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I drive straight to my apartment, too angry to go back to the clubhouse. I don’t want to run into anyone who knows what’s going on. The shame is bad enough. I don’t want to see pity from any of my brothers.
Juliana is curled up on the couch, watching the news when I open the door. They’re still running a story about Meredith during the less-popular news hours. Apart from her arrest, things in Nola have been quiet the last few days. Juliana looks up at me and her face immediately clouds with concern.
“What’s wrong, amor?” she asks, standing up and walking over to me.
She puts her hands on either side of my face. I pull her against me, placing my lips firmly on hers, enjoying the way her body melts into mine. I’ll never get tired of it. But she pulls away and assesses me with a hard stare.
“What happened, Hex? You look like you’re ready to commit murder.”
I grab her hand and lead her to the couch. We sit down and I tell her everything that’s happened. I tell her about the shack and the dirty mattress and Pocus sensing Charlie’s fear even after she left. Juliana listens supportively and squeezes my hand as I talk. When I finish and take a breath, she pulls me in for another kiss.
“That’s a lot to deal with. What can I do? How can I make it better?”
I love Juliana for this and a million other reasons. When I make my request, I know she’ll consider it.
“They’ll find Charlie,” I say, more out of hope than confidence. “When they do, she won’t have anywhere to go. Not really. She can stay with Pocus for a while, but Abigail is due soon.”
“Okay,” Juliana says enthusiastically. She hasn’t let me finish.
“Okay?” I ask, suspicious. “You don’t even know—”
“I never wanted to have kids, Hex.” She squeezes my hand again. “After everything that happened to me, I just wanted to enjoy my life. But that little girl needs parents, Hex. She needs parents who can understand her gift. Who better than a once-dead woman and a man who sees ghosts?”
My face breaks into a wide smile. I pull her into another long, passionate kiss, my tongue tracing the bottom of her lip. She removes my shirt and unbuckles my pants. In a flash, we are naked, moving against each other in perfect harmony. I get lost in the ecstasy and the feeling of Juliana wrapped around my cock. Her moans pierce the silence of the room and we break apart together. I hold her tightly against me as we come down.
“We can’t do that when Charlie comes to live with us,” I murmur in her hair. “Are you sure you know what you’re agreeing to?”
“We have to keep her safe, amor,” she answers. “You and I are her best option.”
My head pounds, pulsating at a rhythm that turns my stomach. I feel the cold slab of concrete. I must have passed out on the floor of my cell. I don’t remember that, though. I don’t remember going back to my cell after Graveyard left. I don’t remember Graveyard leaving.
I try to bring my hands to my head to apply pressure to stop the irritating rhythm, but my hands are bound. I open my eyes slowly. I’m not in my cell at all. I’m in an office with a fake wood floor. The pattern on the grain makes my head spin. I shut my eyes again quickly, trying to steady my breathing.
I open my eyes and look down at my body, focusing on one thing at a time. I’m still in my orange jumpsuit. Ironically, that brings me some comfort right now. The last few days, I haven’t been able to look at myself in the mirror because I didn’t want to see it, but it’s the only familiar thing in this room.
Very slowly and carefully, I sit up and take deep breaths. A large desk is covered with a pile of messy papers. It’s nondescript, nothing to give me a hint of where I am. I’ve never been to the warden’s office, but why would I be there? He would’ve left me in my cell, not cuffed me and left me in the middle of his office.
Maybe if I can go to the desk, I can get a clue about whose office this is. I struggle slowly, but I can’t stand with my hands cuffed behind my back. The best I can manage is to get to my knees. The room spins around me. My head feels like it will split wide open if I keep moving, but I need to get a grasp on this situation. I need to get to that desk.
I crawl on my knees, inching closely. When I’m close enough, I grab a piece of paper with my teeth and drop it on the ground. It falls with a graceful flutter. I try to make out the words on the paper. It’s some sort of bill, but it tells me nothing. No name is on it, no address, only numbers and a total.
I try to grab something else with my teeth when I hear someone moaning in pain. I freeze, terrified, realizing I’m not alone in this room. Panicked, I wonder if I should hide and get away from this person. But there’s nowhere to hide and I’m vulnerable. My best tactical advantage is to surprise them and get the jump on them.
I crawl very carefully to the other side of the desk. All I see at first are shoes, but as I get closer, I realize it’s Graveyard. Shit. I don’t remember him leaving because he didn’t leave. A grainy image starts to play in my head of him falling and collapsing to the ground. I inch my way closer and spot dried blood next to his shoulder. That’s right, he’d been shot. How much blood has he lost?
I try to nudge him with my knee. “Graveyard.”
He moans again, weakly, but doesn’t open his eyes. Shit, this is bad. He’s lost too much blood. He could be dying. He’s the one who’s supposed to prevent medical emergencies, not be one.
“Graveyard!” I whisper more urgently, moving to a sitting position and kicking him gently. “You have to wake up.” Tears spring to my eyes. “Please. Don’t leave me!”
He moans again and turns his head to the side, away from me, of course. I get closer and bend my head down, trying to listen to his breathing. The sound is weak and shallow. He needs help soon. God, where the hell are we?
I try to wake him again when I hear the sound of footsteps coming toward us. A key slides into a lock. I hear the gears turn slowly. My heart races in fear and anticipation, not wanting to know who’s taken us hostage. But I do know, deep down inside of me. I can see it in my memories now. Graveyard collapsed. He was standing behind him, holding a needle.
I’ve been running from him for four years. I don’t want to face him alone. Tears fill my eyes, but there’s no time left. The door swings open, and he steps into the room. He stops at the doorway. I feel him looking for me. I’m hidden behind the large desk, but with a few steps, he’s found me.
He’s behind me, but I don’t have to look to know it’s him. I feel it in the way my blood runs cold, in the way my heart clenches in fear. I turn my head slightly to take him in in my peripheral.
