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Needless to say, it was understandable that he’d lose his shit when the person who was not only his partner but also his girlfriend, was murdered. The judges who had presided over his case had obviously agreed because they were very lenient, and it could’ve been a whole lot worse than it was.
Anyway, long story short, I knew the men and women who worked at this particular facility like they were my own family. All of them except for one very ornery man who refused to talk to me or open his freakin’ door.
Hence the reason I was where I was when I was.
I’d gotten some inside info from Murry, my favorite guard, that said Rome took lunch—for an hour and fifteen minutes—during this particular time of the day.
Smiling at the little informant, I walked straight to him. “Is he eating?”
Murry nodded his head, looking smug. “He is. I’ll buzz you back. Once you’re back there, follow the corridor, and Yates will buzz you in from there. Okay?”
I grinned. “Your secrets are safe with me, promise!”
Murry winked. “I’m glad seeing as Rome is twice my freakin’ size and could probably snap me like a toothpick.”
Murry was small, and when I say small, he was about five-foot-five inches of nothing. My right arm was bigger around than his thigh.
“If I’m not out in an hour, come looking for me, because he probably locked me up,” I teased.
Murry rolled his eyes. “He wouldn’t hurt you.”
Murry had been at the funeral. Hell, almost the entire B and C shifts had been—which were the shifts, apparently, that Rome worked.
Which explained why I hadn’t known that he was there since only the A shift worked on the days that I came to visit Slate.
Luckily, Murry was one of the ones that switched in between all the shifts and worked his ass off. He liked to buy expensive stuff that he couldn’t afford if he didn’t, meaning he knew me well.
The buzzer sounded, and I took a deep breath before letting it out slowly.
Then I went down the long hallway and hoped I wasn’t making the worst decision of my life.
***
Rome
I took a bite of my food and looked at the upcoming schedule.
If I worked this Friday, and next Monday, then I would be able to pick up the C shift for Knox, and the A shift for Sharif…
The door to the breakroom opened, and I looked up, surprised.
Nobody normally took lunch with me due to the fact that all sectors had to be covered at all times. And when one of us took our lunch break, that meant nobody else in this particular part of the prison could take theirs.
Only, instead of one of my fellow guards or an administrator coming in, it was the woman I’d been avoiding like the plague.
The scowl that overtook my face was nothing short of ferocious.
I’d been avoiding her, along with quite a few other people, for a long fuckin’ time, and I didn’t intend to start talking to them now.
I stood up, sandwich forgotten, and crossed my arms over my chest.
There was no hiding the fact that I wasn’t receptive to her being there.
I should’ve expected it, though.
Goddamn Murry for being such a soft-hearted man.
I should’ve known when he asked about my lunch schedule that he was trying to scheme.
“What are you doing here?” I asked. “I’m at work.”
Izzy snorted. “I know you are, numbnuts. I’m here because I knew you would be here.”
I gritted my teeth to keep the growl out of my voice.
“I don’t want you here,” I countered. “Nor do I want to talk about my feelings.”
I wanted to shoot myself in the foot more than I wanted to do that particular thing.
Plus, I knew that if I gave in, I’d rely on her way too much just like I did when Matias was dying, and I couldn’t do that—be that weak person—all over again.
I just didn’t want to be that reliant on someone.
She walked to the table and set down two things. One was a bag of what looked like food, and the other was a bag of what looked like papers—but since I couldn’t see in it due to the sack’s color, I couldn’t be a hundred percent sure.
“I brought you some lunch,” she said, taking a seat. “I hope you like tamales.”
I looked down at the broccoli and grilled chicken I’d brought for my own lunch and shook my head. “I brought my own lunch.”
She looked at my food with disgust.
“Don’t think I haven’t noticed that you’re working your ass off.” She looked pointedly at where my ass was, and I narrowed my eyes. “This is real food. Not that shit.”
She gestured to my food with a look of revulsion on her face.
“I’m not sure that my ass is any of your business,” I admitted, trying not to allow my amusement to show. “In fact, I know it’s not.”
