Thorn: Carter Kids #2 (9 page)

“It doesn’t matter anymore,” I hissed through clenched teeth. Hell fucking yes I still loved her, but I wasn’t the type of guy who talked openly about my feelings. Christ, before Thorn, I wouldn’t have thought I had feelings to talk about. “It’s in the past.”

“It’s the only thing that matters,” he corrected. “And the past is never in the past. It’s always waiting in the wings, ready to swoop in and fuck up the present,” he muttered and after a pause added, “I’d bet my last cigarette she’s the reason you’re in this wonderful establishment.”

“It’s not her fault,” I shot back defensively, tensing up. “I was a fuck up long before I met her.” Shaking my head, I let out a sigh and asked, “Why are you bringing this shit up, man?”

“Because when I look at you, it’s like I’m looking at the eighteen-year-old version of myself.”

Even though I was pissed as hell at him for bringing up my business, I didn’t dare open my mouth and say so. Lucky was as closed off as I was. It wasn’t an everyday occurrence that the guy spoke about himself, and I wanted to hear what he had to say.

The bunk shifted and squeaked in protest as he climbed down. “I’m gonna tell you a little story, Messina,” he announced, “from one lovesick fool to another.”

The moonlight flooding in from the tiny bar covered window in our cell illuminated his profile and I watched as he walked over to our small desk, and hoisted himself on top of it before taking a deep drag of his cigarette and exhaling heavily. “I fell for this chick from my hometown,” he began to explain. “Fell real fucking hard. Her daddy was a cop, one of the good guys. Shit, back then,
I
was one of the good guys,” he chuckled, flicking the ash from his cigarette before taking another drag. “We’d dated all through high school and I was in deep, Messina. Real fucking deep...” His eyes glazed over and his voice trailed off.

Exhaling heavily, I sat up and grabbed my cigarettes from under my pillow. “You don’t have to tell me shit, Lucky,” I told him as I sparked up. “It’s cool, man. I understand.”

“The night I was arrested, I had the ring in my jeans pocket,” he told me in a quiet tone, ignoring my words. “Was on my way to pick her up at her dorm – Hayley was a freshman at the time...” His voice broke off then, it was the first time I had ever heard him quiver, and when he spoke again, I felt like I had been sucker punched in the chest.

“When I let myself into her room all I could hear was the sound of her crying weakly…begging for mercy and calling my name. Her blood,” he whispered. “It was everywhere. Smeared all over the sheets. The walls. The fucking carpet. Her clothes had been ripped from her body… by the bastard standing over her zipping up his pants.”

“Jesus Christ,” I choked out, not knowing what to say.

“I killed a man that night, Messina. With my own bare hands,” he growled. “And in doing so, I wasted the last moments I would ever have with her.”

“She died?”

“He fucking butchered her,” he confirmed coldly. “And I butchered him while my girl was taking her last breath in this world.”

“Lucky,” I whispered. “I’m so damn sorry.”

“I got eleven years,” he said after a moment. “Would’ve been a helluva a lot more but her father had pull and I was convicted of manslaughter instead. And I’ve been here ever since. Existing.”

Rubbing a hand down my face, I struggled to take it all in. “Why did you tell me all of that, man?”

Dropping his cigarette butt in the sink, he jumped down from the desk and stretched his arms over his head. “Because my girl’s dead, Messina, and I aint ever getting her back. But it’s not over for
you
,” he told me passionately. “Look, I’ve got another six years in this place so it looks like we’ll be seeing this out together. It would be nice to have an ally.”

“You want me as an ally?” I asked, watching his climb back up on his bunk.

“I’ve got a good feeling about you, Noah Messina,” he chuckled. “Now shut the fuck up and get some sleep.”

I didn’t sleep a wink that night.

Instead, my mind went through Lucky’s admission over and over until the sun rose and the lights were turned back on.

It’s not over for you,
he had told me, and Christ, I wanted to believe him.

More than anything.

THIS PLACE WAS A LIVING, BREATHING HELL.

Even now, twelve months later, I hadn’t gotten used to my surroundings; if I was being honest, I didn’t think I ever would. Time crawled by. I had too much time to think – to fucking torture myself with what ifs. Like what if I had gotten on that plane with Teagan and never went to the quarry? We’d be in Ireland now, and I would be lying beside her and not four concrete walls.

All I had was myself.

All I could work on was my body.

Growing it.

Strengthening it.

Preparing for the trouble that I knew was lurking behind every damn corner.

I wasn’t a virgin to bloodshed, but I’d lost count of the number of times I had a rib busted in this place. Fucking vultures were the reason I kept a blade in my toothbrush.

But I was running out of time.

I followed the line of inmates as the guards rounded us up and led us into the visiting room like a goddamn herd of cattle. I watched, emotionless, as the guys in front of me filed into the visiting room, claiming tables that were filled with people who loved them.

I didn’t have any family waiting on me in here. I didn’t have a disappointed father, or a heartbroken mother to look forward to seeing every Thursday afternoon. I didn’t have a horny wife, saddled down with half a dozen of my kids.

I scanned the room for the one person I could stand the sight of these days, and when I found him sitting alone in the far corner of the room, I went straight for him.

“Anything?” I asked the minute I sat down; my hands twitching on the table in front of me and my knees bopping restlessly underneath.

Tommy Moyet stared at me for a long time before letting out a heavy sigh. “Sorry, man,” he mumbled. “I’ve sent over fifty emails, but Hope isn’t responding.”

I let my head drop forward, my chin almost touching my chest, as I struggled to reign in my raging emotions. The visiting room was packed full of fuckers who didn’t need to see me break down. Dammit to hell, one weak moment in this place could cost me my life.

“Tommy, I need you to do something for me,” I said in a hushed tone, hating what I was about to ask my only friend to do.

“Anything, man, you know that,” he replied without hesitation.

Leaning forward, I kept my voice low enough so that Tommy was the only one who could hear me – and not the bastard at the next table. “I need you to get a message to Low.”

Tommy frowned. “Okay…but can’t you just phone him?”

I shook my head. “There are too many eyes and ears in this place,” I muttered. “It’s not safe.”

His blue eyes widened in fear. “What do you want me to tell him?”

I leaned forward and kept my face down when I spoke, so our conversation wasn’t lip-read. “Tell him Angelo Javi was transferred to my block last week and he knows who I am – what I did to his brother.”

I knew I could count on Lucky to have my back, and if I told him about Javi and his gang, he would back me up without a second’s hesitation, but I wasn’t involving him in my bullshit.

No fucking way.

Shoving my chair back, I stood up and stared down at my best friend for what could be the last time. “Tell him I need him to call Teagan and tell her I love her and I’m sorry. And tell him… tell him I’m a dead man.”

“Noah!” Tommy called out as I walked away from him, but I didn’t turn around.

I couldn’t.

Angelo Javi had pull in this place, and I was a sitting duck.

I needed to get back to my cell before visiting time was over and I was cornered in a fucking corridor with those guys.

I needed a fucking miracle.

I FELT LIKE A TOTAL CREEPER
as I opened the lid of Hope’s laptop and scrolled through her emails from her family members – desperate for news. Today was one of the rare days she had left her laptop at home instead of taking it to University with her.

Hell, today was one of the rare occasions Hope actually
left
the apartment.

Most days she remained holed up in her bedroom.

Her reasons for avoiding the real world was always the same old excuses; she was either working on a story she was writing, or she was tired. But I knew better.

Hope wasn’t dealing with her breakup with Jordan.

One year on, and she was more withdrawn than ever and avoided contact with everyone. In the beginning, when we first came to Ireland, Hope had been my rock to lean on. But now, the only time she went out was when she had a class.

She hadn’t made any new friends at school, and the friends I had made in my Sports, Fitness and Nutrition class at the local PLC had to drag conversation out of her when we all hung out.

Even Liam, who moved down to Cork last September to study SF&N with me, couldn’t bring her around. She remained standoffish, uninterested in spending time with anyone other than her imaginary characters and her memories of Jordan.

I scrolled through her inbox and trash until I found an unread email from Tommy Moyet, of all people, in her junk folder.

Bingo.