A Pound of Flesh (A Pound of Flesh #1) (14 page)

“What are you?” She picked up the mysterious package and began tearing the paper open.

A gasp left her when she realized what it was. She stared through tear-filled eyes at the 1937 first edition of
Walter the Lazy Mouse
in her hands. “How?” She ran her fingers reverently over the front cover. “Oh God.”

She opened it up and saw a brief message neatly written in black on the inside of the front cover:

Peaches,

Here’s to achieving anything you put your mind to, no matter what the obstacles.

Happy birthday.

—Carter

Carter had barely slept. He was pumped and excited, much like a small child on Christmas morning.

At seven on the morning of his release, he was busy packing up his books and other belongings into a small box with great enthusiasm. The sheet of paper stating he had officially been granted parole was now his most treasured possession, and, at regular intervals, he would open it up and reread it, just to make sure that shit hadn’t changed in any way.

It hadn’t.

Carter’s civilian clothes were what he’d worn when he entered the facility. He was smug as shit when he saw that his gray Ramones T-shirt was now tight across his arms and chest, thanks to Ross’s vigorous workouts. He smiled and shook his head, pulling at the sleeves in an effort to give his biceps a little more room.

“I’ll be damned,” he muttered before he pulled on his dark-wash jeans and his black boots. Denim and cheap cotton had never felt so fucking good. Next were his rings. He placed the thick silver band on the thumb of his right hand, a silver-and-black Celtic cross on his middle finger, and a sweet Harley-Davidson insignia on his left index finger.

“You nearly ready?”

Carter turned with a smile to see Jack leaning against the open door of his cell.

“Pretty much,” Carter replied, fastening his brown leather belt around the waist of his jeans. “When can I go?”

Jack glanced at his watch. “Doors open in ten. We’re waiting on Ward.”

“Fan-fucking-tastic,” Carter muttered. He looked around his cell to see if he’d left anything behind, then picked up his box and pulled it close.

“So.” Jack pushed his hands into his pockets. “I delivered your little gift.”

Carter avoided his counselor’s gaze. “Great,” he replied casually. “There was enough cash?”

“More than enough, and I wrote exactly what you asked me to.”

Carter’s stomach somersaulted, thinking about Peaches receiving the book. He wondered if she liked it. He wondered if she thought it too much or too cheesy.

“I have to ask …” Jack continued, inspecting the toe of his right shoe.

“What?” Carter snapped.

Jack smiled knowingly before looking up. “I just wanted to know how the hell you managed to find a place that sold the book on such short notice,” he finished with an innocent shrug.

Carter’s shoulders collapsed in relief. “Peach—she, Kat, Miss Lane, had … um, well, shit, she mentioned it during one of our sessions, so I, I looked it up on the Internet in the library and put a hold on it. I was going to get it once I was out, but last week, when she mentioned it was her birthday …” He glanced up, shifting from one foot to the other, altogether uncomfortable as all fuck. “It’s not a big deal, man. Stop looking at me like that.”

“Hey,” Jack said behind a small chuckle. “I didn’t say a word. I thought it was a great gift: very thoughtful.”

Carter watched him cautiously. “Really?”

“Really,” Jack replied with a sharp nod. “I bet she loved it.”

Carter’s stomach twisted again. He hoped so. It was the least he could do for her; after all she’d done and had put up with from him.

“Inmate 081056,” Ward called, sauntering into the doorway of Carter’s cell. “I’m here to escort you off the premises.” He pulled at the cuffs of the white shirt he was wearing under a dark navy blazer.

“Goodie,” Carter murmured with a sardonic glare. Carter followed Ward, a guard, and Jack toward the back entrance of the facility, where he signed one more release form and received yet another copy of his parole conditions.

“How many of these does one person need?” he asked incredulously, pushing the piece of paper into the depths of his box.

“Well,” Ward retorted while he clicked the top of his pen, “we all know how forgetful you can be when it comes to rules, Carter.”

Carter picked up his box. “It was a rhetorical question, dickwad.”

Ward’s eyes shrunk in irritation. “What did—”

Jack stepped between the two men. “Come on now, Wes. Time to go.” He pushed on Carter’s shoulder, guiding him toward the exit.

Carter kept his stare on Ward before he allowed Jack to walk him out the door. The sun was hot for mid-September. Carter closed his eyes and lifted his face, breathing it in.

“That good?” Jack chuckled at his side.

“Yeah,” Carter answered. He opened his eyes slowly and began rummaging in his box. It took him a few minutes of cursing and muttering before he found his Wayfarers and placed them onto his face. “Now I’m fucking ready,” he said with a wide smile.

Jack laughed and rubbed his chin. He looked across the very far side of the lot to see a familiar large, black-haired figure leaning arrogantly against the front passenger door of a very hot muscle vehicle, smoking a cigarette.

“Is that Max?”

“Don’t start,” Carter warned with raised eyebrows. “He’s here to pick me up because I sure as shit ain’t walking home.”

Jack scoffed. “Well, it’s a definite conflict of interest to have him come and pick you up when—”

“Look!” Carter stopped Jack’s lecture dead in its tracks. “This is my release day. I’m finally free of this place and I’m currently in a good mood. Please don’t piss on my parade, J. I’ve had my fill.” Carter’s voice was firm but pleading.

“Fine,” Jack surrendered. “Fine.”

“Okay.” Carter sighed. “So, I’ll see you next Friday?”

“Yeah,” Jack replied. “Your place at six. Don’t forget.”

Carter shook his head. “Like that’s even possible with the six pieces of paper I have to remind me.”

Jack raised his hand and patted Carter on his shoulder. “Take care.”

“Sure,” Carter replied. “I’ll see ya.” He began walking toward Max, who was grinning like an idiot; his mirrored aviators glinted in the sunlight.

“What’s up?” he drawled around the plume of smoke that slipped from his mouth.

Carter smiled, despite the disheveled appearance of his friend. His AC/DC T-shirt was creased and his jeans looked as though they’d not seen a washing machine in a hella long time. “Not much; just released from prison, ya know.”

“Same old, same old, huh?”

“You know it.” Carter placed his box on the hood of the car and shook Max’s hand before they hugged with a slap of the back. “It’s good to see your ugly face,” he said, taking the smoke Max was offering. He regarded his friend as he took a much-needed drag. His hair was longer and he looked like he’d not shaved in a while. “How ya doin’?”

Max’s face pinched. “I’m okay.”

Carter sighed. “You sure?”

“Yeah, dude.” The smile Max offered was small. “Was that Parker?”

Carter nodded and leaned against the car.

“Carter!”

The two men looked up to see a flustered-looking redhead waving hesitantly and weaving through the parking lot toward them.

“Who the fuck is that?” Max pulled his shades down until they were resting at the tip of his nose. Carter immediately noticed the size of Max’s pupils and the dark lines under his eyes that screamed lack of sleep. He was fucking high. Jesus. It wasn’t even 8 a.m.

“No one,” Carter answered with an exasperated shake of his head. “Hold this a minute.”

He handed Max the cigarette and began jogging between the cars over to his Peaches. He didn’t need Max ogling her while they spoke. If he was high, the asshole might say anything.

“Hey,” he breathed, coming to a standstill in front of her.

“Hey,” she replied. “I’m sorry.” She glanced behind him. “I—I know you probably want to get going but, well, I—”

“It’s no problem,” Carter interrupted. “That’s just my buddy Max. He’s taking me home.” He pulled his shades off and tucked them in the neck of his T-shirt. “What’s up?”

Her gaze wandered over him in a way that made his heart race. “I got your present, the book, and I … I just wanted to say thank you. It was—” She bit her lip hard.

“Did you like it?” Carter asked nervously, slipping the tips of his fingers into the pockets of his jeans.

Her eyes widened. “Like it? I loved it. It was perfect and extremely thoughtful. Thank you.”

Carter rocked back on his heels. “Well, you know.” He scratched his head. “You said you’d lost yours and, well, now you have one.”

“Yeah,” she said quietly. “I’ve read it twice already. It’s wonderful.”

Carter smiled wider. She seemed so happy. “Good. You’re welcome, Peaches.”

“I also wanted to give you this.” She reached into the pocket of her gray pants and pulled out a small card covered in numbers. “Our first session is scheduled for Tuesday at four at the library on Forty-second. Here’s my cell number and my … my home number in case, well, in case you can’t make it or you’re gonna be late or whatever.” She waved her hand dismissively. “I just thought you should have some way of being able to contact me.”

She handed Carter the card. Was she blushing?

“That’s a damn good idea. Thanks.” He pushed the card into the back pocket of his jeans.

“So,” she continued. “I’ll see you then?”

“Sure,” he answered. Her flustering was unsettling but cute as hell.

“Good,” she replied, taking a step back. “I’ll let you get going. Take care.”

He saluted with two lazy fingers at his temple. “You too.” She smiled bashfully, turned, and walked back toward the facility.

Once she was through the door and out of sight, he blew out an uncomfortable breath. “Fuck.”

Peaches was normally so in control. He relied on her discipline to keep him calm. Their sessions would sure as shit not work if they continued to behave this way with each other. Maybe the whole tutoring thing was going to be an utter bust. He put his shades back on and headed back to the car.

Max was chuckling. “Something you wanna share?” He waggled his eyebrows.

“No,” Carter snapped back at the double entendre. Realizing how protective he sounded, he laughed, attempting to hide his annoyance. “She’s just a lit tutor, that’s all.”

“Tutor, huh?” Max asked, glancing back at the door she’d disappeared through. “Well, fuck, she could tutor me anytime with that ass. That’s some hot junk in the trunk.”

Carter held his tongue and smiled tightly while keeping his eyes on the handle of the car door. “Really, I hadn’t noticed.”

Max snorted and pulled his car keys from his pocket. “That settles it, brother. We need to get your ass laid.”

This, Carter had to laugh at and agree with wholeheartedly. He needed to relax and clear his mind of all this bullshit. He was a free man and he was ready to enjoy every minute of it.

* * *

Carter had never been a homebody.

From the age of nine he’d been shifted from one wretched place to another. If it wasn’t from one boarding school to another equally pretentious one, he would, usually after coming to blows with his father, crash on friends’ sofas or floors. He always got itchy feet from staying in one place for too long.

That’s just the way his life was: unsettled.

So he was surprised when he was hit with an overwhelming sense of relief as he pushed the key into the lock of his loft apartment on the corner of Greenwich and Jay in the TriBeCa neighborhood of Manhattan. He pushed the door open and took a moment to allow the smells of the place to wash over him.

Max nudged his back. “You planning on going in there?”

“Yeah.” Carter took a step into the apartment and closed the door behind Max, who had his box.

Carter threw his keys onto a small table and surveyed his home. High ceilings, wooden floors, and cream and brown furniture. His vintage guitar collection remained on the walls along with the black-and-white photographs from a local artist he’d collected over the years. Ornamental Harley and Triumph parts scattered the apartment, shining in the sun that swept in through the ten-foot-tall windows.

Max had arranged a cleaner to visit once a week while Carter was in prison, to make sure everything was just so.

“The place looks good, right?” Max asked.

Carter smiled. “Yeah, it does. Thanks.”

“Hey, no problem.” He moved around to the large double stainless steel fridge and opened it to display a large stock of alcohol. “Surprise,” he said with a laugh. “Just for you, my friend.” He opened two bottles of beer and handed one to an amused Carter.

“To your freedom,” Max said solemnly as they clinked their bottlenecks and then took a gulp. Carter had never been happier that alcohol wasn’t prohibited as part of his parole conditions, even at ten in the morning.

He belched loudly in appreciation and grinned. “I needed that.”

Max handed him another. “So, Carter, free man extraordinaire, what’s the plan for the rest of the day?”

Carter sipped his beer thoughtfully. “Well, I need a goddamn shower. And a haircut and a good sleep in my own bed.”

Max rolled his eyes. “Jesus, Carter, is that the best you can come up with?”

“No.” His face became serious. “I want to see my baby.”

Max grinned.

“Is she okay?” Carter asked. “Have you taken care of her?”

“She’s fucking gorgeous and, yes, I treated her as if she were my own.”

“Take me to her.”

He followed Max out of his apartment and galloped down the stairs of the building toward the private underground garage. Max flicked on the light switch and Carter gasped when he saw his pride and joy, looking so fucking spectacular, she took his breath away.

“Hello, beautiful,” he whispered.

He reached out to let the tips of his fingers touch the pristine leather seat of the black Harley-Davidson Sportster. Kala. He swallowed hard when he grasped her handlebars. It’d been too long. Max whistled and, as Carter turned, threw the Harley’s keys at him, which he caught against his chest. “She looks awesome, Max. Thank you.”