13. Sequin

13

SEQUIN

I grew up hearing scary stories about Silvertip Correctional and Internment Facility, AKA Sciff. It’s where all the big shifters are incarcerated in Texas: Grizzlies, mountain lions, rhinos, alligators, and the occasional dragon. They send scorpion shifters there, too—not because they’re big, but because they’re dangerous. It’s the most violent correctional facility in the United States, with more inmate deaths reported than any other prison in the free world.

It's where they send the shifters who try to cross the border in their animal forms, too. Even the little shifters like foxes and iguanas. Border patrol throws them in there with the murderers and rapists, like it’s nothing.

That’s why there are so many horror stories.

I have to drive out into the middle of the desert to reach the mountain of a building surrounded by a barbed wire fence. Several big signs warn that the fence is electric.

I give my ID to a security guard manning a booth by the front gate. Several other guards swarm my car like a pack of dogs. They yank open the other doors and climb inside the Jeep, checking very nook and cranny. They warned me I’d be subject to a search of my vehicle, but the gruff way they open Aunt Emerald’s glove box and yank out Chime’s booster seat still startles me. They’re all domineering alphas with huge shoulders and guns in holsters at their hips. I’d heard that Sciff recruited bounty hunters to guard the prison, but I’d assumed that was a tall tale.

Maybe all the stories I’ve heard about Sciff are true.

Just as suddenly as they barged into the car, they’re gone. They leave the contents of the glove box scattered along the floor and Chime’s booster seat disconnected. Aunt Emerald’s neat and tidy car looks like the scene of crime.

The attendant at the booth hands me my driver’s license. “You can pull in when the green light flashes. You have fifteen minutes to collect your family member at the front of the parking lot and get to the exit. If you take longer than fifteen minutes, you will be escorted out by a team of armed guards and barred from future pick-ups.”

I open my mouth to tell him Slade isn’t my family member, then shut it again. It didn’t say I had to be related to him in order to pick him up, did it? I can’t remember.

I should probably keep my mouth shut and do what I’m told. The sooner I get Slade, the sooner I can leave this place.

The fence clanks open and a bright green light flickers. If I wasn’t paying close attention, I would have missed it.

“Go!” the attendant barks out.

I take a deep breath and pull forward. An asphalt road, gritty with an overlay of sand, stretches before me and expands into a parking lot. I keep driving until I get to a rounded pick-up area where three handcuffed alphas wait next to their guards. They’re spaced out, two guards per prisoner. From a distance, I can’t tell which one is Slade. Each of the prisoners is male and big, just like him. They all have short, buzzed hair and tattoos, too.

As I get closer, I recognize Slade’s square jaw and strong nose. His hazel eyes stare back at me—not with the tender kindness he showed me during our night together, but with a haunted wariness. Aunt Emerald warned me that he wouldn’t be the same after six years at Sciff. She said if he wasn’t violent already, he’d have to become that way in order to survive.

With a shaky breath, I drive up to Slade and put the car in park.

One of the guards checks my driver’s license again. Then he walks back to Slade and uncuffs him.

“You are no longer in the custody of the state of Texas,” the guard says. He bends down to remove the cuffs around his ankles. “You will report to your parole officer within one week of your release for further instruction.” The man hands Slade a booklet and a cardboard box.

Slade nods, lowering his gaze to the ground. “Yes, sir.”

The guards wait in silence. Slade stays still for a full beat, before moving toward the passenger’s seat of my car. Without the cuffs, he looks somewhat normal. He’s wearing a plain white t-shirt and jeans with a scuffed-up pair of tennis shoes. He opens the door slowly. His musky, masculine scent rushes at me, and a familiar longing returns to my chest. It comingles with my fear in a way that makes me a little nauseous.

“Can I get in?” he asks, keeping his gaze on the floor.

“Yes, of course.”

He climbs inside. His shoulders are so wide, he can barely fit and has to lean into the center console to get the door shut behind him. In the last six years, his biceps have grown to be as big as tree trunks, and his pecs are defined, even under his T-shirt.

“Thank you for coming to get me.” He closes the door, trapping me in with his alluring scent, his shoulders mere inches from mine.

It’s been so long since I’ve felt attraction to a man, I’m too overwhelmed to speak. My heart pounds, and I have to mask the deepening of my breath.

Slade’s guards point toward the exit. I shake my head to clear away all the desires raging in my body, but it does nothing to cool me down. I grip the steering wheel hard and focus straight ahead, finally pulling out of the pick-up lane and driving toward the exit.

I can’t help but notice the way Slade is staring at me now—not with the wariness from before, but with a hunger that mirrors my own. He may not have written me while he was at Sciff, but his body stills wants me.

At least there’s that.

I slow down and hand my driver’s license to the guard at the last checkpoint. He scans my face, then Slade’s, before checking something on his computer.

“You’re cleared to leave.”

The last metal barrier lifts, and I drive away, my fingers still gripping the steering wheel. We’re at least thirty minutes away from anywhere I could plausibly drop Slade off. How will I survive his scent that long without completely losing my mind? I’m already hard, and he hasn’t even touched me yet.

Slade pushes the button to lower his window. The wind whips through the car, diluting his scent.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

I glance at him, waiting for him to explain what he’s apologizing for, but he doesn’t. Instead, he turns away from me and sticks his head out the window, closing his eyes and inhaling deeply.

That should be a relief. At least he’s doing what it takes to maintain control over himself. But tears burn in the corner of my eyes. This is all too much. I not only want him, I also desperately need him to want me back–to not ignore me the way he ignored my letter.

I was a fool to think that seeing him again would help me understand why our connection never faded.

I continue driving through the barren desert, still not sure what I should do. I don’t even know if I’m going in the right direction. Slade hasn’t told me where he wants me to drop him off. He still has his head out the window.

I bank to the right, pulling off the side of the road. The asphalt gives way to thick sand, which the Jeep sinks into. I stop once we’re completely off the road and slide the car into park.

Slade finally looks at me. He has this tortured expression that I have an irrational desire to kiss away. I yearn to make him happy—to change the world so I could be his and he could be mine. He reaches forward with trembling fingers and cups my jaw. I close my eyes at the contact, leaning into it like a cat. He lets out a strangled breath.

For one glorious moment, all the rest of the world fades away.