A Pound of Flesh (A Pound of Flesh #1) (6 page)

What she read in his file hadn’t been a surprise. Carter was the poster boy for rebellious deviants. Sentenced to thirty-six months for cocaine possession in the second degree nineteen months previous, Carter, since the age of fifteen, had been in detention centers or incarceration of some description at least six months out of every twelve.

He’d dropped out of school at seventeen, where his GPA had been above average. He’d excelled in sports and English and listed Salinger, Steinbeck, and Selby Jr. as his favorite writers. It was clear that he was intelligent, a fact that he’d made apparent with his comments about her class and how “basic” he found the work. Kat bristled at the memory.

She knew she could have him removed from her classroom to make a point that she was in charge. But then he would have won. Giving up and running away, or ignoring the issue, would not do for Kat Lane. She would never be forced to run away from anything ever again. He would not defeat her, and it vexed her that he’d even tried.

Because of her eagerness to get the morning out of the way as fast as humanly possible, she was pacing the front of the room when the inmates entered, led by Jason, who threw a large smile in her direction. Riley bowed and followed him single file. She turned from laughing at Riley and her breath caught. Her heart started to stutter when Carter strode into the room, ignoring Kat and pushing Corey out of the way to get to his seat.

The irrational irritation and heat she’d apparently quelled with her hypothesizing and promise to try reared instantly when their eyes locked for a split second.

Clearing her throat, Kat made her way to her desk. “I’m glad we’re all here. Today we’re going to start our poetry study, which we will do for the next week before we start our Shakespeare play.”

Kat rested her backside against her desk, her skin tingling. She’d seen Carter’s reaction to the poem she’d distributed, and had managed to stay quiet by biting her lip so hard she nearly drew blood. She focused on getting her words out and not on the desire she had to pull a face, stick her tongue out, or perform some other equally inappropriate gesture.

Jesus—mature, much?

She took a deep breath. “I’d like to start by asking what you all know about poetry.”

The room remained silent. Riley perused the ceiling as he always did, as though the answer was written there, while Jason and Corey looked at her like she’d grown three additional heads. Sam kept his eyes on the desk in front of him, happy to keep quiet after the fiasco of yesterday’s session. He hated confrontations.

Jason slowly raised his hand, meeting Kat’s eyes with trepidation. “They can rhyme?”

“They can, absolutely,” she answered with a smile. “Just like the poem we’ll be studying, but that’s not always the case.”

“They’re always about pansy-ass shit like love,” Riley complained from his seat.

“That is true in some cases, Riley, but not in this one,” Kat replied with a shake of her head. “Would I do that to you?” Riley chuckled.

The undeniable sound of Carter mumbling something into the back of his hand had Kat’s head swiveling in his direction. “I’m sorry, Carter, I didn’t catch that.”

He dropped his hands to the desk and shot her a daggered stare.

“We have a very simple rule in this classroom,” Kat added when the silence continued. “You have something to say, you say it. Okay?” The smile she gave was sugary sweet.

“Or else what?”

Kat cocked her head to the side, studying him. He was undeniably attractive, hiding a rage that simmered beneath his skin.

“Or else you can leave. It’s that simple.” Kat moved closer, speaking quietly. “I’ve told you before. This is my classroom. My rules. You do as you’re asked.” Kat lifted the left corner of her mouth in her own derisive grin. “Not too basic for you, is it?”

“Basic,” Corey muttered behind his hand.

Before Kat could say anything else, Carter slammed his hand down hard enough to split the wood of the desk and shoved his chair back with such force it clattered into the desk behind it. Furious silence blanketed the room.

“Something fucking funny?” he growled down at Corey before shooting a glare at Officer West, who’d moved from his position by the door. “Care to share?” Carter continued, taking a step toward his prey. “I don’t appreciate being left out of a joke.”

Kat was spellbound.

She moved slowly. “Carter, calm down.”

Carter ignored her, bending at the waist to eyeball a wary-looking Corey. “Are you laughing at me?”

“Come on now, Carter,” Officer West murmured while throwing a worried glance in Kat’s direction.

“Carter, sit down,” Kat urged, hiding the panic in her voice with firmness and authority. “There’s no need for this. Cool it.”

“Yeah, man,” Corey continued. “Cool it.”

In a quick move, Carter put his hands under the edge of Corey’s desk and flung it hard against the wall with an almighty roar. The sound of the wood careening into the plastic-covered brick resonated around the room like a death knell.

Everyone was immediately on his or her feet, with Officer West grabbing his baton and lunging at Carter before he got closer to Corey, paralyzed in his seat. Kat’s body seized up behind a psyched-up Riley, who protected her with his size as three more guards descended onto Carter.

Kat watched in alarm around Riley’s mammoth biceps as Officer West threw Carter against the wall. The officers—called by the panic alarm hit by Rachel—were upon him in a second. Kat flinched when she heard Carter’s grunts and curses as they pushed and pummeled him hard while cuffing him.

“That’s my fucking wrist!” he yelled into the face of one of the officers before being slammed into the wall again face-first. The officer twisted his wrist farther with a sadistic smile on his face, making Carter shout out in obvious pain.

“Hey!” Kat cried, whipping under Riley’s arm, past a laughing Corey. She stormed over to the rabble of angry men.

Carter, whose left cheek was pressed into the wall, eyed her furiously. She scowled at the guard who’d tried to snap the bone in his wrist.

“I saw that,” she fumed, pointing to Carter’s cuffs. “You don’t need to hurt him. It’s unnecessary.”

“Oh, Miss Lane, it’s very necessary,” the officer countered with a hard voice. “You need to keep them in check, see.” He pulled Carter into an upright position.

Kat immediately saw blood trailing from Carter’s left nostril, down his lip. “He’s bleeding!”

“He’s fine,” the guard barked. He thrust Carter forward but was halted by Kat’s firm, unmoving hand on his chest.

“Wait!” She paused for a second before going to her purse and retrieving a pack of tissues. She pulled one out and walked back to Carter, whose face read a million and one different things.

He started to protest when her hand moved to his face. “You don’t need to fuc—”

“Shut up and let me help you,” she bit with a finality and insistence that shut Carter’s mouth with a snap. He took a deep breath when the tissue in her hand swiped at the blood.

His eyes on Kat’s face left a trail of warmth from her hairline down to her nose and mouth. Trying her hardest to ignore the fact that her heart was about to burst, Kat focused hard—watching the swiping motion of the tissue—but felt every movement he made. Every time he breathed and it whispered across her hand under his nose, she swallowed, and every time his mouth twitched, her lungs squeezed.

She wiped gently but determinedly until his face was a damn sight better than it had been after the officers had manhandled him so violently. He hadn’t deserved their treatment. She stared intently around his face and noticed a mark starting to appear on his cheek.

The urge to touch the appearing bruise shook Kat to her core. She cleared her throat and dropped her gaze from his. She seemed to have no power over her hand or its intentions as it started to move toward the skin under his eye, where his bone jutted out in all its sculptured glory. She wanted to ease the redness of it through her fingertips and soothe the ache she just knew was burning under his skin, but she couldn’t.

“All done,” she muttered, wiping a spot of blood on her thumb.

Carter frowned. He opened his mouth, but no words came. Instead, he scoffed before the three guards marched him past her and out of the classroom.

Kat heaved a sigh and tossed the bloodied tissue into the trash can.

Kat rolled over and shut the alarm off before it even turned on. She was wide-awake and had been for over an hour.

She’d tossed and turned all night thinking and deliberating about what her next move would be with Carter. Their second lesson had been a complete disaster, and that was putting it mildly. She’d tried to be calm. God, how she’d tried. But it wasn’t enough. She’d still managed to become enraged by him.

She had no idea what it was about him. He was, after all, just like the other men she taught. Well, that wasn’t exactly true; he was a lot more combative and exceedingly more aggressive and—she winced at the thought—a lot more attractive, too. She’d tried not to see him in any other way than as her student, but it was hard to ignore the man who drove her crazy.

She rubbed her palms down her face. She knew better than to get involved in any way with any person she taught. The nonfraternization policy of the prison was clear and succinct, and Kat loved her job too much to put it in any kind of jeopardy. She was a professional and no one, not even Carter, could make her forget that.

But Carter was at his most stunning when he was furious. His rage seemed to make his skin glow and the frown lines, which Kat imagined were indentations caused by his hatred for everything around him, dissolved, leaving his face serene and flawless. He was, in those moments, the most breathtaking creature she had ever seen.

As scared as she was when he’d flung the desk at the wall during her class, she’d been unable to tear her eyes from him, watching with fascination as the beast inside him roared. He was animalistic and, for that brief time, utterly uncaged. It was that thought alone that made parts of Kat’s body come alive in spectacular fashion; it was a side of Carter she desired and detested with equal fervor.

Regardless, no matter what her body thought of the matter, Kat knew the guard twisting his wrist was completely unacceptable. Carter hadn’t deserved that.

And she would tell Anthony Ward that very thing when she got to work.

But, for whatever reason, Anthony Ward was not at work when she got there later that morning. A little disheartened and still a lot confused, Kat began preparing her classroom, trying her hardest not to think about whether Carter would turn up. She pulled at the hem of her blouse in frustration when she realized the part of her that wanted him in her classroom far outweighed the part that didn’t, and cursed loudly.

“Wrong side of the bed this morning?”

Rachel’s voice floated from the doorway, clearing Kat’s head for all of five seconds before the battle within started again in earnest. She smiled and raised her eyebrows, unable to articulate correctly why she was cursing to an empty room.

“He’s been removed,” Rachel said plainly while placing her bag on her seat.

Kat turned. “What?”

“Carter.” Rachel shrugged. “Ward told him his temper is out of control. He’s a danger to himself and others.”

“Shit. How did he take it?”

Rachel gave her a wry smile. “As Carter always does: with a few curses and a growl.” She took a step toward Kat. “This is going to affect his parole.”

Kat’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. She didn’t even know he’d been considered for it.

“When is his parole application up for review?” Kat asked.

“The end of the month.”

Kat’s newfound need to work with Carter instead of against him surprised her. She’d known him all of two days, spoken maybe a dozen words to him, mostly through gritted teeth, but still she knew, deep down, somewhere in her stomach, there was something about him, something more—something that set him apart from the other students in her class. Something that called to her in a way she could never explain.

His ambivalence was frustrating as all hell, and he had a smugness that could force any sane person to drink. In spite of all that, Kat had the overwhelming desire to put things right, to help.

That was her debt, after all.

Kat nodded in resolve.

“What?” Rachel asked. “What are you thinking?”

Kat smiled, her fortitude rising to the surface. “I’m thinking Mr. Carter is going to have to start dealing with being around me more often.”

* * *

“Harder!”

Carter grunted.

“I said harder! I didn’t feel a thing!”

Carter grunted again, louder this time as his fist slammed hard into the red protective shield that the prison’s gym officer, Kent Ross, was holding in front of him.

“My three-year-old hits harder, and she’s a girl! Again!”

Carter’s eyes clenched and his knuckles turned the same shade of white as the bandages around them when, with a terrifying yell, he began pummeling the shield with everything he had. The hate, anger, desire, need, and want burst from him through his fists with such force that Ross staggered backward.

After thirty seconds, Carter’s arms began to slow as the adrenaline burn began through his intricately inked shoulders, down his equally patterned biceps, and into his forearms, which screamed under the relentless pounding. He gasped and panted, and almost kissed Ross’s ugly-ass face when he said they were done.

Carter loved the workout; it was the only part of his anger management he enjoyed. The in-house shrink had suggested Ross work with Carter after one of his notorious tantrums, in an effort to vent some of the tension.

Carter slumped against the blue mat he’d been standing on and lay on his back, his chest rising and falling heavily. He really needed to quit smoking. His knuckles smarted and his face throbbed from where the guard had smashed him into the wall during Miss Lane’s class. He was drenched with sweat.

“You did good,” Ross muttered, peering over Carter’s limp body, holding out a bottle of water.

“You nearly killed me,” Carter replied, taking it from him with a shaking hand.