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I look at Pruitt. He’s not smiling anymore.
Yeah. You’re on my list too, motherfucker.
* * *
I get my phone call at seven. Fifteen minutes, recorded line. She picks up on the first ring.
“Hi, baby.”
And just like that, I can fully breathe again. Her voice. Fuck… sweet, warm, a little husky, and I can tell she’s smiling. I close my eyes and lean my forehead against the wall. I’ve been holding this shit in for twelve hours, two words from my mate, and it all drains out of me.
“Hi, love.”
A pause.
“You sound tired.”
I sigh. “Long day.”
“Mm.” I hear her moving around. A cabinet. A glass. She’s in her kitchen. I’ve never seen her kitchen, and I’d give a fucking year off my life to be standing in it right now, behind her, with my hands on her hips and my face in her hair. “I saw on the news last night there was a fire. Some bar, downtown.”
“Yes.”
She breathes out. “Is it over?”
“No.”
“Okay.” A little shakier. But she doesn’t argue. She asked, I answered. That’s our deal. “Thank you.”
“Always, wife.” I draw a deep breath. “Zahra. Someone came to see me today. Someone who doesn’t like me very much.” I wait a beat. “He knew your name.” Silence. “I don’t want you scared, sweetheart. I want you careful. You don’t go anywhere alone. Not the grocery store, not the parking, not to get the fucking mail. Can you do that for me, love?”
“Yes.” No hesitation. That’s my girl. “Declan… are you okay?”
Am I okay? The man who stole years of my life is sitting out there fat and happy, he knows where my wife and her family live, and I’m locked in a fucking concrete box. No. I’m not fucking okay. But she’s on the phone. She’s in her kitchen, and she’s safe.
“I am now,” I reply. “I love you.”
“Say it again,” she whispers.
“I love you, Zahra.”
“Oh, my God.” She’s crying, but she’s laughing, too. “You’re telling me this shit for the first time on a recorded prison line? Declan Greene! I wanted to be looking at you!”
“I’ll say it again when you’re looking at me.”
“You better.” She sniffs. “I love you too. So much. It’s honestly stupid how much. I love you, you big scary idiot.”
My heart’s so full it fucking hurts. My wolf rolls over. The purr starts up in my chest, right there at the pay phones, with forty guys in line behind me, and I don’t give a single fuck.
“One minute,” the recording says.
“Go eat something,” I tell her. “Lock your door.”
“Yes, husband.”
She’s teasing. It still goes straight to my dick.
I hang up and stand there for a second with my hand on the phone. Then I walk back to my cell, and I start planning how I’m going to kill Eamon Callaghan.
