Chained: A Bad Boy Romance (2 page)

It was a little trick I'd picked up over time. Most people won't open up to someone they don't know, but if you appear to care, they will.

Something that puts me a level up from others in my profession is that I really
do
care.

“Did you spend time when you were younger working with cars? With your dad, or maybe your older brother?” I'd looked into his history, so I knew about what little family he had. Brice was older than Owen, but beyond that, I didn't know anything about the man.

“I had a lot of older friends who had cars. I liked watching them work on their shit boxes, trying to make them faster or just plain start up at all,” he chuckled.

I sat quietly, not breaking the lock I had on his eyes. I wanted him to continue, to give me more detail. People can only sit in uncomfortable silence for so long before needing to say something.

But, Owen didn't look uneasy at all. I felt like
I
was the awkward one. He was so still, his body language unreadable. Before I was able to utter my next sentence he said, “I passed the class with flying colors, so if you ever need a good mechanic, I'll work on your engine.” He smirked a bit and gave me a wink.

A hot blush crept up my neck.
I know what he's trying to do. It won't work, I won't let it. He isn't going to get in my head.
I felt out of my element. I didn't expect him to throw an awful pick up line my way, it took all my might to cool the apples in my cheeks.

I sat up straight and crossed my right leg over. I wanted to maintain my professionalism. Quickly, I moved to the next question I could think of. “Do you have plans for when you're free? Any job placement in line for you? Several of my other patients have friends or family ready to help when they get out.”

I had been so wrapped up in his talking, I jolted in my chair as the buzzer went off. It signaled the end to our session, it seemed to be over so quick.

Owen chuckled under his breath. I was taken back by his laughter.

He knows I'm thrown off by him.

I was angry with myself for getting taken in by the man. The way he looked at me, the deep grit in his tone... how he made my thighs squeeze under the table.

This was not how I ran my appointments.

The door opened and the guard came in to remove Owen back to his cell. I stood quickly, hitting my knee on the corner of the table. The sound echoed through the room loudly, as did my gasp.

I caught Owen's smile from the corner of my eye as I leaned over to gently rub the injury. My heart, already at its limit, began to throb faster.

Then he was gone, his broad back facing me as he was guided out into the hall. The muscles flexed under his orange uniform, rippling in spite of the baggy material.

I rested against the door frame and watched him stroll away.
He turned me into a nervous klutz,
I thought with frustration.
How did he do that?

I shook my head and retreated back into my office. The solid gray of the walls surrounding me felt cold. I didn't like this place. It had no windows, no warmth.

I missed my old office, it was a much better environment for my work; inviting, full of color, a place of refuge for my patients. I'd had windows for light and pictures to observe. They all found the change of scenery relaxing.

It's amazing what a little sun can do for someone's mood.

But here I was, in a new prison that was over a hundred years old. It felt like it hadn't changed since it opened. Every wall showed how impenetrable it was.

Even
I
felt like a trapped animal.

I  need a plant in here, or something. One single spot of color would make a huge difference.

As I sat at the partially broken desk supplied to me, I gazed at the table that had just held Owen. I imagined him still there, his large, strong hands fixed in front of me. I was revisiting his presence as if I could still feel him.

Our meeting had been only half an hour, a brief meet and greet. I had also wanted to know what he thought of the program that had basically been started around him.

It was proposed that with the right support, counseling, and education, a young adult on the wrong path could blossom into a functioning member of society.

Owen was the program's guinea pig.

Gathering up my purse to head home, I hesitated. Owen haunted me, his image too easy to call up in my head. He'd looked strong, forearms that were hard as steel.
Would
they feel that solid? I imagined my hand running over the inked surface.

I need to stop this. What am I doing?

I shook my head, trying to push him out of my thoughts. But after my first encounter with the notorious Owen Jenkins, I wanted more. I
needed
more.

There was something I had to remind myself of, though.

The handsome face that had graced me today encased the mind of a murderer.

Even if he'd been found guilty on a lesser charge of manslaughter, the fact remained: he'd taken the life of another man.

He's lucky that he even has the chance to see the light of day again. Why the hell does he seem so... selfish about it? He acts like the world owes him his freedom.

I didn't like his arrogance, how could he not show gratefulness for a second chance?

He was dangerous, he was cocky...

And even so, I felt consumed by him.

It wasn't professional to be entranced in this way, but butterflies flew around my stomach over the thought of seeing him again.

I had to contain this, get focused and keep it. I exhaled heavily as I closed the office door behind me. Walking down the cold cement hall, echoes of my heels filled the space between my ears and my mind.

The main prison gate opened and my face was hit with a rush of cold, December wind. It broke me out of my daze. I wasn't used to this weather or the snow.

I could hear my feet crunch across the frozen ground as I made my way to the protection of my vehicle.
I miss the sun,
I thought, pulling out of the parking lot, trying to avoid the black ice. Down south, we never had to worry about blizzards.

I concentrated on the road, but that damn encounter floated into my thoughts. It was too strong to dismiss.
Why did he seem so ungrateful? Why do his eyes intrigue me? What was he really thinking?

My mind was a whirlwind of questions. Where were his feeling and emotions? Most inmates I had seen were always so excited.

He was so closed off. But when he smiled at me...
I felt my stomach warming over the memory, the light laugh he'd exhaled before he left. All of him fascinated me in ways I couldn't understand and couldn't brush off.

The headlights I passed on my journey home were a blur in my mind, I didn't even remember most of the ride. It was as if my brain had shut off and autopilot took over.

I pulled into the condo development I was staying at. A broad, green wall of shrubbery lined the entrance. The bright yellow of its siding still shined against the white of the snow, even in the darkness.

Greene had been trying to rebuild their community. The town had started new developments to bring in more people, more revenue.

Lucky for me, this is the first one they'd finished. Otherwise, I'd be stuck renting some crappy apartment in a run down building, or staying at the only motel in town.

Dropping my stuff on my couch, I hurried through my end of the evening routine in a haze. Shower, food, then bedtime. It amazed me that the time had flown by without me noticing.

Under my blankets, I found myself thinking about him again. His eyes, though dark and scary, felt deep.

Unable to rest, I threw off the covers with an aggravated groan. Digging into my files, I dropped onto my couch, the papers spread on my lap. If Owen was glued in my skull, then I might as well learn more about him.

Turning the papers in my fingers, I scanned the crisp words. The harsh reality of Owen's crime rested in front of me.

He'd been involved in a breaking and entering at a jewelry store. There, it was reported he'd pushed the security guard down a fight of stairs, killing him. The town had wanted him to be charged with murder. They'd been furious that he'd managed to get it dropped to involuntary manslaughter.

There was also a suspicion that he was involved in a rash of other burglaries, but there was no real evidence. The trial had set this small town on the map; not so much for what he'd done, but for the program that stemmed from it.

In the file, there was a black and white photo of Owen. I brushed it with my fingers, tracing the hard edge of his jaw. I didn't want to be engulfed by him. I definitely didn't want my stomach to tingle as I recalled the intensity of being so near him.

I rested my head back and shut my eyes, hoping these flashes would fade.

I'm his therapist, I took an oath,
I reminded myself silently.

And yet, as I drifted off to sleep, the last thing I saw was his smile.

Owen

C
harlie. What a strange name for such a beautiful face.

I stared at the warped ceiling above me. The gray cement blocks were chipping and flaking apart. I'd spent years watching them erode, each day blending together, wondering if I'd actually get to wake up again with the morning sunrise on my face.

In here, there was no sun. There were no birds singing. What we had was the sound of over grown boys carrying guns, telling us when to get up, when to eat, when to sleep. I
hated
that.

The guards think their guns give them power. I knew they were all a bunch of insecure assholes with authority issues. Using the weapon was a way to feel better about their small cocks.

I don't deserve to be here, I never deserved this. One error and I get fucked.

I was left behind, left here to rot like spoiled food in the trash.

My rage was building, I exhaled heavily.

I'll be out soon.
I had to keep this in the forefront of my mind.

Images of Charlie began to intercede the negativity surrounding me. These flashes were welcome, it had been ten years since I was that close to a woman.

And a fucking hot as hell woman, too.

Her voluptuous curves replaced the idea of being forgotten. I could see the emerald green of her eyes taking me in, their jeweled surface reflecting my image back. I watched her breasts rise and fall with her breathing.

I could tell by the way she fidgeted in her chair that she was nervous. I couldn't be sure, but I had a hunch that it had been me that had made her squirm. Honestly, I loved that idea.

If she thinks I made her writhe around this time just by looking at her, I'd kill for a chance to show her what I can really do.

Kill. That word made me flinch, so I hurried to think about Charlie again.

Her soft ivory skin, the gentle curls of her burgundy hair resting over her shoulders. She was hot, a real woman for me to lay my eyes on.

I needed her,
needed
to run my hands over her body. Her full breasts called to me, so obvious beneath the light pink blouse that dressed her chest.

My pants tightened with thoughts of her sweet, southern accent as it parted her lips. Immediately I wondered if they'd feel as sweet draped over my cock. 

What I'd give to have that, it would be worth the trouble to claim this woman.

My years of being alone here were almost done. I was ready to feel the warm skin of a woman's beautiful body against mine. No more pretending or dreaming.

She'd asked me about what I planned to do once I was out of this shit-hole. I didn't have an answer for that. I didn't even know what family or friends I'd have left. No one had tried to contact me or come and see me.

I could hear the heavy breathing from the inmate next door getting off. Probably using a dirty magazine smuggled in by another criminal.

Prison was not a place for me.

There are two things you could do here to pass time; work out or jerk off. I guess Hector chose the less sweaty activity.

I looked over at the small collection of books I had sitting on the shelf next to my mirror. Thumbing through them, I realized I had read all of them at least three times each.

A shimmer of my reflection caught my eye. I stared at myself in the mirror and barely recognized the face glaring back.

I could see the results from my time here. An expressionless appearance, hardened by the brutal world of the prison system.

I fell back defeated on my bed, it creaked loudly as the weight of my body hit it, bowing in the middle where support lacked. I tried to close my eyes and sleep, but Charlie was there.

What questions will she have for me next week?
I wondered.

I couldn't stop thinking about all the dirty things I wanted to do to her. I imagined running my hand up her thigh, sliding it between her legs to feel the heat that radiated.

I could still smell her perfume in my nostrils. There was a time where perfume was nauseating to my senses, a choking sensation would fill my lungs. But her fragrance stayed with me. The mix of lilac and vanilla was a refreshing scent.

In spite of my hunger for her, Charlie had an air around her that got under my skin. She seemed to hold herself on a higher level. I didn't like that. It made me feel beneath her.

It was a tough thing for me to grin and bare. I grew up feeling as if I needed approval from those around me, those who were supposed to love me.

My childhood was a sham.

I spent more time trying to seek some form of acceptance from my older brother Brice than anyone else. My mother left  when I was two and my father, a raging alcoholic, didn't care what we did or when so long as he was left alone to enjoy his vodka.

If Brice or myself got into any trouble and got caught, dad's good ole leather friend told us just how he felt about it. My father had no mercy.

I always felt my dad had been easier on Brice. I questioned if it was because he was the first born, maybe it had been because I was a mistake?

I just always had it in my mind that I was never wanted or good enough for his liking.