5
Enzo
T he Sergeant banged on the control desk to get all our attention. “Alright, visitation time!” Sergeant Meyer bellowed. “Everyone line up when I call your name. Ackerman, Anderson, Benson…”
He rattled off many names, and I tuned them out. I kept shuffling my playing cards until one of my crew nudged me.
“What?” I snapped.
“Um…they called your name,” Reynolds replied, his eyes widened.
Wait…what?
I never got visitors.
“Ricci! Get your ass down here, inmate, or we’re leaving without you!” Sergeant Meyer shouted.
I rolled my eyes as I stood, throwing my cards back on the table. “Must be my lawyer again,” I muttered as I filed to the visitation line. No one else came to see me, and I was up for another assault charge for beating another inmate a few weeks ago.
I grit my teeth as the doors of Gen Pop opened, and we began to file out. A few of my crew also had lawyer visits today, but I wasn’t worried. I could hold my own.
Through the long hallways, we walked, led by several armed guards, to the visitation rooms. There was a large visitation room for friends and family where inmates sat at a booth and talked to their loved ones through glass. Other prisons allowed them to sit at the same table, but we were a maximum security facility. The only human contact that was allowed was when we were handcuffed and taken to court.
For lawyer visits, we got a private room all to ourselves with no cameras or phones. There were many rooms like those, and the inmates disappeared inside them one by one to speak with their lawyers. I took a deep breath before the door opened to one of the rooms, and the sergeant ushered me inside.
The lights were too bright, and the room was too small. It barely fit the desk and the two chairs inside. The ground had grey carpet, and the walls and ceilings were white. It looked clinical; the only pop of color was the mahogany desk and chairs.
Something was different, I realized as the door shut and locked behind me. The air smelled of a delicate floral perfume that I didn’t recognize. The short woman before me wasn’t my lawyer, though she was dressed like one. She had wide, innocent eyes and pale skin that looked soft. Her hair was pulled back in coils of golden curls, and her eyes were green like the finest emeralds. Her lips were full and pouty, and she bit them nervously as she regarded me. She wore a suit with a skirt, and I loved how that skirt clung to her hips. She was shapely, and I could almost feel the warmth that emanated from her skin. She looked like every fantasy I ever had, wrapped in a deliciously tempting package.
My heart stopped in my chest when our eyes met. She seemed afraid of me, which was the worst thing she could show. I fed off of fear, and it came off her in waves. I closed my eyes and inhaled slowly, taking in her scent and wariness before exhaling sharply.
I opened my eyes and met her stare. “You’re not my lawyer.”
She straightened and motioned for me to sit as she sat on one of the chairs. When I didn’t move, she shifted uncomfortably but opened her briefcase. She removed what looked like a file, and it was pretty thick. That must be mine. I was proud of how big it was.
“Your lawyer, Mr. Blake, retired,” she stammered, licking her lips, much to my fascination. “I’ve been assigned to your case.”
I lifted my head, assessing her. She seemed way too nervous to be a good lawyer, let alone to defend me on a murder charge. “Why?” I questioned.
She didn’t look at me, instead flipping through the pages of my discovery. “I’m a new hire, and they wanted to challenge me.”
She was too honest. I expected lawyers to lie through their teeth at almost every turn. She seemed like a recent graduate, though her age told me otherwise. She tilted her head to get a better look at something, and that’s when I noticed it.
Yellowing bruises around her temple and cheek.
Rage boiled inside me like an inferno. Who laid hands on this woman? What kind of scum of the earth hits women, especially one so drop-dead gorgeous? It explained her lack of confidence and her fear of men, especially a man like me. She was a little wounded mouse, and I was the big, bad wolf licking my chops for a snack.
“Look at me,” I ordered.
She hesitated before her eyes met mine.
“What’s your name?” I asked, approaching the desk. “I should know the name of my new lawyer.”
She nodded. “Of course. I’m Amara Branson.”
I placed my shackled hands on the edge of the desk, leaning over it to peer at her. My blonde curls fell above my eyes, and I regarded her curiously. Either she was mugged, or she had some good-for-nothing boyfriend who was knocking her around.
“Is that Mrs. Branson or Miss Branson?” I drawled, lowering myself into the chair. I was still taller than her, even sitting down. I liked that she had to look up at me.
Her nose wrinkled. “Mrs. Branson, for now,” she mumbled as she dropped her gaze and flipped through the pages. “You’re aware of the charges?”
“Yes, and what do you mean, ‘for now’?” I pressed.
She looked up at me again. “I mean, that’s my name right now. Let’s stick to the subject, please.”
She looked so scared, so I decided to drop it for now. “ Fine,” I relented.
She looked relieved. “Thank you. The charges against you are murder in the second degree and assault—”
“Murder?” I asked, feigning surprise. “I’m pretty sure the fucker was still alive when they dragged him off to medical.”
“He died of his injuries,” she interjected, her lips pressing together in a thin line of disapproval.
I smirked and shrugged. “Shit happens.”
Her hands trembled as she flipped to another page. “You were already convicted of several murders since your stay here at Ashwood. Mind telling me why?”
“Why, what?” I prompted, scooting forward.
“Why do you keep…killing people,” she whispered those last two words. “Why can’t you just…stop? Behave?”
I broke out with a cruel grin. “Where’s the fun in that?”
She shuddered with either fear or revulsion as she stacked my papers together and straightened them. “I recommend you plead guilty. There’s no reason to take this to trial; they have video footage of what you did, and an autopsy proved Mr. Sokolov died of the injuries you inflicted on him.”
“Is the prosecution offering a deal?” I asked, already knowing the answer.
She looked at me incredulously. “Why would they? They’ve got you. There’s nothing you have that they could want. You better hope they’re lenient.”
I scoffed. “I’m already doing life, darling. At this point, getting out of here is like a vacation.”
Her eye twitched. “You…you did this to get out of the prison?”
I reached across the table and grabbed her wrist. She yelped, trying to pull it back, but I was too strong. Her struggles caused a thrill through my blood, and I smiled at her whimpering.
“I don’t need a reason to kill,” I whispered, pulling her closer to me until I could taste her breath. “I enjoy it.”
She squeaked in horror, and I released her. She jumped back, getting to her feet and shoving the papers in her briefcase. “I think you need another lawyer,” she whispered as she made a break for the door.
“No, I don’t,” I sneered. “And you don’t want your new boss to take you less seriously than she already does. It’s hard for a woman, especially just starting out.”
Her shoulders stiffened, and I could tell my words were sinking in. She knew I was right. She knocked on the door to alert the guards, and the door was promptly unlocked and opened.
“I’ll see you in court, Mr. Ricci,” she stammered.
“I think you’ll see me before then, Mrs. Branson. After all, we need to plan my defense strategy,” I winked.
Huffing indignantly, she strolled briskly from the room as I laughed.
She was going to be so much fun.
And something about her was so familiar.