Chapter 6
Dean’s never been this hungry.
Not even when he was a kid and his father was too drunk to shop for food. Even then, he scrounged up something from deep within the cabinets or raided the stash of candy bars and crackers he kept tucked in his closet for emergencies.
Once he was old enough, he started hunting for food on those occasions when he wasn’t brave enough to sneak a ten from his father’s wallet and buy milk, bread, and eggs from the store. He made do, one way or the other, but now he has no choice but to go hungry unless Jaxson sees fit to toss him a slice or two of bread like a dog, so he doesn’t wither away and die of starvation.
He’s gotten exactly ten slices since the last time he’s seen Ava. When she’d been kind enough to force a granola bar on him because he no doubt looked like hell after only a day and a half with no food. Ten slices of air sandwiches, as Jaxson likes to call them, are all he’s worthy of until he agrees to join up and become one of them.
He hardly knows how he got himself into this damn mess in the first place, but logic tells him that it probably had something to do with Clyde. Dean told one of Jaxson’s men to fuck off when they casually strolled by and grabbed a dinner roll off Clyde’s tray.
Dean wouldn’t call him and Clyde friends, if anyone can be friends in here, but he’s a likable asshole, easy going enough, and he’s not mean, which is a big difference from the others. So when Joey grabbed that roll and Clyde didn’t say shit about it…Dean did.
And it had gone largely unnoticed.
Joey tossed the roll back, not expecting anyone to call him on it, and threw Dean the finger as an add-on bonus.
He’d gotten nothing but worry from Clyde the whole night, though, telling him not to do shit like that because pissing off Jaxson is like poking a tiger. Part of the reason he’s left alone is that he ‘provides’ for them. Gives them what they want, when they want it. Half his shit if the request is there and just a dinner roll if it’s not.
The next morning, when Dean slowly made his way through the line to get his breakfast slop spooned onto a tray, there wasn’t any left for him. Which was bullshit because he could see it right there, ready to be served, but the inmate behind the counter ignored him and served the next guy instead. Sent a glance toward Jaxson, who smiled at Dean, confirming that he’d earned himself a sufficient amount of unwanted attention.
Dean tossed his tray onto the counter with a clatter and stalked right over to Jaxson, asking him what the hell he thought he was doing and getting a big toothy smile in return, like it wasn’t no big thing.
“Was wonderin’ when you’d come by for a chat. The food? That’s for us,” Jaxson said, pointing smugly to himself and the rest of his men. “And those we see fit to share with. If you want some, it can be yours. That and so. Much. More. All you gotta do is join us. Easy as pie, because make no mistake, you’re on the radar now. If you didn’t notice before, there are only two classes of people in here. You’re either one of us or one of them.”
Dean wasn’t impressed by the pitch. Jaxson’s voice was like nails on a chalkboard, and the only acceptable option was to tell him to fuck off.
Jaxson didn’t follow when he turned on his heel and headed back to his cell with a scowl, simmering rage still building under the surface.
He’s not sure what that group actually does, but he’d bet his right arm that it’s illegal. Smuggling drugs maybe. Bribing the guards. Shaking down the others. Plenty of crime happens right inside the prison walls, or so Boone used to tell him.
There’s a whole heap of shit they could be involved in and if the whispers around the cell block are anything to go by, then it could go even deeper. Something shared with only the chosen few, something to land Dean’s ass behind bars for half his life if he’s not careful.
He doesn’t want a single part of it. He’s been suffering his bread sandwiches in silence, waiting for them to lose interest and move on to an easier mark. But they haven’t. Not even a little bit and all Dean can hear anymore is his own stomach grumbling in protest.
“Want some ding-dongs? Goddamn, do I ever love me some ding-dongs. Like little rolls of chocolate heaven.”
It’s Jaxson’s voice, taunting him from across the room while Dean accepts his tray of bread and wanders past him toward his cell again. He prefers to eat in there instead of out with the others.
Dean ignores the question. He’s getting good at pretending that bastard isn’t there, but he’s not let off the hook so easily this time.
Jaxson strides over, his manic grin dripping with anticipation. “You can have one, you know. Hell, you can have more than one, can take the whole damn box. All you gotta do is say yes. Unless you’ve grown fond of the white bread in this place.”
“Go fu—”
“Yeah, yeah, go fuck myself. Eat a dick. Fuck off. I know. But here’s the thing, I don’t think you fully understand just how much I’m trying to help you here. Didn’t let me finish last time, so I figured, let’s give him a few days to simmer on it before I go in for the kill.”
Dean narrows his eyes, clutching his empty tray until his fingers hurt. “Ain’t got nothing I want.”
Jaxson only smiles wider, white teeth flashing in his direction, one brow arching up. “Oh, I think I do. But let us assume for a minute that you don’t want the food. That you’re fine living on air sandwiches until you get outta here. That ain’t all we can offer you. The perks, well, they’re too numerous to list. Safety, security, commissary discounts, and plenty of extracurricular activities. Want a cell phone to call up your girl on the outside? We can make that happen. This isn’t available to everyone. Some, well, some are only useful for what they can provide. The resources they offer. But others….others like you, are destined for bigger things. You got balls and I appreciate that. Hard to find in here. Now I know Walt got carried away before, gave ya a nice limp, but that’s in the past. Don’t let it influence your choices.”
“Join you to do what?”
“That’s for the inner circle to know. Are you saying you want to be part of the inner circle?”
Dean’s heard enough already. He dismisses this conversation with a sneer, like he caught wind of a bad smell, and moves to leave again.
Jaxson isn’t so easily deterred, blocking his path with a sidestep. “Not so fast, no need to be rude. I fucking hate it when people are rude.” He lingers, the smile flattening again into something more serious. “The perks are many, but there are consequences for refusing such a generous offer. You think bread and a few nights with the radio is all we got? When I want something, I get it. And I want you.”
He backs up then, waving Dean through and telling him to ponder it a while, prompting snickering laughs from the others clustered behind him.
He wastes no time in going to his cell, huddling in the corner of his bunk and wolfing down the two slices he’s allowed. He’s got several hours until his appointment with Ava later that afternoon. Half of him wishes he wasn’t going at all. He doesn’t want her to see him in even worse condition.
The other half, though, desperately hopes she packed another granola bar and is willing to share.
He can’t go on much longer at this rate and while he has no intention of ever saying yes to Jaxson, he’ll have to confront this situation head on or risk starving to death before he’s set free.
* * *
When he sees Ava again, she’s just as pretty as before, as if he had any doubt. The gray top she wears hugs her just right, and those jeans fit perfectly around each curve. For a moment, he forgets how hungry he is for real food and finds himself hungry for something else.
Something Dean has no business thinking about in the first place.
She’d be disgusted if she knew. He’s got zero chance, but that doesn’t stop the tug in his groin from making itself known when she smiles at him, getting close enough to let the scent of lavender shampoo waft in his direction.
Nick is already gone, he barely took the time to mumble out an excuse before he disappeared.
Her smile turns into a frown the moment the door closes.
“You look worse. You still haven’t eaten?” She asks. Her hands are firm on her hips, but her tone is concerned, like half of her is worried about him and the other half wants to hit something.
“Had some bread. It ain’t a big deal.” is what he tells her, even though it’s the exact opposite of what he wants to say.
He wants to lay his problems at her feet and beg for help. For food. For her to tell someone that would make this shit go away, but it’s never that easy. He has a sneaking suspicion that if he does tell a guard things will only get worse instead of better, and outright asking Ava for any sort of help feels wrong even in his own head.
She’s kind enough that he thinks she would agree, but his problems are his alone and she doesn’t need to get roped into them. More than that, she doesn’t need to think for a second that he only enjoys her company because she can offer him something. He’d want to spend time with her regardless of how many granola bars she gave or refused him.
It’s then that the smell of food catches his attention. Turkey, or roast beef, or something he can’t put his finger on but it must taste amazing. His nose points him in the direction of a styrofoam container on the counter behind her.
She doesn’t reply to his explanation, only turns away and opens the container, revealing a full Ruben sandwich, coaxing him to lean in closer with how damn good it looks. It takes all his willpower not to tackle it like an animal.
“I brought it for you, just in case this wasn’t resolved yet. Told Nick it was my leftovers from lunch, but I already ate. Go ahead.”
God, he feels bad. Awful. Gutted. Guilty the moment he reaches out and takes half the sandwich and shovels it into his mouth. Not even the taste, as all-encompassing as that is, can make that guilt fade completely.
Ava busies herself with the coffee in her cup until he’s finished and it only takes him a few minutes tops to wolf down the entire thing. It’s the best meal he’s ever tasted in his life.
He’s already thanked her, but the need to explain himself is overwhelming. “I appreciate this. I do, but you didn’t have to. Don’t want you thinking I’m expecting it. I’m not. You don’t have to keep feedin’ me. I keep waiting for Nick to bust in the room and catch us.”
“I know you aren’t expecting it. I wish you’d let me help you. Really help. If you tell me what’s happening I can talk to the guards about it, or the warden. Make sure you get fed like you’re supposed to.”
She seems so convinced that the answer is to tell someone. She has no concept of the fact that it would be a nail in his coffin, a target on his back for being a snitch, and an invitation for Jaxson to fuck him over even more. There is no easy way out now that he caught their attention, but her eagerness to do something makes his heart twist. “You can’t help like that. I know that don’t make sense, but…”
“I’ll just make it worse.” She finishes for him, frustration lacing her words and manifesting in a slight pout. “It’s Jaxson, isn’t it?”
Dean looks up with a start, surprised that she knows and afraid that she’ll use that information to do something about it.
“I only know because I’ve seen what he sends to my infirmary. No one else plays games like him. The others have a more basic way to get their point across, but Jaxson takes it to another level. Probably because he’s been here the longest. Over a decade already. That one isn’t playing with a full deck. That group of his is always causing trouble.”
He’s stepped in about a hundred puddles since the last time he was here, so she finishes her sentence with a nod toward his foot that he extends for her as she unwraps the toe. Slender fingers reveal bruised but healing skin, re-wrapping it with enough care that he hardly feels it at all.
He knows that Jaxson is a few sandwiches short of a picnic, but the way she said those words makes him think she’s fully aware of why he’s in prison and his curiosity is likely splashed clear across his face. She probably can’t tell him though. They’ve done nothing but cross lines here since the moment he arrived and he’s not about to ask her to trample all over another one.
She, however, does it anyway.
“Murdered his wife. The way I’ve heard it, he went full-on crazy for a while, and kept seeing dead people and I’m not talking ghosts either. Thought she was ‘dead’ and stabbed her in the head. It’s not exactly a secret around here, but you’re better off not letting on that you know.”
He quirks a brow at her, his shock at this information dissolving and giving way to something else. “Why’d you tell me?”
Ava sighs, finishing with his foot, the softness of her hand lingering for a moment against his ankle before she drops it away again, crossing both arms over her chest and leveling him with the sort of look he doesn’t feel worthy of. Like she’s legitimately worried about him. Like she thinks he doesn’t deserve any of this. Like she’d be sad if he got hurt again.
“I told you because I think you need to know who you’re dealing with. He may be over the top, almost comical or charming sometimes, but the real nut jobs usually are. It’s easy to assume he’s bluffing, but now you know how unhinged he really is. Be careful.”
“How do you know I didn’t murder my wife too?” He regrets that the minute it comes out because they’ve made so much progress already and here he is joking about murder.
She laughs, light and airy, stepping closer as if to prove a point. “No. I don’t think you did anything of the sort.”
She did that last time, moving in close when she showed him pictures of fluffy kittens, trying to lighten the mood and prove that she wasn’t afraid.
When she backs away again to grab his pills, the need to tell her why he’s here hits him like a truck. He’s gone over it again and again in his mind, how and when he might tell her. Much as he tries, he still can’t make the story sound any less pathetic than it actually is.
So he just goes for it. Takes a deep breath and rushes out the words she never asked for. “Got pulled over for speeding. Cop said he smelled alcohol on my breath, so while I was taking the sobriety test they searched the car. I guess they can do that if they have probable cause. I blew a zero point zero, hadn’t been drinking a damn thing, but the drug dog found a shit ton of pot in the trunk. All packaged up for resale.”
She frowns, surprised by his unexpected confession. “You’re a drug dealer?”
“Nah. I don’t touch the stuff. Well, maybe a joint here and there, but I don’t sell anything. My brother does, though. I usually check the damn car before I go anywhere. He’s got his own truck, but he’s used mine before without asking. Said his had a permanent weed smell etched into the fabric by now. Forgot to check, I was in a hurry. I paid for it.”
“That’s shit luck,” she replies, and it strikes him then that she believes him.
He’s tried like hell to only give her the facts and not come across like he’s making excuses, but she seems one hundred percent inclined to take him at his word. It’s far more than anyone else has done since he walked through these doors. “I knew what he does, always known. Shoulda been smarter about not driving anywhere without checking the car. He paid too. Got pulled over a week later with half a pound of crack stuffed in all the air vents.”
“Oh.” Her eyes widen. “Maybe that’s a little bit of karma. Not enough, but something.”
Dean’s never believed in karma but he can’t deny the joy he felt when he found out Boone got busted too, sent here for three times as long because Dean was only on his first offense and Boone had two other convictions on his record.
“I’m really glad you didn’t murder anyone.” She smiles.
He snorts at the tease. It’s inappropriate considering where they are and the fact that he could have murdered someone for all she knew, but they’re getting comfortable being inappropriate. “Me too. My brother’s first in line when I see him again, though.”
He’s only being sarcastic, of course. Boone may not have a bullet waiting for him, but he does have a healthy beat down if Dean has anything to say about it.
“Just don’t get caught. I’d hate to see you in here again when I could see you on the outside instead.”
He stops breathing for a heartbeat when those words leave her mouth. Could she want to see him on the outside? Is he hallucinating from near starvation?
Her mouth falls open for a moment like she’s about to explain it away, but nothing comes out and she gives up, closing it again with a frown, her cheeks tinting pink.
She’s probably joking. Teasing. Making light of the situation.
That’s all there is to it because there’s no way she wants to see him on the outside. He’s made it to forty-one years old without having much luck with women, and a stretch in prison won’t change that. The possibility that she may have even considered it still knocks him for a loop. It’s less about what she said and more about how she looked after she said it. Flustered, surprised, and slightly embarrassed.
Nick’s return is a welcome reprieve. Dean doesn’t know what he’d have said in return if given the chance. Instead, he’s whisked away again, medicated and fed and confused as fuck. Back to his cell where he can ponder what any of this means for the next two days.