Melancholy
“Ready?” I ask, reaching into my jeans and pulling out a cigarette. I light it, taking deep drags and letting the burning smoke fill my lungs to calm me, before dropping it. Fuck. Here goes.
“Yeah,” Krypt grunts, shooting me a hostile glare.
He’s furious at me, I already know he is, but there isn’t time to go over it right now. I need him beside me, and he fuckin’ knows it. He can throw a fuckin’ tantrum later, when this shit isn’t so raw.
“Let’s do this.”
We go through intense security just to get in for a visit. We’re scanned, felt, asked basic questions, and sent through metal and drug detectors. We’re not allowed to wear our colors in the prison, so we’re in basic clothes. When security is done, we’re lead through cramped halls and given angry glares as we make our way to the visitors’ room. We’re here to see Kennedy. It’ll be the first time I lay eyes on the man who fucked my girl’s life.
“Second booth,” the guard barks. “Two of you only.”
“I’ll sit here,” Tyke says, nodding at a chair.
I jerk my chin at him, and then turn to Krypt. “Don’t say anythin’ unless you need to, got me?”
He nods. “I fuckin’ know how it works, Maddox.”
“I know that, boy,” I hiss, leaning closer. “But you’re goin’ to fuckin’ humor me anyway.”
He shoots me an angry glare, but doesn’t argue further. We walk to the second booth and sit down. It’s a basic communication center. Bullet-proof glass, ensuring we can’t access the prisoner on the other side. Phones—two on my side, one on his. Nothing more. No pens. No papers. Nothing.
We sit for five minutes before two guards appear holding onto a prisoner. I stare at the man, shocked. Not what I expected. Fuck, not what I expected at all. Aside from his prison outfit, he is the meaning of sophistication. Salt and pepper hair, eyes the color of champagne, a chiseled jaw, and straight posture. In a suit, he’d be the perfect lawyer.
I expected a roughed up, tattooed bastard. Not this. Definitely not this. He sits down, meeting my expression and a slow smirk appears on his lips as he reaches out, lifting the phone. Krypt and I do the same.
“Well well,” he says, his voice a low, professional purr. “I’ve wondered what you’re like. After I heard who you were, it got me curious.”
“Yeah,” I grunt. “Ditto.”
He drums his fingers casually on the bench. “How can I help you, Maddox?”
“You know exactly why I’m here, Kennedy. Don’t play coy with me. I’m not goin’ into details,” I say, flicking my eyes to the guard standing in the corner. “But you know what I want.”
“And you know what I wanted,” he lets his eyes flick around behind me, “but she isn’t here . . .”
“Santana doesn’t wanna see you.”
He narrows his eyes. “See, you’re lying now. I know that’s not true. If you’ve told her the truth then you and I both know she wouldn’t ignore me, because she knows I’m the only one who knows what happened to Pippa.”
Fucker is right, and he knows it.
“She’s...” I can’t tell him she doesn’t know. “In a bad way right now. She ain’t ready.”
He laughs, low and throaty. “You haven’t told her yet, have you, biker?”
Then the fucker tuts at me.
“Poor Tanie. And to think she probably trusts you.”
“Don’t fuckin’ call her that, and you ain’t no better than me, asshole. Leavin’ her to die.”
He flinches. “I never wanted to hurt her. I loved her. She was precious to me in a way you can never understand. I wanted to see her, and you didn’t bring her to me.”
“I said I’d get her to you, and I will,” I lie. “But first I want to talk.”
He stares lazily at me. “About what?”
“Where is Pippa?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
My jaw grinds. “You want to see that girl, Kennedy, you’ll tell me what I need to know.”
“She’ll see me regardless.”
I lean forward, and even though it really does nothing in regards to threatening him or making him feel intimidated, I do it anyway. “See, that’s where you’re wrong. Santana and I . . . we’re lovers, she’s my old lady, which means if I don’t want her to come here, I’ll make sure she doesn’t.”
His face pinches, and something truly broken washes over his expression. “You’re a liar.”
“Am I? How much are you willing to bet on that? After all, it was me in her bed last night. You tell me what I want, Kennedy, or I’ll make sure she never steps foot in this prison.”
His jaw ticks. “Peter Caler.”
I tilt my head to the side, giving him an expression to encourage him on.
“Find and speak to him. He has some information you’ll need. I’m not giving anything else until I see the girl.”
He won’t either, I can see it in his eyes.
“Fine, then we’re done here until next time.”
“Better hurry, biker,” he says, a slow smirk appearing on his face. “You ain’t the only club lookin’ for Pippa.”
Then he slams the phone and stands, and my world fuckin’ spins.
CHAPTER TWENTY