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“Of… tracking them.”
“Yeah.” She tucks her blonde hair behind her ears. “Okay, it sounds insane. And it wasn’t entirely consensual at the time…”
Huh.
But that has me wondering if Jacob’s ever considered putting a tracker on or inme. He fucks me when I sleep, what’s to stop him from doing something else? Something less… erotic. And if he hasn’t, even with the opportunity, why not?
I laugh.
Violet raises her eyebrow, and I shake my head.
“I found myself being a little upset that Jake hasn’t gone to such extraordinary lengths,” I explain. “Which is ridiculous.”
“Yeah, well, love has a weird way of getting under our skin like that.”
My smile drops. “I’m not in love.”
“Oh. Okay.”
No, really.
There’s a phantom voice in my ear. It yells as I cower back against a wall. For a split second, I’m ice-cold.
And then it’s gone.
“Are you okay?”
I rub my arms and ignore Violet’s concerned expression. “Totally fine. That’s our car.”
We get in, and it takes off for Stone Ridge. We ride in comfortable quiet. It’s a forty-five-minute trek out of the city, and the driver chats quietly to someone through a Bluetooth earpiece in another language.
Violet’s beautiful. We talk about her ballet career and the company she’s currently dancing with as a soloist. She briefly touches on the abduction, and the way Greyson came for her. She speaks about him with love in her gaze. But not just that. It’s like she glows with it, and that’s what I don’t understand.
Finally, the driver pulls into the prison’s driveway. He stops in front of it, and he shoots away as soon as the doors close behind us. We stare at his taillights quickly disappearing, and I shrug.
“They might not let me in,” she says.
“They will.” I just need to channel Jacob’s authority. He makes things happen, and so can I. So when I walk in and give my name to the guard, and tell him we’ll be seeing my father, it checks out. Dad said I was on his approved visitor’s list, and here we are. Approved.
We slide our IDs over, and Violet has to fill out extra paperwork. Once that’s done, we’re shuffled in with the others waiting to visit. A guard opens one of the doors and calls out loud instructions. No phones. No contact after an initial hug. All visitors are subject to inspection upon leaving the area.
I exchange a glance with Violet and follow the surge of people through the doors. We leave our phones in little lockers outside the visiting room.
“I don’t know what he looks like,” I whisper to her.
My belly erupts with butterflies. Not the good kind that I experience with Jacob. Fear-inducing butterflies that make me want to throw up.
“He knows you,” she whispers.
Right.
We walk in and take seats on one side of a round table. The stools are attached to the center of the table, and everything is bolted to the floor. We wait, everyone waits, for the far doors to open.
A buzzer precedes the inmates. A guard comes through first, stepping aside and watching the room. Then a beige-jumpsuit-clad inmate strolls through. He’s got tattoos on his neck and face. But he spots whoever is here to see him, and the scary expression is replaced with a smile.
Okay.
It’s okay.
