Chapter seven
Callisto
The second hand sweeps around the wall clock with frustrating precision, marking long minutes where Zack could be doing anything; killing prison guards, for instance.
Even if he’s not lashing out, they fucking tasered him in the yard, and he won’t know what the hell is happening.
When registering for the prison’s visitations, every form and identification check chafed like a sweat rash on my nerves.
Now I cross one leg over the other as I sit in the waiting area, bouncing a foot impatiently as I wait.
The scene outside the courthouse replays repeatedly in my mind, leaving me with one unanswerable question: what the fuck happened?
Although I changed my shirt, the choking scent from the clay shell still clings to my hands, and now and then the whiffs make me freeze up momentarily all over again.
I need to shower as soon as I’ve seen Zack.
The prison guard’s voice snaps me out of a daze. “Callisto Wren? The consulting room is ready for you now. This way, please.”
Finally. I jump to my feet.
I’ve done my fair share of prison visits, but this one feels far more inhospitable. Could be the cold concrete walls, or maybe the stares from the prison officers. Whispers trail after me as we walk past a staff break room: The feral’s lawyer. From the Wren family. You think he can get him out?
I grit my teeth. I will get Zack out because his mates need him.
As the guard ushers me through a doorway, an unpleasant thought trickles through my mind.
What if I can’t free the wild alpha? Would Red accept me into the pack in his absence?
My shoe catches on the floor, and I stumble as desire and opportunity consume my attention.
For the briefest moment, I picture myself comforting the distraught omega, gently taking Zack’s place, and being the true partner to Rickon I should’ve been.
And then the image pops, fragile and hollow as a bath bubble.
The Jones pack doesn’t exist without Zack. As much as I’m suffering, my heart says those three fit together. Both Rickon and Red need a man who gives them a thousand percent, and that guy is Zack. Or he will be once he’s learned how the world works.
I owe it to Red to ensure her happiness, even if that picture doesn’t include me.
The guard points to the chair on the far side of the table. “Wait here, and we’ll bring the prisoner to you.”
I clamp my lips tightly to bite back a sharp retort. They shouldn’t have charged Zack yet, let alone put him in prison. Instead of roaring at the guard, I plant myself on the cold chair and fish a voice recorder out of my bag.
Thankfully I don’t have to wait long. The door squeaks open, and Zack walks in, flanked by two guards. He simmers with anger as he tests the handcuffs locked around his wrists, his alpha scent unrestrained as always. He rumbles with a warning whenever the guards touch him.
The big alpha stops short when he sees me. “Cal-ee?” His blue eyes widen and his rumbling stops.
Warmth flushes through me as he says my name. And, as a bonus, he’s not upset about seeing me. I rise to my feet and scan him from head to toe, relief thickening my throat. From what I can tell, he’s unharmed.
“Ah, h-hello, Zack,” I stammer, realizing I’m staring. “Come sit down.”
So far, so good. They wouldn’t have let him have a legal consult if they’d thrown him in solitary confinement, which means he probably hasn’t hurt anyone. Yet.
The guards keep a firm grip on Zack’s elbows. The one on the left clears his throat. “Mr Wren, as an attorney, it’s your right to meet alone. However, we need to warn you this inmate is classified as dangerous.”
I hold up my hand to stall the guard, their presence more irritating than any threat from the wild alpha. “Who said he’s dangerous?”
The guard who spoke stiffens and glances at his partner guiltily. “He resisted arrest and tried to escape on arrival.”
“That’s a crock of shit,” I spit out. “He was trying to talk to his lawyer, not escape.” I shake my head. Damn, maybe I screwed up by calling out to Zack at the fence. I turn back to the alpha in question. “Zack, are you going to attack me?”
He lifts his nose in the air. “You challenge me?”
I grimace. “No, I won’t challenge you.” Not today, at least. Turning to the guards, I say, “We’ll be fine. I’d like to speak to my client alone now.”
They wait until Zack sits down before releasing his arms, and both men turn back with reluctant gazes before finally closing the door. True, most of my previous clients were involved in business crimes and therefore not considered dangerous, but this treatment still feels oddly targeted.
I sigh and sit down opposite my most unexpected client.
Zack stares at me, gaze narrowed and surly.
We haven’t been this focused on each other since that fateful night when he threw me out.
It’s hard to say how I feel about Zack—a strange mixed bag of concern on Red and Rickon’s behalf, natural wariness for another alpha, and something more bitter from our specific history. But also relief that he’s okay.
“Phew,” I huff out. I reach over and tap the recorder. “I need to record what we talk about today. Can I turn it on?”
He tilts his head, studying the charcoal-gray box. “Act?”
“Not acting. Recording.” I do a sample of my voice and play it back for him, and then go through the steps of recording his agreement. The surly alpha watches closely, blue eyes tracking my movements.
First question. “Are you injured anywhere or in pain, Zack?”
“No,” he answers immediately.
“And you didn’t kill anyone?”
His upper lip curls. “Ri-ckon said no killing.”
I chuckle. “We should always listen to Rickon; he’s clever.”
Zack rests his cuffed hands on the table with a clink of metal. “Ri-ckon is magic.”
His childish explanation strikes me as strangely poignant, and I nod slowly. “Yes, you’re right. He is a magical person.” My heart throbs, a feeling I’ll have to explore later.
The feral alpha knocks his hands on the tabletop again for emphasis. “Tell. You decide I go home, Cal-ee?”
I shake my head. “No, I’m sorry. I don’t decide, but I am here to help.”
He growls under his breath.
I link my hands together and catch his gaze. “Can you tell me what happened at the courthouse? On the steps.”
“Challenge.”
“Who challenged you?”
He shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “Don’t know. Challenge on my skin.” He scratches at his fingers and checks his palms. “Washed off. You smell like challenge too.”
“You mean the oil?” I ask, dusting my hands on my trousers self-consciously.
His gaze flicks up to me. “Yes. Alpha challenge. And fight lights.”
I pick up my pen and drag the tip across one edge of my legal pad. “Lights?”
“In people group. Have fight lights.”
I mark down what he said, baffled. “What lights?”
“Lights flash, I go out to challenge.”
My hand jerks, leaving a pen scratch on the page. “You mean before you met Red, when you fought other alphas?”
He nods emphatically. “Yes. Fight challengers.”
“Okay, Zack. That was called a fight ring. Are you saying you saw the same flashing lights, so you thought it was a fight?”
His gaze narrows on me, and for a second I think I have it wrong, but he nods. “Yes.” He leans on the table. “You understand me, so not stupid. Guard stupid.” He angles his fists, imitating driving.
I cover a grin. Well, that’s one way to differentiate people.
Zack holds my gaze, blue eyes full of questions. “So why you stupid with ohm-ga?”
His accusation knifes into me, knocking the breath from my airways. It takes a minute to get myself under control and answer his troublesome question. “Sometimes people make mistakes, Zack. Like me trying to pressure Red—”
He snarls, body rearing back with disgust.
I swallow hard. “—and like you attacking innocent journalists because you smelled an alpha and saw lights. That was a mistake too.”
Zack falls silent. It’s impossible to tell how much he understands, but considering he’s only been with Red for several weeks, he’s raising some super complex ideas. He’s a totally different person from the psycho she first brought home.
And this is the same man the prison system gave up on. Makes me wonder how hard they tried, and how many other ferals out there got denied a second chance.
I clear my throat. “How about you and I discuss our omega after I get you out of prison? In the meantime, you need to know—”
Zack curls his hands into fists. “I sorry.”
I freeze in shock, thinking he means he’s sorry toward me, but Zack cups his fingers around his throat. “Sorry I broke Ri-ckon rule. Pulled. Attacked.”
Good grief. I massage my nose bridge, trying to follow his logic. “Do . . . do you know what sorry means?” I ask cautiously.
“Not do. Won’t pull leash again.” He scrunches his face in concentration. “Mistake. Regret.”
His gaze falls, and the sadness in his expression tugs at my heart. If I put myself in his shoes, the entire world feels like an enemy. Just like the time he chased after a barking dog, threats exist in every shadow and noise. Must be exhausting.
I slide my tongue around my dry mouth. “Okay, Zack, that’s good. It’ll be good to tell the judge on your case that you’re sorry.”
His mouth ticks up hopefully. “Go home now?” he asks.
I slump back into my seat with a wry chuckle.
For most people, those apology words would sound like empty platitudes, but he means them genuinely.
He simply doesn’t understand the beast of the justice system.
Hell, I’ve made it my career to understand this world, and I still feel at a loss half of the time.
“No.” I shake my head. “Unfortunately, you need to stay here until I can talk a judge into reviewing your case.”
His lips part in a silent snarl, and he assesses me. I don’t need to read minds to know what he’s thinking.