A Pound of Flesh (A Pound of Flesh #1) (11 page)

“Wes,” Jack warned with an imperceptible shake of his head.

“I’ll be sure to look into that,” Diane assured Carter, making a note in her diary. “But, regardless,” she continued, lifting her head, “you have far more negatives than positives at this point. The question is, what are you doing to counteract these incidents?”

“As you know,” Jack said after a moment of tense silence during which Carter pretended that his right shoe was the most fascinating item on the planet, “Wes has been working with Miss Lane on a three-day timetable, studying English literature.”

“Yes, I do know this,” Diane answered. “How have the sessions been, Miss Lane?”

Peaches smiled. “They’ve been excellent. Carter’s worked well. He’s engaged and has many perceptive ideas about the topics we’ve discussed.”

Diane made a quick note. “I understand that Carter and you had a couple of, shall we say, run-ins when you first started.”

Peaches crossed her legs. “That’s correct.”

“But not anymore?”

“No. Carter and I have come to an understanding in terms of his conduct during the sessions. Carter’s attitude has been positive and cooperative. It’s clear that he wants to learn and do well.”

“That’s great, Carter,” Diane said with a nod.

“But?” he and Jack said in unison.

“But the board members aren’t stupid. They’re aware that your attending these sessions could be a way of simply scoring points with them.”

“With all due respect,” Jack interrupted, “isn’t that the point?”

“Yes, of course,” Diane concurred. “But Carter needs to show that he’s doing it because he wants to and views everything he learns as useful in the long term.” She turned to Carter. “That’s what parole is all about, Carter: the long term.” She fixed him with a sharp stare. “I have to be honest. Despite your eligibility date, the board may see your past conduct as your way of not observing the rules of this institution.”

Carter’s gaze flickered to Peaches, disappointment radiating through him.

“How long-term are we talking?” Carter’s lawyer asked as he scribbled on a yellow notepad. “How long will Carter’s parole be?”

Diane sat back. “As per his eligibility, if the hearing examiner grants his parole, that would mean he’s released fifteen months early.”

“So twelve months,” the lawyer finished for her.

“I would expect so. I would be surprised if they agreed to anything shorter. The first nine months would be monitored closely by myself, an assigned parole officer, and Jack, should he wish to continue with his meetings post-parole.”

“So, do we keep doing the tutoring sessions post-parole?” Peaches asked.

“That would definitely be something to consider,” Diane replied. “It would show the board Carter is dedicated and serious about his rehabilitation, but you need to discuss that among yourselves and decide before the hearing. Is there anything you would like to ask or add, Carter?”

Carter cleared his throat. “If, um, if I continue with the sessions when I’m released, we do those for how long? I mean, do we do them forever?”

Diane shook her head. “At the end of your initial nine months of monitoring, you’ll meet again with the board and the situation will be reviewed. If Miss Lane does agree, then she will have to keep rigorous notes detailing what you’ve studied and what the outcomes are, as well as meet with the board to explain them.”

“That’s not a problem,” Peaches said firmly.

“I’m pleased to hear it.” Diane turned back to Carter. “But you know there will be other terms to meet, including regular drug testing and curfews.”

Yeah, parole was all fun and fucking games.

* * *

Carter looked like he was ready to start smoking his coveralls when Kat walked in.

“Please, for the love of all that is holy, tell me you have some—”

“Cigarettes.” Kat smiled, holding up a pack of Marlboros. “Here ya go, Champ,” she said, tossing them to him.

He pulled them open and grabbed at one.

She watched as Carter inhaled the smoke and closed his eyes. He did it twice more before he looked at her.

“Thanks,” he murmured through a smoky haze.

She moved around to his side of the table, glancing at the guard, who now appeared unworried by her proximity to his inmate. She flattened out the text of
The Merchant of Venice
in front of Carter and sat back with her own.

“I wanted to have a look at this particular speech.” She motioned to the page. “I was interested to hear your interpretation of it.”

“This speech? How predictable.”

Kat huffed. “Predictable or not, it’s an important part of the play and I want to hear what you think of it. But maybe your answer will be just as predictable as my speech choice.” She’d grown to enjoy riling him.

Carter cocked an eyebrow. “Okay, Peaches,” he said, sitting back in his seat. “I’ll bite. What do you want to know?”

“Amaze me.”

He snorted and blew out the last of his cigarette. “The speech is spoken by Shylock.”

“Wow,” Kat retorted with wide eyes. “That’s awesome! Shakespeare scholars the world over will be peeing themselves in excitement at your amazing insight!”

Carter chuckled. “Okay, Peaches,” he replied. “ ‘I am a Jew …’ ”

Kat’s mouth popped open. She listened to him quote the entire speech without looking once at the page in front of him. Instead, his eyes bored into hers, blue and bright. Hearing him speak Shakespeare’s words was indescribably erotic. His eyes burned with a passion Shylock would no doubt have conveyed to the courts as he expressed his anger at the wrongdoing that had befallen him.

Trying hard to remain composed, Kat said, “Impressive. But you still haven’t answered my question.”

Carter raised his eyebrows. “It’s mainly about revenge. He’s understandably pissed about the way he’s been treated because of his religion and he vows to match the ‘villainy’ with his own. Only his ‘villainy’ will be a lot worse. Shylock’s a badass.”

“So, does that excuse Solanio and Salerio’s treatment of him? He’s a badass; surely he deserves everything that comes to him?”

Carter scoffed. “They’re only treating him that way because they’re narrow-minded shits who see nothing but a label on Shylock. For them, ‘Jew’ means ‘evil.’ But the blatant anti-Semitism isn’t the most important aspect of the play or speech.”

“It’s not?”

“No,” Carter replied, firmly sitting forward. “Shylock says, ‘If you prick us, do we not bleed? If you tickle us, do we not laugh? If you poison us, do we not die?’ He’s making the point that no matter his religion, or label or whatever, he is human just like the bastards who treated him like shit. People everywhere, every day, make judgments about others because of their color, religion, background, race, sexual orientation … criminal history.”

He glanced up at her.

“The world is a shitty place, and Shylock’s the only one in the entire play with the balls to make a point about it. The irony that the supposed unintelligent, evil, uneducated Jew has such courage is what makes the shit important. The fact that he’s a Jew is simply a plot device.” He exhaled and rubbed his chin with the palm of his hand. “Shakespeare could have made him an inmate at Arthur Kill if such a place existed then.”

Kat was astounded. His fervor made her wonder what bigotry he’d encountered to make him sympathize with the character so much. Had he been treated a certain way because of his time in prison?

He slumped back, grazing the back of his hand against her knee, and her breath caught at the contact. “People think he’s barbaric because he promises revenge, but who the fuck can blame him? If they’ve labeled him as such, why shouldn’t he live up to it?”

“He could have surprised people,” Kat answered, noticing a definite change in the tone of the discussion. “He could have behaved differently, calmly, and shown that he was a good person.”

Carter shook his head. “It doesn’t work that way. If the shoe fits—or the label.” He pointed to himself. “Criminal. There’s no amount of good that erases that shit. It’s easier to live up to people’s expectations than try to change them. It avoids disappointment for all involved.”

Kat frowned. “Then why are you here, and why have I said that I’ll help you get parole and put up with your grumpy ass for potentially another twelve months?”

Carter smiled briefly. “I don’t know, Peaches. Why did you?”

Kat kept her eyes on him for a long time before dropping them to the play. “I have my reasons.”

“Your own pound of flesh.”

Her head snapped up at his words, but he was busy playing with the cigarette box. He took a deep breath. “And I’m here because … I had to be.” Confused, Kat opened her mouth to speak, but he interrupted her. “Did you really mean it?”

“Did I mean what?”

“That you’ll carry on with our sessions.”

“Yes,” she answered. “I want to help in any way I can.”

Carter’s mouth twitched. “Why?”

Kat smiled. “Because I’m a glutton for punishment.”

Carter coughed a surprised laugh. “Fair enough. For a moment I thought it was because you just wanted to be near my hot ass without guards and cameras, but, you know. Whatever,” he deadpanned.

Kat cupped her palms to her face. “I am so transparent.” She laughed at Carter’s snort of amusement. “Now shut up and do this work.” She pushed a sheet in front of him, along with a pen.

“Yes, ma’am,” Carter replied with a wink that sent parts of Kat’s body into a small frenzy.

No guards or cameras, she mused as she watched him start writing. She let her eyes explore him from his sexy buzz cut to the sharpness of his stubbled jaw. Her blood warmed in excitement when her mind began to wander.

* * *

“Fucker!”

“Motherfucker!”

“Shithead!”

“Shithouse!”

“Bitch!”

Carter stopped moving and stood slowly from his stooped position, halting the basketball by grasping it in one large hand. He cocked a puzzled eyebrow at Riley who was panting with gritted teeth and red cheeks. Carter watched him for at least twenty seconds before realization passed over the big fuck’s face.

“What the hell you waiting for?” Riley growled, standing a little straighter.

“Did you just call me a bitch?”

Riley stood to his full height and glared back at him. He sniffed and glanced around at the other two inmates who’d been playing the fast-paced, almost violent game of basketball for the past forty minutes. They both began to shift uneasily from one foot to the other. Riley leveled his stare back at Carter.

“Yeah,” he answered, jutting his chin out in defiance. “I did. So what?”

Carter frowned and then smirked. “Just checking,” he replied before launching the basketball over Riley’s head to his partner, Greg, who caught it and threw it, like a goddamn pro, through the hoop, winning the game by two.

“COME ON!” Carter roared with clenched fists. He ran over to Greg and grabbed him roughly around the neck, rubbing his knuckles a little too vigorously over his head. “MY MAN!”

“You fuckin’ cheat!” Riley yelled with a pointed finger. “You— You cheated!”

Carter laughed and shook his head after he released a relieved-looking Greg. “Losing without dignity or grace is not attractive, Moore,” he commented as he sauntered toward him.

“Yeah?” Riley questioned with his tongue planted in the right side of his mouth. “Well, Carter, I may not have dignity or grace, but I sure as hell have a fist for your face and a foot for your cheating ass.”

Carter stopped midstep, caught the glint in Riley’s eye, and within seconds was running like a bat out of hell across the court as Riley lunged his two-hundred-pound-plus frame in Carter’s direction.

“Come here, you pussy!” Riley cried, chasing Carter around the incredulous-looking inmates and guards.

Carter panted as he weaved and ducked from the ape’s grasp, unable to keep the huge smile off his face. His overwhelming happiness and smug satisfaction were halted abruptly when he realized he had nowhere else to go and was facing a brick wall with a huge human gaining on him. He spun around to face his pursuer and plead surrender, and felt every bit of air leave him in a huge gust and a loud strangled groan, as Riley plowed hard into him. Riley grabbed him in a headlock before Carter could even blink or protest and was dragged back, groaning and digging his heels in, to the center of the yard, where even the guards were laughing and jeering at the punk ass cursing through an almost-crushed windpipe.

“Riley,” Carter gasped, grabbing at the tree-trunk forearm around his neck.

“I’m sorry, what?” Riley asked loudly. “I don’t speak ‘cheating fucker.’ You’ll have to speak clearer.”

Carter couldn’t help but let out a choked bark of a laugh. “Riley!” He gripped his wrist with his long fingers. “Man, please! I’m— Dammit! Riley, I’m sorry!”

Riley smiled and winked at the large amused crowd that had gathered and released the neck that had been resting comfortably in the crook of his arm.

“Bastard,” Carter muttered. The gathering dispersed disappointedly when they realized that it really was all in good fun and that no one was going to have their ass handed to them.

Riley snorted. “Cheat.”

“Touché,” Carter conceded with a wry smile.

“Yo, Miss L!” Riley boomed, startling Carter.

He turned around to see Peaches walking from her car, half-hidden by a huge bag, toward the main entrance, waving discreetly toward Riley. Carter let the right side of his mouth rise in a small smile in her direction and frowned when she dropped her head and hurried on her way. Carter rubbed his stomach when a twinge of something uncomfortable curled deep and heavy. It’d been plaguing him for days.

Riley dropped his arms. “What was that about?” He stared, waiting for an explanation.

Carter rubbed his face before walking over to his regular seat and pulling out a cigarette. He lit his smoke, inhaled, held it, and exhaled with a shake of his head.

“She’s been weird for a couple of weeks,” he confessed, nodding toward the car lot.

“Miss Lane?” Riley clarified, to which Carter nodded and passed the smoke over to him.

Carter had tried to ignore Peaches’ behavior, but it’d been getting progressively harder with each session they had together. It’d started a few sessions after the initial parole meeting with Diane. She’d come into the tutoring room, barely looking or speaking to him for the entire hour. He hadn’t pushed the issue, sensing it was something that he maybe didn’t want to know about. But after two weeks, Carter’s patience was rapidly disappearing.