From his observations, Jaxon had learned that the only way to capture someone’s attention was to lay down the law and not consent to anybody. He’d watched a man get picked up by a gang for starting fights, and the funny thing was he was a shit fighter. Jaxon, on the other hand, was not.

After seeing this, he partook in many one on one fights. If someone pushed him, he beat them to a pulp. If someone even looked at him, they were down on the ground, spitting blood from their mouths as he pounded into them. It was survival of the fittest in this sick cesspool of a place and he was going to be the damn fittest of them all.

His last fight had earned him a week in the “hole.” He riled a gang up, and while he’d managed to tackle a few men down, the entire gang had eventually pounced on him. And then, amid one very painful beat down, every gang exploded around him. Ten minutes later and the yard had descended into chaos.

Unfortunately, the guards had witnessed the whole thing, and being unable to bribe them with anything, he’d earned himself a week of isolation. But it didn’t fuss him so much. He knew this had bridged the gap somehow. He’d proven his balls were big, he just hoped he was approached quickly before that same gang put him in his grave.

“What are you in here for, kid?” Finley asked.

Jaxon, still looking away, said, “Some bullshit drug charges.”

It was important to be vague. He wouldn’t tell him he was innocent. He wouldn’t tell them a damn thing. He preferred to let them figure him out based on their own interpretation.

“I don’t like drugs,” Finley responded in distaste. “I’m a businessman. I wouldn’t work with that stuff with my own hands outside of here. Would you?”

“To be honest, I don’t give a fuck anymore what I do,” Jaxon answered, and that was strangely the truth.

The man smiled. “You play the tough act well, but you performed the way you did last week because you’re desperate.”

Jaxon couldn’t resist looking at him now, and he glowered.

“I admire what you did, though,” Finley continued, ignoring Jaxon’s defensiveness. “You’re a damn good fighter. Quick and soundless. I’ve seen the way you move. You’re experienced. I’m looking for someone like you. I got shit that needs to get done within these walls, and I need someone I can count on. I’ve got too many guys occupied and a position available. I may not like handling drugs, but that’s business in these walls that makes the most income. Since you’re Mr Druggie, I imagine that doesn’t bother you at all.”

Jaxon didn’t respond. He just waited for the proposition that he knew was coming. The man was going to make him into an errand boy. He knew the drill. If he did what he was told and did it well, he’d be welcomed in.

Then the question that stumped him came.

“Just how far are you willing to go for your protection?”

Jaxon didn’t know what he was capable of. All he wanted to do was live until he was free again. He was fucking empty on the inside. His heart had been cut clean out of his chest and the girl had taken off without a word; his friend had betrayed him and didn’t even serve jail time; a police officer of the law had planted evidence against him and he had no idea why… His life was fucked. He didn’t have a reason to live anymore.

Except for Lucinda. She had been there for him through thick and thin and never doubted his innocence for a second.

How far would he go for her?

The answer came out tasting bitter on his tongue. “As far as it takes.”            

Thirteen

He had moved on. It had been a hard image to swallow, but it happened; my worst fear had been realized. The shock was still there, migrating from one brain cell to the next, trying to work through what this meant.

If he could do it, so could I.

I spent the days that followed painstakingly making more of an effort to be there for Remy. I kissed him more and tried to feel every inch of his torso in the process. Surely the more I did it, the more my body would grow to wanting his.

I fought every day the guilt that always surfaced, but the image of that woman with Jaxon… It filled me with turmoil and the perseverance to try harder with Remy. He took it slow. Very, very slow.

When a few weeks passed, his hands explored me, roaming up and down my body, trailing his fingers in the valley between my breasts, over the slants of my collar bone, then back down the curves of my body and to my thighs. One night, I’d shook so hard my teeth chattered from the need. When this happened, he always pulled away and tucked me into his chest, murmuring sweet words into my ear.

I quickly caught on to what was happening. He wanted to build me up until I couldn’t take any more of it. Until I begged him to have all of me.

“Are you gonna let me in?” he’d ask frequently.

My silence was answer enough for him. I wasn’t going to let him in. No matter how heavy the need for him was, the apprehension still lingered on the surface, fighting against my body.

That didn’t knock him back. He pushed the boundaries that said, if I can’t have inside of you, I’ll take what I can. So he’d build me up and leave me aching for more until I needily kissed him, searching for satiation through our mouths and knowing it would never be enough.

Emotion ranging from good to bad burst through me, and all I wanted to do was cry in guilt at liking this and wanting more of it. My heart was taken. It was taken, taken… and yet he was creating something else within me, a separate heart that was reserved especially for him. I hated him. I loved him. Goddamn his patience, his protectiveness, his overall desperate attachment to me that I’d grown to depend on. Damn him. Damn him…

“You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen,” he’d say to me in the quiet of the night. Sometimes I didn’t even think he knew I was listening. “I just want you.”

And I… I wanted him, but not in the way he did. I may not have been using him sexually, but I wondered if I’d subconsciously been using him emotionally. He was desperate to have me, and I was desperate to fill the ache.

Melancholy churned my insides as I thought of the three men that had captured me in some way. Three very different men with very different purposes. One was love. The other lust. And the third… the third was need.

*****

Most days I thought about the mole.