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“Brute, you got a state pardon,” she says, her eyes shifting to the other people in the room. They seem just as shocked as I am. “I got the call on my way here. I thought your lawyer got in touch with you already, but I guess not.”
“What?” I whisper. My head is spinning as I try to make sense of her words.
Yuri steps forward, unafraid, unlike all the men in the room with us. For the most part, even the guards are scared of me. Yuri has never been like that. My precious flower has never been afraid of me.
“You got a state pardon,” she repeats. She’s close enough that I can smell her perfume. “We’ve only aired two episodes of your interview and it got very popular. If you ask me, the governor is probably using your release for the polls but who cares, right? You’re getting out.”
Murmurs rise in the room. Everyone seems shocked, even displeased by the news.
Who can blame them? Ten years ago, I killed two men who’d come to my bar to use drugs to prey on innocent women. However, it’s not the why but the how that horrified people, because I was hellbent on making an example out of them and it showed.
They started to call me Brute because of how cruelly I went about punishing the scumbags. They said I should rot in jail, that I was too dangerous to be let out. They thought I should be caged like all the other dangerous animals in the world, and perhaps they were right. But as I look into the eyes of the woman I have fallen deeply in love with, I see the chance at freedom for what it is.
It’s a chance to be with her.
“Congratulations Adam,” she whispers, speaking my name for the first time. “I hope you live a good life when you get out.”
Yuri pats my shoulder, her touch burning a trail through my clothes, all the way down my skin. My body tenses up. She draws her hand, panic flitting over her face for a second, before changing to offer me an awkward smile. With a small wave, the woman of my dreams walks out of the room.
I don’t make a single sound of protest as guards lead me back to my cell. I don’t take notice of the cuffs falling away from my sore wrists. The only thing on my mind is Yuri.
Once alone in my cell, I slip my hand into my coveralls and take my throbbing erection into my palm. She’s all I see as I fuck my fist with the intensity of an animal, imagining her warm, wet pussy in the place of my fist. For days, she’s been all I’ve dreamt about, her dark eyes glazed over, long black silky hair firmly gripped in my fist, chest heaving as I pound into her, and lips crying out my name as I fuck her into oblivion.
Soon, she’ll do more than star in my dreams.
A snarl breaks through my lips as my head clouds with thoughts of her, awakening something feral and dangerously possessive within me.
I vow to find her. As soon as I get out of this hellhole, I’m coming for my little reporter and I won’t stop until she’s mine.
Chapter One
Yuri
“Have a nice evening, Miss Wright,” Hendryx, the ground floor janitor, calls out to me as I exit the elevator. I wave brightly back at him.
Normally, my trip to the parking lot would take five minutes, but instead, it takes twenty because I stop to make small talk with my colleagues. I accept invitations to two weddings and even a bar mitzvah on my way out.
This is a typical evening for me. While it takes me a while to get used to new people and places, once I do, I can’t help trying to light up every room I walk into. I can’t help wanting to make people’s days better when I can.
The smile stays even as I cross the parking lot. It’s not until I’m in the safety of my car that the smile falls away. I drop my forehead against the steering wheel and force myself to take in long, deep breaths, counting each one. My phone starts ringing before I get to number five.
I already know who it is before I even answer the call.
“Hello,” I say once she’s on speaker.
“Hi Yuri, I just called to see how you’re feeling.”
Shit. I feel like shit.
I’ve felt like this for days, but I can’t bear to let anyone see that I do. I keep wearing my usual smile so that no one at the news station thinks something’s wrong with me.
“Not good,” I tell my therapist.
“Have you been practicing those breathing exercises we talked about?”
“Yeah.”
“Yuri?” she prods gently.
