Into the Nothing (Broken Outlaw Series Book 1) (32 page)

“Nothing, my ass. You just asked if I’m going to see
him
again. Who the fuck did you mean by
him
?”

He nervously picks at his arm, his eyes on the floor.“Xander, the fucking murderer,” he blurts out. “What in the world are you doing seeing him anyways?”

“How do you know about that? I’ve told
no one
. Not even Brandi. How do you know?”

“I’ll leave you alone. I just misspoke.” He tries to walk out, but I stand in front of the door.

“None of this ‘misspoke’ bullshit. Tell me now, Ethan, or I’ll never talk to you again. I swear to God.”

“Listen, I just don’t want anything to happen to you, Paige.”

“So what, then, you watch me?” I can’t hide my revulsion. I can feel my lips curl back in disgust.

“Not all the time. Only when I’m concerned for your safety. I’m protecting you, Paige.” He takes my hand and tries to pull me toward him. “I’ve always protected you,” he says in an almost whisper.

I push him off and his back slams into the counter.

“Get the fuck out, Ethan!” I point my finger to the door, noticing my father still hasn’t moved a muscle. At first, neither does Ethan. He just looks at me wide-eyed as if he’s a little kid being scolded by his mother.

“Paige, I just want what’s best for you.”

“Get. Out,” I say once more, opening the door for him this time.

“Paige…”

“Now!”

Dad stirs in his sleep, which scares Ethan enough to leave. I shut the door quickly and lock it.

I spent about an hour in the shower cleansing myself of that wretched conversation. I’ve always known Ethan was into me, but nothing like that has ever happened between us. He tried to kiss me once long ago, and I hit the brakes on that really fast. It’s hard to believe with everything I have going on in my life, he would choose now to pull this shit. I can’t let it bother me though. I’m going to see Xander in just a few minutes, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little excited. Even if he will be in a hospital bed.

Xander looks bad, though not as bad as I thought he would after talking to him on the phone. But still pretty fucking bad. Both arms are in casts and his sunken eyes are black and blue. Gauze is wrapped around his forehead. He smiles weakly as I approach. I start to cry and he shakes his head just barely, but it still causes him noticeable pain. It makes me want to cry that much more.

“No crying, lady. I’m good.” A guard stands close by, and it makes me uncomfortable and a little embarrassed for shedding tears. I try my best to fight the feeling.

“You don’t look too good.”

He laughs and then grimaces in obvious pain. He takes my hand into his the best he can, pulling me closer.

“I don’t feel too good,” he says with another feeble smile. I can’t help but feel awful for him. The look in his eyes—it’s the same sweet look I remember. Genuine. Kind. Honorable. He’s no killer. He can’t be. My mother’s words come immediately into focus.

The eyes tell the truth.

“How did you get me in here? Is this even allowed?” I scan the hospital ward. Hospital beds line either side of the room, and only a few of them are occupied. Handcuffs prevent the patients from leaving their beds. My eyes land on Xander, who only has his feet cuffed to the bed frame.

I’m overcome with sadness. To see him here and to feel like he doesn’t belong… it’s heartbreaking.

“No, not usually. But I gave the warden what he’s been trying to get for awhile. Got to see Twitch, too.”

“He’s your cellmate, right?”

“Yeah. He saved my fucking life.” Tears begin to well in his eyes. “Saved me from a lot.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m good. I haven’t felt good in a while. But I’m starting to.” He lifts both casts in the air. “Two fractured arms.” He motions to his head. “Concussion, fractured orbital. That one was the worst.” He shakes his head, but he’s got a half smile on his face. “They missed all my vital organs with the shank by three fucking millimeters.”

“Damn.” It’s all I can muster.

“Yeah, but it could have been a lot worse. And being in here”—he scans the room—“isn’t so bad.”

“Well, I’m just so happy you’re alive. And that Twitch was there to help.”

“Yeah, me too. I don’t remember much of it. But he and the Warden filled me in.” Xander pauses and takes a deep breath. “Motherfucker tried to rape me. And he fucking could have. I had four guys holding me down. I couldn’t process a lot of what happened after they slammed my head into the concrete.” He looks to the walls in thought, as if fighting to find the words. “But I guess Twitch intervened before anything could happen. Beat the ever-lovin’ shit out of all fucking five of them. And the guy that tried”—he swallows hard, unable to look me in my eyes—“to do that shit, Twitch nearly fucking ended his life.”

There is a quiet stillness between us for a moment before he continues. “Have you found out anything else, Paige? Please tell me you have.”

I look back over at the guard, who has his back against the wall and head down. I don’t know why talking about it makes me nervous. Shit, this entire place makes me nervous. The prison hospital isn’t as bad as the prison itself, but it’s not far off either.

“No … not yet. But I’ll keep looking. I did find out that Caleb’s mixed in with Benji and Russ. I thought maybe he was on drugs for a long time now, but I never expected this. I think he’s dealing. I have no doubt he’s using too.” I shake my head, unsettled by the whole situation. “I didn’t find out much else because I got scared and left.”

“I’m sorry, Paige. I should’ve never had you out there. This is my battle to face. You don’t deserve to be caught up in it.” He stretches as far as he can, and taking my hand, he brings it to his lips and kisses my palm, just like we used to do with each other so long ago. I don’t want to like it, because there’s still so much I don’t know and still so many questions left unanswered. But the thing is I do like it. I like it a lot. And the moment his lips touch my palm, so many familiar feelings completely overwhelm me.

He looks at me inquisitively, perhaps taking in the complete and utter uncertainty I’m projecting or the fresh dose of tears that run freely down my cheeks.

“Paige.” He swallows hard, looking me dead in my eyes. “Do you still think I did it? In your heart, do you?” His eyes are pleading with me. I don’t want to cause him pain, but the truth is, I don’t know what to think…or what to believe. I want to trust what he says, and every day I’ve seen him since we reconnected I’ve noticed more and more of the old Xander show through, but a few weeks of reconnection can’t erase three plus years of pain. Sorry Xander, I don’t know a goddamn thing in this life anymore.

“No, Xander. I don’t think you did it. I really don’t.” Tears begin to roll down my cheek, and he tries to gently wipe them with his casts. It makes me cry even harder.

“Xander…” The corrections officer approaches, pointing to his wristwatch.

“Alright, boss. Thanks.” He looks to me and grabs my hand again. He gives it a light squeeze.

“Will you come see me again?” he asks, his eyes desperate and pleading.

“Of course.”

“Promise?” Another kiss to the palm.

“Promise.”

He brings my hand to his lips and kisses my palms once more. As I walk away from him, the tears streaming harder than ever, I’m hit with a powerful and undeniable feeling that there’s no way this man is a murderer.

There’s just no way.

I
t’s been twenty minutes since my brother left the apartment. It’s the first time in two weeks he hasn’t brought his backpack with him. He’s hard enough to track as it is, spending most of his time sleeping, or out doing whatever it is he does in the middle of the night.

It takes a few shoulder heaves to bust his bedroom door from its lock, but lucky for me, we live in a dirt cheap apartment complex. The doors are paper thin. It’s also a good thing my dad’s a heavy sleeper.

If Caleb has nothing in his room, I’ll apologize, but I have a feeling I’ll find something. He’s showing all the signs.

I look around the room first, but I don’t see his backpack. I look under his bed…still nothing. I slide open the closet doors, and though I still don’t see it, I do notice a large, beat-up chest, secured with a padlock.

After grabbing some bolt cutters from the utility closet, I pull the chest out and then cut the lock, tossing it to the side. I flip each metal clasp up and the chest lid creaks open slowly. My hands tremble. My pulse races.

The very first thing I see is the backpack. I pull it out and open it carefully. I find exactly what I expected. Inside are hundreds of tiny little bags with white powder in them, along with a wad of filthy cash. There’s also a needle, spoon and a lighter.

I can’t tell if I’m sad or angry, but I’m shaking all over. I take a moment to collect my thoughts, so impossibly worried for my brother and scared he may be too far gone. And I’m so very angry at his complete disregard.

I put the backpack to the side and reach into the chest to pull out a large duffle bag. When I open it up, I see a half dozen or so notebooks. I pick them up and set them down next to the backpack, then take the first one off the top. Flipping it open to a random entry, I begin to read.