Chapter 42
PEPPER
It’s been over twenty-four hours since I’ve been able to get a hold of Chase, and I’m sitting here chewing what is left of my nail beds and catastrophizing.
I’m talking Chernobyl-meltdown-level freaking out. I’ll be radioactive for at least seventy-six years and I’ll never be able to live in my own head again. The only things that will reside in there will be fish with six eyes, and perhaps a cat with two tails.
The echoing sound of a heavy steel door being mechanically released somewhere outside the small boxy cell that I’m stuffed in with five other women fills the air.
Is this what my life is going to be? Hiding the bag of peanut M&M’s I bought from the commissary inside my pillow, and sleeping with one eye open just in case the stir-crazy women in the bunk beds that surround me decide it’s time to shiv the new girl?
I can’t sidestep this feeling that something has gone wrong.
I called this morning, hoping for an update, but Tessa has no idea where Chase is and said his mobile is forwarding straight to voicemail.
I only get one brief call before I’m forced out of line by women who have been here a lot longer than I have—who are far higher in the food chain and don’t feel someone who’s been in less than a week should take precious phone time away from them.
What was more frustrating is that had I known, I could have heard Sunny’s voice instead.
Tears spring to my eyes, and I beat them back, refusing to break down.
Maybe Chase has decided taking on a teenager is far too much, and he’s shipped her back off to social services?
Maybe he changed his mind and has given up on trying to get me out of here?
Maybe he didn’t mean what he said…maybe, maybe, maybe.
They swarm around my head like angry bees, creating little hexagonal pockets filled with doubt and refusing to be quiet.
I’ve had a lot of people let me down in life. Foster parents, the system, school, the police…it feels second nature to doubt everything and everyone, that niggling hangover of feeling not good enough nipping away at my brain.
A sharp triple rap of something hard on bars cuts the air. “Inmate Quinn?”
I shoot up in the shallow bunk, almost grazing my head on the one above. “Yeah?”
A rotund female guard with braids pulled into a tight bun looks bored as hell. “Pack up your bunk and come with me.”
“Where is she being moved?” Anastacia, the tall troglodyte woman who’s missing a front tooth, stands and folds her hands onto wide hips.
“None of your business, inmate. Move away from the bars,” the guard snaps back as I rush off the bed and start folding the light blue plastic-coated mattress in half, taking my pillow, my blanket, and what little belongings I have here with it.
From what I’ve gathered, inmates being moved to different wings or units is a semi-regular event. Especially when there has been animosity in a cell block. And lord knows there have been more than a few fights the past couple days—most of which I’ve managed to stay out of.
A low electric buzz sounds as I rush forward, the vertical steel bars that lead into each cell sliding slowly open, triggered by a remote signal.
The officer leads me through a maze of corridors with locked gates that we have to pause at, the sounds of the city bleeding through the narrow windows, down countless stairwells until we reach the ground floor.
No one tells you how noisy jail is, and even down here, I can hear the incessant calls and shouts of prisoners—male and female.
The same ones that go on all through the night.
“Where are we going?” I glance at the small sign hanging from the ceiling above that says Processing.
“Go through there.” The officer points to a thick blue door, her attention already on the woman sitting behind a desk next to it.
The two start chatting like I no longer exist. The blue door leads to a small room, flanked by another door on the opposing side, and in between, there is a hole in the wall where a male guard stands.
“Come forward.” He flexes a purple latex-gloved hand my way, indicating me to move.
I traipse over, my orange flip-flops slapping on the lacquered floor. A tray slides out of the small slot at the bottom of the window, and I spot my purse from the night of the gala and what looks like my dress folded beneath.
“I’m getting out?” Hope sparks inside my chest. I thought I was denied bail. I glance around for any sign this is a cruel joke and Boredy-McBored-Face is going to snatch me away and take me back to a cell.
“Yep, your charges have been dropped.”
A high-pitched ringing erupts in my head. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”
“A stick of gum, one lip balm, two earrings and…” the guard continues as if I hadn’t spoken, and pauses as he examines the clear plastic bag in his hands and ticks off the contents of my purse against the list on his computer screen. “A stapler?”
“Don’t ask.” I chew my lower lip, dragging the contents out of the tray and finding my shoes tucked neatly at the bottom. “Did you say my charges have been dropped?”
“Well, I’ve seen weirder items, I guess.” The man starts tapping noisily on the keyboard. “Go through the next door and get changed. The officer in there will sign you out.”
I breeze through the last couple of checkpoints like I’m walking on air, hardly believing that this is real until I’m out of polyester orange and fidgeting in my dress and heels and the wide prison steel door is buzzed open.
Sunlight pours in from the parking lot, the soft sounds of birds chirping in a nearby tree melding with the bustle of Centre Street traffic. My heart hammers in my chest as I step over the threshold, feeling the breeze and glorious sunshine lap at my skin.
I place a hand over my brow, squinting at the tall figure lounging against a black town car just feet away in a crisply tailored black three-piece suit.
The volume dial turns to zero and suddenly I can only hear my blood rushing in my own ears as the man stands, pulling dark sunglasses off a face so handsome it makes my toes curl, and slips them into his pocket—chiseled cheekbones, tanned complexion, and a dark scruff along his sharp jaw that feels like heaven against my skin.
He came for me.
Chase’s face splits into a dazzling smile, and before I know it or even realize how it happened, he’s right in front of me, scooping me up off the floor and crashing his mouth down onto mine.
Tears prickle behind my eyelids as I lose myself in his sinfully skillful kiss, his lips hot and demanding, tongue seeking mine in languid, teasing sweeps. I break away, gasping for air and curling my fingers into his hair, soaking in every inch of him, breathing in that intoxicatingly manly scent.
He looks like he hasn’t slept in days, with black bruises beneath his eyes and stubble sprinkling the edges of a short beard that would usually be perfectly curated.
But his eyes remain bright beacons of melted chocolate, smoldering as he takes me in with an expression akin to a man deprived of water faced with a mirage.
“What happened? Where have you been? How am I out?” Questions tumble from my lips one after the other, frantically trying to catch up.
“I’ll tell you everything, but first just let me feel you,” he rumbles, leaning his forehead down to press onto mine, squeezing me tighter in his grip.
I choke back emotion, still pinching myself that this is real.
“You’re here,” I whisper, a tear bubbling over and drifting down my cheek.
The dark slashes of his brows pinch and he sweeps away the tear with his thumb. “You doubted I would come?”
I nibble my lip, warmth flooding my cheeks. “It’s not…it’s not anything to do with you. I just—” I try to explain, but come up short.
How do I explain that no one has ever fought for me before?
He frowns at me contemplatively for a moment, placing me softly on my feet. I cling to the front of his suit, not ready to break the connection so soon. Instead of pulling away like I expected, however, he cups my face tenderly with big, warm bear paws, angling my face up to his.
“There is nothing on this earth that could keep me from the woman I love, Pepper.”
“What?” I blurt out, my eyes like saucers. “Like, as in…me?”
He grins, the corners of his eyes scrunching. “Yes, you.”
I open and close my mouth a few times before I find words. “As in, you know you love me, or you think you might?”
“I definitely know.” He tilts his head to the side in amusement, eyes sparkling.
“But like, love love, or…”
“For god’s sake woman, am I speaking French?” He chuckles, rubbing my jaw softly.
“But I’m weird,” is all I can think to reply.
“I actually happen to love that about you in particular.” He leans down to brush feather-soft lips across mine. “I’m completely in love with you, baby. Your big heart, your strength, that brain of yours that runs at a thousand miles per hour—even the way you make me the butt of most of your jokes.”
My breath catches in my throat, the words I’ve wanted to hear for so long but couldn’t admit to myself raising the hairs on the back of my neck.
“And most of all, I love all the jagged pieces that you try to hide from the world. The ones that make you fierce and loyal and so fucking beautiful it takes my breath away.”
I gaze at him in awe, a numb incredulity stealing over me.
Not because he’s stupid-handsome, or rich, or eligible, or any of those silly things.
But because he’s kind and smart and loving.
He’s everything I used to hate, and somewhere along the way, somehow, he became the part of each day that lit my soul on fire.
“My heart recognized you long before I had the words for it, Pepper. And I’ll never stop fighting for you. In this life, or the next.”
“Oh.”
He lifts one eyebrow. “Oh? A guy pours his heart out to you and that’s all you have to say?”