“Mr. Porter?”
Flynt is so busy fixing my clothing to hide my nudity, he answers almost distractedly. “What?” he snaps, murder crackling in his eyes. “Don’t fucking look at her.”
“You’re under arrest for stealing car parts.” An officer steps forward with a pair of handcuffs and my life flashes before my eyes. “We’ve got you on camera, son. The owner of the car is pressing charges. Now, I see you’re a little busy…” He shares a chuckle with the other officers. And my principal is there, too.Oh lord.What is going on? “But I’ve got to Mirandize you and bring you down to the station.”
“Take one step closer to her and I will snap those cuffs closed around your throat,” Flynt growls, shielding me with his body. “And I said,don’t look at her.”
“Sorry, son.” He lowers his voice for our ears alone. “But you broke the law. Time to face the music.”
“Stolen car parts?” I ask Flynt in a whisper. “Not…not the ones you used to fix my car…?”
His jaw stiffens but he doesn’t answer. Thoughts are whirring behind his eyes a million miles an hour. His chest heaves, sweat breaking out on his forehead. Adrenaline has caused Flynt to stiffen again inside of me.
Apparently, no matter the situation, good or bad, my body responds to the stimulus the same way. I bite down on my bottom lip to hold in a whimper, struggling not to shift my hips. Flynt must feel me growing wetter, because his tortured gaze whips to mine. “Give me five more minutes with her,” he growls, flattening me roughly to the wall. “One more time and then I’ll come along without a fight.”
“You’ve had your fun. Let’s go.”
The officer starts to close the distance between us and Flynt gives me an upward drive of his hips, making me whine in that high-pitched way I can’t help sometimes. And my boyfriend is fucking me in front of the whole police force. Bucking frantically, snarling into rough kisses, his fingertips biting into the flesh of my ass to hold me steady. I don’t care about who is watching, though, I only see Flynt. I can only be extra desperate for him because they want to take him away from me. He stole car parts—and deep in my bones, I know he stole them for me. I’m the reason he’s going to jail. Maybe worse.
“I’m sorry,” I sob, salty wet tears sliding down my cheeks to flavor our hungry kisses. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry—”
“All right, that’s enough.”
The officer finally grabs hold of Flynt’s shoulders, yanking him as hard as possible away from me. I slide down the wall and hide myself with my clothing, watching in horror as he arrests Flynt. Several more men are required to come forward and help wrestle him into cliffs when he struggles, teeth bared, eyes wild. “Ayla,” he shouts. “Ayla!”
“Jesus, son,” the officer says, gaping at Flynt’s erection. “Look at that thing. No wonder she couldn’t wait until after class.”
I lunge onto my knees and carefully zip Flynt back into his jeans. I reach for his face, but I never make contact. He’s already being dragged out of the room, the whole scene blurring around me behind the veil of confusion and denial and tears.
“Flynt!”
“Ayla!” Six men are dragging him out the door, but he twists around to look at me one final time. “This isn’t over. We are—”
Someone fires a taser and Flynt jerks, his face contorting with pain.
I scream loud enough to heart my own eardrums.
It’s the last thing I remember before losing consciousness.
eight
Flynt
I thoughtI was a beast before, but compared to who I am now?
I was docile.
The separation from Ayla has driven me mad.
It has been a month and I’ve already inked her name onto my body so many times, the letters have blurred together in an illegible maze of loops and slashes. I’ve needed pain on the outside to distract from the utter misery shredding my insides to ribbons. The guards hate me and I can’t afford a lawyer, so I get no phone calls. I get nothing but darkness. They won’t even give me a pen or pencil to write letters to my Ayla because they’re worried that I’ll stab them. Myself. Others. And I probably would.
I’m starting to hear voices. I want to rip the skin off my bones.
I’m going to die without her. I have no idea how long I’m going to be in here.
But knowing Ayla is on the other side of these bars, unprotected and pregnant, is the worst form of torture imaginable. I damaged my vocal cords on day one by shouting her name. I speak in a permanent rasp now. They allow me into the yard for an hour a day and I hit the weights like a man possessed, pumping iron until my arms and legs have been exhausted. That exertion is the only thing stopped me from going completely insane.
I have to get out of here.