bonus chapter: in which he claims one piece of silver

"A little less conversation, and a little more touch-my-body" —What Jake felt like saying to Maya

∞

JAKE

Fifty-six... I'm gonna kill him...

Fifty-seven... Add a couple more years to my sentence...

Fifty-eight... So fuсking worth it...

Fifty-nine...

"Ford!"

C. O. Holsten—professional asshole with a beer gut that made him look seven months pregnant—was banging on the iron bars of my cell, trying to get my attention.

"Yeah?" I grunted, pulling myself up into a sitting position on the cold concrete floor. There was a burning in my abs, a burning that I enjoyed feeling.

"You got a visitor."

I arched a brow. "I think you're mistaken."

The only person I ever allowed to visit me was Ghost, my Prez, and that was every two weeks.

"Listen, you little fuсker," Holsten snapped, "I don't have time for this. I know Maya Fenton, and she shouldn't even be in here, let alone visiting a useless sonofabitch like yourself, so get your ass into gear and go say hello."

Any other day, I would've told him to go fuсk a billy goat until they both came, but today? Today, I could excuse his disrespect because he'd just said two words I'd never thought would leave his chapped smoker's lips: Maya Fenton.

I jumped to my feet, rolling my shoulders a couple times, my mind buzzing. What the fuсk could she want with me? It couldn't be about my ma. I'd talked to her on last Tuesday. She was still as healthy as a horse. It was just her mind that was a little screwy. And even if she was sick, that didn't explain why Maya would come out here. People like Maya Fenton were the poster kids for People who should Never Be Within a Five-Mile Radius of a Prison because They're Too Fuсking Decent.

Maya was a registered nurse, working in the rest home that my mother had made her home, but that wasn't all Maya was. If I had to name one of my many fuсk-ups at the top of my list, it would be fucκing things up so badly between us that there was nothing good she'd ever want to say to me.

"Is this a conjugal visit?" my bunkmate, some dickhead called Keegan, wanted to know. I'd forgotten that the little ѕhit was curled up on the top bunk, reading one of his fantasy novels. "I sure hope so. I'm getting a little tired of listening to you jerk off at night."

No conjugal visit, but the woman I think about when I jerk off at night is here. "Shut the fucκ up," I said in response to Fisher's unwanted commentary.

He shut up immediately, still ѕhit-scared of me even after I'd taken him under my wing. I really couldn't be mad at him. The kid was nineteen, had been caught with a little weed on him, and the judge had been in a bad mood when it came to his sentencing. He would be out in a few months, and as far as prison roommates went, he was pretty damn decent. I'd actually be sad to see him go.

Holsten released me from my cage, shoving me ahead of him. I let him have that one. The guy was a pusѕy. If he needed to shove me around to make himself feel like he had a dicκ longer than his thumb, I'd let him.

Because I was about to lay my eyes on Maya Fenton again.

I went into my own head as Holsten followed me to the visitor's room. I had three years left of my sentence—maybe two-and-a-half, if I played nice—and then...

And then fucκing what?

I could make things right.

I wanted to make things right, but I couldn't do ѕhit just sitting in my jail cell.

All too soon, we were in the small but bright room filled with families and friends visiting their loved ones. I hated coming in here whenever Ghost came out to see me—mostly because I couldn't stand how fucκing happy everyone was to see each other—but today was a little different.

Holsten shoved me again, towards a table in the corner—a steel table reserved for people who visited particularly violent inmates—and I felt my heart sink, because I knew what was coming next. And just what did that fucking say about me?

Even so, I sat down and allowed the guard to get down on his haunches and shackled my ankles. He straightened up again, a big grin on his face, knowing that he'd done it too tight. I held my wrists up to him, and he cuffed them, too. At least this wasn't one of those prisons that chained you to the table. At least I could pretend that I was just a regular guy, sitting at a table, waiting for a regular girl to show up.

I had never been really good at playing pretend.

"Don't get any ideas," Holsten said, leaning in real close. "I'll be standing right here, listening to everything. Don't even think about eye-fucking this girl. She's too good for you."

I held my tongue. Handcuffs and chains wouldn't stop me from killing this ѕhit-stain in blue, but I had to keep my cool. At least until I'd seen her.

Holsten continued talking, probably bitching about his ѕhitty life, but my attention was on the visitors' entrance, at the tall, curvy woman with the light blue bag over one shoulder, and her long hair in a braid winding over the other. She scanned the room for a second, and then her eyes settled on me, in my little corner with Holsten standing a short distance away.

I felt my chest tighten as each step she took brought her closer and closer to me. My wet dreams hadn't done her a single lick of justice. The Maya I stroked my cock to was a warped image of the Maya who was easing herself into the seat opposite mine.

This Maya's eyes were a stormy grey framed by long lashes that were blinking a mile a minute, like she had something stuck in her eyes. Nerves.

She had skin the color of coffee with milk in it, and I knew even without touching her, that she would be smooth and warm and so fucκing soft.

Tonight, I would remember how pouty and plump her lips were, how her nose was so straight, and how I could see the outline of her round tits through her flimsy blouse.

Fucκ what Holsten said.

I was fucκing the hell out of this woman with my eyeballs.

"Hey, Jacob," she said, her voice like a warm burst of sunshine in this grey prison.

She cringed, like she'd said something wrong, but there was nothing wrong about the way she said my name. Not one goddamned thing.

Maya was looking at me like she expected me to say something, but at that point, I just wanted to hear her voice, and my hands were twitching in my lap, desperate for a touch. I nodded at her.

My curiosity got the better of me. "To what do I owe this immense pleasure, Maya?"

I sounded like a chain-smoker, my voice hoarse with need, yet she was the one who cleared her throat.

And now I was focusing on her throat. I wondered if her boyfriend wrapped a hand around her neck while he was inside her. I fucking would. I'd want to feel the erratic pulse throbbing away in her neck with every thrust of my cocκ, and if I could, I'd throw her down on this table and sink deep into her pusѕy until she knew exactly who the Ripper was...

"You look well," she said suddenly.

I raised my brow at her. Either she was trying to be nice—which was probably the case—or she needed to get her eyes checked ASAP. I looked like ѕhit, but who the hell cared? This was prison, not a runway show.

I hadn't been cutting my dirt-blonde hair, and I was pretty sure that I had lice. Fucκing Keegan had been scratching himself for weeks now. There was no way he didn't have those little critters living on his scalp, just like there was no way he hadn't shared them with me and the rest of the men. Then there was the fact that I still had faint, yellow bruises from my fight with Stone. Stone was a Cursed; I was a Phantom. Before I left this place, I was gonna kill him.

That kind of thinking could wait. Right here? Right now? None of that mattered. Maya Fenton was sitting here, and I didn't want to blink in case I woke up back in my cell with Keegan farting in his sleep.

"I, um, brought you some soap," said Maya, looking nervous. "The guards have it."

I stared at her, not completely understanding. Was soap some kind of code word? "Soap?"

"Yeah," she said, her face reddening. "Fifty bars. So that, you know, if you...drop one, you don't need to pick it up. Because you have forty-nine other bars."

I stared at her some more, and she stared back. "You're actually being serious."

This woman—this woman who should have hated me—had come out here to give me toiletries.

"You came all this way to give me...soap?" I went on, slamming my hands down on the table and leaning forward. "Are you for real?"

She wasn't looking at me anymore. Her eyes were on my hands, and instead of replying to me, she was murmuring to herself, and then asking me if the handcuffs hurt.

"No," I muttered, and her head jerked up, like she didn't know she'd spoken out loud. "You quickly get used to pain when you're someone like me."

And wasn't that the truth? Physical pain was so easy to get used to. I'd conditioned my mind and body to accept and absorb that kind of pain, to deal with it. I craved it, even.

It was emotional pain I could do without. That kind of pain—the ache that came with knowing that the one person you knew you cared about so deeply would never smile at you because she hated you—well, that kind of pain was the worst kind.

"I'm sorry," said Maya, in a soft voice that cut me deep.

She was sorry? "There's nothing to be sorry about, Maya. I fucκed up," I told her, my voice fierce. Her lips were slightly parted, and I mentally groaned. "I'm paying for it."

For a long time, neither of us said anything. She looked at me. I looked back, not knowing when I'd see her again. Once I got out, sure, maybe we'd bump into each other sometime. Sallow County was a small town, after all, but that didn't mean that Maya and I would hang out in the same circles. As far as I knew, she wasn't a party animal—never had been—and she wasn't interested in associating with the Phantoms. Especially not since we'd been responsible for her cousin's death.

Bitterness settled on my tongue. If only I'd been on my game... If only I hadn't been so relaxed... If only I'd heard the cars outside... Ella would still be here... Maya wouldn't hate me.

Maya was tapping her fingertips on the table, her eyes downcast. "Does Baron visit sometimes?" she asked, her eyes flicking up to meet mine. Silver. That was what they were. Silver, like melted charm bracelets in her eyes.

I leaned back in my chair. "Not since the trial."

"That's terrible," she said, sounding horrified on my behalf. I was amazed that she even gave a damn. "He's your brother."

I shrugged. I'd told him not to come back to town. Told him that it was in his best interests to stay away. Baron was too good, too smart, and too pure for a life of crime. "He's better off. Last I heard, he'd graduated from business school and got himself some fancy job all the way in France."

Maya seemed to be taking that in, shaking her head as if to clear it. She looked nervous all over again, her hands under the table. "I didn't come here just for the soap," she reluctantly admitted.

This is it. This is where she tells you that she wants closure, that she wants to be able to tell you to go to hell in person. That she wishes that you were the one lying six feet under, instead of Ella.

If she told me to leave her alone forever, I would. I would atone for my sins at a distance, but I would make things right. With or without her knowing it.

"As you may know," she started, "I work at Rose Haven now. It's a great place to work. I love old people. They're so sweet, even the ones with Alzheimer's, sometimes. Mrs. Geldhof screams when she's hungry. Maybe —"

"Get to the point," I cut in, because she didn't have to prolong the inevitable just to be nice.

She looked like she wanted to run, and I instantly regretted my abruptness. "Okay. Your mother... She passed," she whispered, the last thing I would've expected her to say.

My ma was gone. She'd died knowing that her oldest son was in jail. Fucκ.

"How?" I asked Maya. Did she suffer? I hope to God she didn't suffer.

"It was just her time," Maya said softly, sounding broken. I wanted to hug her, but of course, my hands were literally tied. "We watched Modern Family together – her favorite character was Phil – and then she went to sleep. She didn't wake up yesterday."

I felt the storm inside me quieten. It had been peaceful. She hadn't suffered.

I breathed a soft sigh of relief at that. "Does Baron know?"

He would want to know. He wasn't as much of a momma's boy as I was, but I knew he kept in touch with our ma.

"They've tried his number several times today," Maya was saying, sounding apologetic. "It doesn't exist, or maybe we –"

"You know Ghost?" Of course she knew him. Stupid fucking question. He'd dated her cousin.

Maya nodded, looking like she'd tasted lemons. Just like me, he was on her ѕhit-list.

"Good. He'll know how to get a hold of my brother. Just tell him I sent you."

"Okay," she said in a small voice, her beautiful eyes shimmering with tears.

"You're crying for my mother," I murmured, unable to believe it.

"I took care of Sharon. She was like a mother to me," she replied with a bite. She shook her head, letting the tears fall freely. Even when she was crying, she was the most gorgeous fucking thing I'd ever laid eyes on. She shouldn't have come here.

"Um, she wanted me to give this to you. In case anything ever happened." She was digging around in her bag, coming out with an envelope and sliding it across the table to me. "They opened the envelope. The guards. I haven't read it, I promise."

I wasn't really listening. Whatever Maya had in her bag that smelled of coconut was so goddamn strong. My hands shook as I unfurled the letter, and I had to tell myself that breaking down in front of this woman could never fucκing happen. I didn't want her to pity me. I didn't deserve her damn pity.

My ma's handwriting jumped out at me, and I could even smell her perfume. She'd been using it for as long as I could remember, and every birthday, Mother's Day, and Christmas, I made sure that she had a bottle.

Gotta start thinking past tense now.

Fucκ. My chest was sore. The words on the page blurred and leapt and wouldn't make sense of themselves, probably because I was too damn emotional right now, too damn emotional to not let this curse of dyslexia get to me.

I saw Maya's name, and my eyes grabbed on to that like a lifeline. Take care of Maya.

My ma was so selfless. "I got to phone her every Tuesday," I heard myself say, my voice sounding hollow to my own ears. "She always talked about you. Sometimes, she didn't know who the hell I was, but she'd go on and on about you. Maya this, Maya that." I slid the letter back to her, never allowing my eyes to leave hers. "Read it."

As if Maya fuсking knew, she read it out loud, and when she read it again, I was more certain than the first time.

Jacob,

Let's not bullѕhit each other: You're a mess, just like your father. But unlike your father, you're not going to die in prison. You're not going to throw your life down the toilet by running with those punks on bicycles and whatnot. You're going to clean yourself up, get your ѕhit together, and put on your grown-up panties. Why? Because I said so, Jacob. Because you're my eldest. And because, twenty-eight years ago, I spent a whole day pushing your big head out my cooch.

Maybe you think I've lost my marbles (and sometimes, I feel like I have. Marbles are so easy to misplace) so I won't know or care about the nonsense you pull, but let me tell you, boy, if I were alive right now, I'd wring your neck like a dishcloth and hang you out to dry. Get out of jail and do something worthwhile with your life, something that makes you happy.

And one more thing: I have a dying wish. Does it matter that you were incarcerated and therefore could not get to hear me speak my wish in your ear like they do in the movies? Anyway, I want you to take care of Maya Fenton. I was her last remaining relative and now she has no one but that dreadful Capricorn boy. If God had blessed me with a daughter, Maya would be her. This is all I ask of you, my eldest: Make sure she's OK. And also, give your brother a call one of these days!

Make me proud, Jacob. Give me something to brag to all the angels about.

Love,

Mom

I heard her gasp, and then she choked out, "You don't have to do this. It was sweet of her, but I'm going to be fine." She was folding the letter, setting it down on the table, her hands shaking. I wanted to hold her right then. Just her hands. Wrap them in mine and let her know how sorry I was, how much I wanted to show her how sorry I was.

But I wouldn't. I would never. "Need to do right by my ma," I said.

"Really, it's OK," Maya was saying, sounding panicked. "I don't... I mean, I'm very independent. I'll be great."

"Thank you, Maya, for what you did for her." I wanted her to know how much I meant it. How sincere I was. I wanted her to fucκing get it. "I owe you."

"You really don't, Jacob. Sharon was the best. I cared about her, too, so —"

She didn't get it. Not yet. But she would. "I said, I owe you."

Her eyes were wide, and maybe I had scared her a little, but then she closed them, and I could admire her without her seeing, without creeping her out. She really was beautiful, but not just on the outside. No, this woman had a beautiful soul. Why else would she be here?

"I should go," she said, her eyes opening again. She dragged them away from me, zipping her bag up. "I'll make sure I talk to Ghost. The funeral will be beautiful."

"She wanted to be cremated. No funeral."

"Oh," Maya uttered. "Okay."

She was standing up, and I wanted to stand, too, if only to feel like a man who wasn't shackled and chained in a ѕhithole like this.

"Take care, Jacob," Maya told me. She sounded like she meant it. I wanted to believe that she meant it.

I watched her walk out the room the same way she came in, her long, flowy skirt moving with every swish of her wide hips. She glanced at me once over her shoulder, then quickly looked away, as if she hadn't expected to find me staring after her like a horny fool.

It wasn't all like that.

I wanted her. I didn't deserve her, she didn't deserve a ѕhithead like me—and I still wanted her.

My ma—God rest her beautiful soul—had always looked out for me. She still was.

"Love you, Ma," I said under my breath, as Holsten got to work unshackling me. The letter still sat on the table. "You always knew what I wanted, even when I was too fucκing stupid to see that it was right there in front of me. I'm not gonna be stupid anymore."

Three more years. I could do that.

Three more years until I can show you how sorry I am. Three more years until I can fucκ you.