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“Stop it,” I scream. “Leave him alone.”
Bruce grunts as fists fall on his stomach and ribs. A vicious blow splits his eyebrow open. I can’t watch any more. My legs buckle. Sobbing, I fall to my knees. Maxime’s grip moves to my hair. His fingers fasten in the bun I always wear to work. Pulling my head back, he forces me to meet his eyes.
“Are you ready to have a conversation now?”
“Please, stop,” I say through my tears. “I’ll tell you what you want to know.”
He picks up the phone, flicks a finger over the screen, and says, “Give it a break.”
After pocketing the phone, he takes my elbows to help me to my feet. Gently almost, he wipes the tears from my cheeks. “It doesn’t have to be like this. It can be as easy or difficult as you make it.” He pushes me down onto the couch.
Teeth chattering, I scoot into the corner, getting as far away from him as I can.
“Stay there,” he says.
He goes to the kitchen. The pipes creak as he opens the tap. A moment later, he returns with a glass of water, which he pushes into my hand.
“Drink,” he says.
I take a sip on autopilot, even if I’m not thirsty.
He sits down so close to me our bodies touch. “Let’s have that little chat. Are you and Damian close?”
I nod, unable to stop the tears running down my cheeks.
“Shh.” He threads his fingers through my hair, massaging my scalp. A pin comes loose and drops into my lap. “Do you visit him in jail?”
I shake my head.
“Use your voice, Zoe.”
The word comes out on a croak. “No.”
“Good. You’re doing well.” He twists a lock of hair that came free from my bun around his finger. “Why not?”
“He doesn’t want me to visit.”
“Why’s that?”
“He doesn’t want me around the people doing time with him. He says they’re dangerous, and they won’t hesitate to use me against him.”
It’s tough surviving on the inside. Damian doesn’t tell me what happens, but one of my friends dated a warden. The stories she told me gave me nightmares.
“Wise guy.” He takes the glass from me and leaves it on the coffee table. “A prison full of hard, unscrupulous men is definitely not a place for a beautiful, young woman.”
“Damian is innocent.” I look into Maxime’s cool gaze. “He didn’t deserve that sentence. Whatever you think he did, he didn’t do it.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“He told me. I believe him. I know Damian. He didn’t steal that diamond. Someone planted it on him.”
“What kind of contact do you have? Do you call?”
“He says the phones are bugged. I write.”
He lifts a brow. “Letters aren’t monitored?”
“Damian knows the wardens in charge of reading the letters. They’re safe. Besides, I don’t share personal information.”
“What do you write about, then?”
“My job.” I shrug. “Everyday life.”
“You mean your lack of a life.”
My cheeks heat with more helpless anger. “You’re an asshole.”
“If you’re so close, why doesn’t he take care of his little sister?”
I glare at him. “How is he supposed to do that from a jail cell? Besides, I’m capable of taking care of myself.”
He casts a glance around the room. “I’ve noticed.”
“Times are hard for everyone.” Dragging my gaze over his expensive suit, I add, “Well, not everyone. The thugs seem to thrive.”
“Don’t be so defensive, and it’ll be wise to watch your tone with me. Do I need to remind you of the consequences of bad behavior?”
Tears choke me up when I think about Bruce. My answer is bitter. “No.”
“Has Damian mentioned his plans for after his release?”
“He still has six of the ten-year-sentence to go.” My heart hurts when I say it. “What plans can he make?”
“He never told you anything about acquiring a mine?”
“Are you joking? A mine must cost millions.”
“Billions.” Almost absent-mindedly, he rubs the stray strand of my hair between his fingers. “Did Damian tell you about money making schemes he’s running in jail?”
“No.” Unease starts digging into my gut. “Why? What is he involved in?”
He drops my hair. “Nothing. Just checking. Have you met any of his fellow inmates?”
“I told you, he doesn’t want me to.”
“Does the name Zane da Costa ring a bell?”
“He’s Damian’s cellmate, but that’s all I know.”
Getting up, he extends a hand. “I think you’re telling the truth, but I’d like to see his letters.”
I let him pull me to my feet. “There are no letters. Damian never writes back.”
“Why not?”
“The wardens who read the outgoing letters aren’t the same ones in charge of incoming mail. Damian doesn’t trust them. He doesn’t like them to know about my existence.”
“What about photos? You must have some more of your brother.”
I don’t want to give him more information he can use against Damian. I don’t want him to witness our poverty growing up. “Those are private.”
