Page 12 of The Sharpest Edges

She’s closer to him now than she’s ever been. Even when she showed him her car, she stepped back until he was finished, but now she lingers right there, only a step away. It’s an effort to prove to him and to herself that she’s not afraid, and also because she wants to.

“They look like cows,” he says, more than a little amused. She’s fed him and made him smile…sort of. This feels like a solid victory.

The babies do look like cows. Six white kittens with black spots, fluffy fur, and half-open eyes.

The slide show is cut short when Nick’s footsteps sound heavy on the tiles and she tucks her phone into her pocket again. He escorts Dean back out and her heart squeezes at the thought of him not eating a damn thing until she sees him again in two days.

6

Chapter 6

Dean’s never been this hungry.

Not even when he was a kid and his father was too drunk to shop for food. Even then, he scrounged up something from deep within the cabinets or raided the stash of candy bars and crackers he kept tucked in his closet for emergencies.

Once he was old enough, he started hunting for food on those occasions when he wasn’t brave enough to sneak a ten from his father’s wallet and buy milk, bread, and eggs from the store. He made do, one way or the other, but now he has no choice but to go hungry unless Jaxson sees fit to toss him a slice or two of bread like a dog, so he doesn’t wither away and die of starvation.

He’s gotten exactly ten slices since the last time he’s seen Ava. When she’d been kind enough to force a granola bar on him because he no doubt looked like hell after only a day and a half with no food. Ten slices of air sandwiches, as Jaxson likes to call them, are all he’s worthy of until he agrees to join up and become one of them.

He hardly knows how he got himself into this damn messin the first place, but logic tells him that it probably had something to do with Clyde. Dean told one of Jaxson’s men to fuck off when they casually strolled by and grabbed a dinner roll off Clyde’s tray.

Dean wouldn’t call him and Clyde friends, if anyone can be friends in here, but he’s a likable asshole, easy going enough, and he’s not mean, which is a big difference from the others. So when Joey grabbed that roll and Clyde didn’t say shit about it…Dean did.

And it had gone largely unnoticed.

Joey tossed the roll back, not expecting anyone to call him on it, and threw Dean the finger as an add-on bonus.

He’d gotten nothing but worry from Clyde the whole night, though, telling him not to do shit like that because pissing off Jaxson is like poking a tiger. Part of the reason he’s left alone is that he ‘provides’ for them. Gives them what they want, when they want it. Half his shit if the request is there and just a dinner roll if it’s not.

The next morning, when Dean slowly made his way through the line to get his breakfast slop spooned onto a tray, there wasn’t any left for him. Which was bullshit because he could see it right there, ready to be served, but the inmate behind the counter ignored him and served the next guy instead. Sent a glance toward Jaxson, who smiled at Dean, confirming that he’d earned himself a sufficient amount of unwanted attention.

Dean tossed his tray onto the counter with a clatter and stalked right over to Jaxson, asking him what the hell he thought he was doing and getting a big toothy smile in return, like it wasn’t no big thing.

“Was wonderin’ when you’d come by for a chat. The food? That’s for us,” Jaxson said, pointing smugly to himself and therest of his men. “And those we see fit to share with. If you want some, it can be yours. That and so. Much. More. All you gotta do is join us. Easy as pie, because make no mistake, you’re on the radar now. If you didn’t notice before, there are only two classes of people in here. You’re either one of us or one of them.”

Dean wasn’t impressed by the pitch. Jaxson’s voice was like nails on a chalkboard, and the only acceptable option was to tell him to fuck off.

Jaxson didn’t follow when he turned on his heel and headed back to his cell with a scowl, simmering rage still building under the surface.

He’s not sure what that group actually does, but he’d bet his right arm that it’s illegal. Smuggling drugs maybe. Bribing the guards. Shaking down the others. Plenty of crime happens right inside the prison walls, or so Boone used to tell him.

There’s a whole heap of shit they could be involved in and if the whispers around the cell block are anything to go by, then it could go even deeper. Something shared with only the chosen few, something to land Dean’s ass behind bars for half his life if he’s not careful.

He doesn’t want a single part of it. He’s been suffering his bread sandwiches in silence, waiting for them to lose interest and move on to an easier mark. But they haven’t. Not even a little bit and all Dean can hear anymore is his own stomach grumbling in protest.

“Want some ding-dongs? Goddamn, do I ever love me some ding-dongs. Like little rolls of chocolate heaven.”

It’s Jaxson’s voice, taunting him from across the room while Dean accepts his tray of bread and wanders past him toward his cell again. He prefers to eat in there instead of out withthe others.

Dean ignores the question. He’s getting good at pretending that bastard isn’t there, but he’s not let off the hook so easily this time.

Jaxson strides over, his manic grin dripping with anticipation. “You can have one, you know. Hell, you can have more than one, can take the whole damn box. All you gotta do is say yes. Unless you’ve grown fond of the white bread in this place.”

“Go fu—”

“Yeah, yeah, go fuck myself. Eat a dick. Fuck off. I know. But here’s the thing, I don’t think you fully understand just how much I’m trying to help you here. Didn’t let me finish last time, so I figured, let’s give him a few days to simmer on it before I go in for the kill.”

Dean narrows his eyes, clutching his empty tray until his fingers hurt. “Ain’t got nothing I want.”

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