Left for Wild - Harloe Rae Page 0,1

forced to come in there.” His sharp command is meant to rattle me. I’ve been here long enough to let the idle threats slide by.

With a roll of my shoulders, I set to making the bed. A quick yank to the blanket is all it takes. I spin around to face the door. “Better?”

His eyes narrow into slits. “I haven’t had enough coffee to deal with any shit.”

“Me either.” I hold up my palms.

He gives me a snort for that. “Always so damn clever.”

I keep my lips pressed together. The guards get some underlying thrill by toying with us. He’s talking to me for a reason, but ruining his fun won’t get me released from under his thumb any faster. Quite the opposite, really. We exchange a silent stare, his begging for mine to break. The delay drags on for another minute before he finally relents.

“That damn lawyer of yours is already causing a scene in the lobby. We made him wait until proper visitation hours. I’ve decided to be nice and let you meet with him early.”

“How very kind of you,” I mutter.

“I have my moments.” His retort resembles a sneer. “Ready to whine about your supposed innocence for the umpteenth time?”

“Damn straight.”

A quick jerk of his head. “Just a bunch of hot air.”

For him, maybe. This is my damn life wasting away. I’ll never quit fighting to get out.

“Arms where I can see them,” he barks.

I follow immediately, adopting the standard position protocol dictates. The mechanic buzz of disengaging locks gets me wired hotter than a punch to the gut. Corroded gears grind in protest and scrape against my nerves. Stepping out of this box is a hit of potent relief. I can almost taste the soothing balm sliding down my throat. But I school my features, giving nothing away.

The guard motions me forward. “Your hands are far from being clean, inmate.”

A snarl curls my upper lip. “I could say the same of you.”

He leans into me, way closer than necessary. “I’m not stupid enough to get caught.”

With a shove, he steers me toward the visitation area. A woman exits one of the private rooms in front of us. With hair the color of melted chocolate, she immediately catches my eye. Those cascading waves tumble around a pair of slender shoulders and shine under the harsh fluorescent lights. A grumble leaves me, from my stomach and parts below the waist. She’s a damn vision, one I have no right to see.

A deep inhale grants me a whiff of the sweetest smell. Her perfume prods at a faint memory of what nature smells like after a rainstorm. That fresh aroma chases away the ever-present and pungent stench of mold. She’s a calm breeze in the peak of summer, and turning me into a drooling hound.

The moment our gazes clash should’ve felt like an invasion. With a single glance into those bottomless baby blues, she strikes too deep. That’s a serious offense in our current surroundings. Any prolonged amount of eye contact could get a person shanked in the joint. But this woman is openly staring as if she doesn’t have a choice. I find myself ensnared in her flame just the same.

For her sake, this better be the one and only time she visits. Places like this tarnish anything pure and decent. She doesn’t belong within fifty miles of this toxic dump. I absently wonder what’s brought her by. That curiosity wiggles into my foggy thoughts as I continue to gawk. Her smile is shy and reaches the weak spots I keep hidden beneath the layers of scars. I want to return the grin, maybe tack on a wink, but exchanging flirty gestures is pointless. She’s a distraction I can’t afford. But I’m only human, and a starving man at that. I allow my gaze to linger for another beat, catching the tilt as her glossy lips tip higher. This woman is the type of trouble that wars begin over.

A slap to my back makes me stumble. “In your wet dreams, inmate. Pick your damn jaw up off the floor.”

The guard’s breath is hot on my neck. My first instinct is to shove him off me. It takes every ounce of inner strength to remain indifferent. I grind my molars and keep moving. “Not sure what you’re talking about.”

His laugh is lacking any trace of humor. “Chicks like her aren’t meant for you. That piece of hot ass will be mine later. I’ll be sure to tell you how

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