“Seriously, Sas, don’t go and visit him again.”

I sit down on Mason’s massive sofa in just one of his three living rooms and look to Chantelle. “I’m just informing him that I have a new address, and that I’m working somewhere else.”

“He doesn’t care where you live, or where you’re working, and we both know it.”

I purse my lips. “It’s the right thing to do, in case he needs something.”

“The only thing he needs is a swift kick to the face, and the balls, if you’re asking.”

I shrug. “No doubt, but I’m still going. Speaking of, I have to head in now as Mason will be back later and I want to finish up the house.”

Chan sighs. “Fine, go to that fuck boy, but know that he is a waste of good, solid oxygen.”

I laugh. “Love you, Chan. But it’s time to go.”

She mutters something under her breath, and we both stand up and leave. When she’s gone, I triple check I’ve locked all the doors, because my god there are so freaking many. Who needs this many doors? Honestly. And half of them are glass sliding. I spend half of my day wiping the damned things.

I could think of better things to put in, but anyway.

Maybe Mason likes doors. Who knows?

I get in my car and start the drive to the prison. Enzo is allowed visitors most days, of course he doesn’t have to see me when I arrive, and there have been a few times he has turned me away, but when I told him I was going to pay his debt off to make it up to him, he’s mostly allowed me in.

Money talks, folks.

Only my heart is constantly being abused by my brain over this fact, because, well, let’s face it, it’s pretty obvious Enzo is only dealing with me because he knows he’s getting his debt paid off. I know this. He knows this. But a small part of me kind of hopes that maybe if we spend a little time together, we might be able to get past this and talk, finding that old connection and letting this go so we can both move forward.

If I can forgive him, which I’m not entirely sure I can at this point, then he can forgive me.

Right?

When I arrive at the prison, I go through all the security checks and sign in, then I go into the visiting room, which is a large open area with more than one set of tables and chairs. Usually, there are two or three guards in at a time, watching everyone. Contact is not acceptable, and we have to sit across from each other at a table. I find one and sit down, waiting for them to bring the prisoners in.

There are only two other people here today, and that makes me a little sad, I guess. I mean, sure, it’s a prison, and these people are in here for doing the wrong thing, but unless you murdered or raped someone, don’t you deserve to be at least visited by someone? Out of the hundreds of prisoners here, only three of us are visiting. That speaks volumes, doesn’t it? And it begs the question, what did these people do to make everyone that is supposed to love them turn their backs?

I think that’s an even scarier question.

The door buzzes and opens, and I turn to see three prisoners being escorted into the visiting room. My eyes fall on Enzo, and I hate the way my heart beats. I hate the dull, throbbing ache, because as soon as I look at him, I see the moment I walked in and saw my sister on top of him, her hips rocking, his hands clutching them, his head back in ecstasy.

I don’t think I’ll ever not see that image.

Ever.

My eyes lock onto his ice-blue eyes, and the ache grows deeper. His hair is long, but nothing like Mason’s. It is just past his shoulders and a light, honey brown. He’s got stubble that is verging on turning into the beginnings of a beard. Something about being in a prison, I think. It’s like if they’re clean shaven, they’re weak? I don’t know, but it seems most of them let them grow out, giving them a more rugged appearance.

Enzo, compared to the bikers I’ve been spending the last few days with, is seemingly a great deal smaller. I always considered him to be quite a well-formed man, well-muscled and toned, but he appears almost ... weak to look at. I give him a small smile, to which he simply nods his head. That hurts. All the years we spent together, the moments we shared, it makes me sad that this is what it has come to. It really does.

He sits down at the chair across from me, and for a moment, we just stare at each other in silence.

“Don’t know why you’re here, Saskia, but I’m hoping it’s to share some good news about my debt, otherwise you know I have nothing to say to you.”

“It is about that,” I say, my voice not wavering, because no matter how much it hurts, I’ve never been one to crumble with weakness or pain in front of anyone.

Hell, when I found Enzo in bed with my sister, I never let him see my pain. I lost my mind, don’t get me wrong, but I didn’t cry in front of him, I simply told him what I thought, and then I turned and walked out. When I got home, then I cried. Then I rang Chan, and I cried some more, but never to him.

No.

Never to him.

“I’ve got a new job,” I continue, and my chest aches. It aches because he’s so cold, and while I understand it, I’m trying my hardest. I wish, maybe, that he’d put his pride aside and see why I did what I did. It might not have been right, but neither were his actions, and yet I couldn’t escape them and had to deal. I wish he would, too. “It’s double the pay, extra if I work harder, and I’m going to have the money by the time you get out.”

He stares at me, then nods. “Good.”

Good.

God. Why does that hurt?

Why can’t I find the balls I’ve come to love so dearly and tell him to shove it? If it was anyone else, I would. So, why the hell can’t I do it with him?

Frustration grips my chest.

“What’s the job?”

I exhale. “Maid. Cleaning a massive mansion-like house. It’s really easy, and I can earn as much as I need, really.”

“Anything worth taking, maybe that’ll get the money quicker?”

I narrow my eyes. “I’m not stealing, Enzo. I’m not a damned thief.”

“Mansion would be full of good stuff; if you truly wanted to help me, you’d be looking at every option.”

“Listen,” I say, my voice firming up because stuff him. I’m a lot of things, but I’m not a criminal. I never have been, and I never will be. “You’re in here for another five months, understand? That debt isn’t touching you in here, it’ll only touch you when you get out. I said I’d have it paid by the time that happened, but I will not steal.”

His lips tighten, but he gives me a sharp nod. “Do whatever you want, just make sure it’s done. Have you spoken to Yolanda?”

“Why in the actual hell would I speak to her?”

He looks away and, for a split second, I’d almost say he looked a little guilty. But, after a moment, he looks back, face stony again. Does he actually feel bad about what he did, or has something else happened? Is he speaking to Yolanda, hell, are they starting some sort of relationship? That thought makes my chest clench and my stomach turn.

“Has she been visiting?” I ask, my voice harder than I would like.

He says nothing. “I was asking a question, Saskia, not looking to answer them.”

Jerk.

God damn it, why does this hurt so much?

Why in the hell can’t I just stop loving him?

Damn you, Enzo. Damn you.