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“No, go away,” I said. My arms ached from holding the umbrellas, mainly because I was out of shape. Normally, I wouldn’t need them at all—I’d wave my hand, speak a word, and a shield would arch over my head and dispel the rain, no matter what it was made of. Even though my magic was blocked by the prison’s wards, I kept reaching for it. I was like someone dying of thirst who kept checking a water bottle they knew was empty.
Despite my words, the man stayed put like the fucking prison wall next to me. Why was he not leaving us alone? The last thing I needed was some asshole witnessing one of Juniper’s attempts to lure me out of prison. He’d probably squeal to the guards about it, and she’d end up in trouble. Keeping her out of prison was the sole reason I was here in the first place.
“What do you want?” I said.
He gestured to the rain, and a splotch of sperm hit his palm. He didn’t even cringe, as though he was used to having a handful of jizz. “I did want to run around the yard.”
“From me. What do you want from me?”
He quirked a brow. “Maybe I don’t want anything except to stand here and enjoy the weather with you and your beaver.”
“Everyone in here wants something.”
He grinned, and the mischievous glint in his eyes turned to a shrewd look as though he had switched masks. “You’re right. As much as I enjoy the banter we have going, I’m here on business. They say you’re the one who can break people out.”
My stomach twisted like the orgy dudes who could produce this much spunk. No one knew about Juniper’s repeated break-ins to try to break me out. At least, I had thought no one did. If this guy knew, who else did? Was my best friend in legal trouble because of me—again?
He glanced from the beaver to me. “Since you’re standing in magical rain, which shouldn’t be possible with the ward over the prison, holding umbrellas, which are banned, with a beaver, which makes no sense, I’m thinking they’re right about you. You’re something different.”
I narrowed my eyes. I was something different but not in the way he thought. “Who are they?”
He shrugged. “They, them, people.”
“I need to know.”
“Why?”
“So I can shiv them with Q-tips from the commissary.”
He raised a brow. “Q-tips aren’t sharp.”
“Neither are you if you can’t think of a way to use them as weapons.”
He grinned, wide and bright. “I like you. I’m Jag, by the way. Short for Jagmeet. And you are Alyssa.”
I tensed, because there was only one other person in this place who called me by my first name and not by the last name the guards were required to use and the other inmates loved to joke about. That meant that Jag had been talking to the most dangerous person here. The one who would absolutely fuck over my best friend Juniper, me, and everyone close to us if he knew about the break-ins.
My ex, Ramrod Johnson.
Not just my ex. He was also a former wannabe-supervillain who had plotted to steal the world’s magic.
“Are you staging a breakout now?” Jag asked, peering closely at me as though he could read a map to the prison tattooed on my face.
I scoffed. “I’ve been here for two years. If I could break out, why would I be in this shit hole?”
“Maybe the guards and walls aren’t keeping you in but keeping someone else out.”
I sneered. “What kind of mafia movie bullshit do you think is going on?”
“Look,” Jag said, “I’ll level with you. Me and my two buddies, we don’t belong here.”
“Everyone in prison says that.” Well, except for me. I deserved to be here. The only one who didn’t deserve it was poor Beverly and maybe Ri, but he had already been let out on parole.
“But I mean it. We were wrongfully convicted!”
“You haven’t meant a thing you’ve said this entire conversation.”
Jag shifted the spunk-laden newspaper over his head. “Not true. My name is Jag, and I do want chainsaw arms.”
