Page 51 of The Games We Play (Balance of Power #3)

NAOMI

T he lingering scent of pungent body odor and stale air hits my nostrils as we enter the check-in area of the prison. Seamus instructs me to sit, and points to one of the chairs in the corner as his eyes bounce around the room.

His body is tight and stern, as it usually is, but a touch more rigid than usual. He chose to wear a fitted, all black ensemble, feeding into the half-guard half-assassin look that I’m certain he was aiming for, and it does nothing except set my body on fire.

The long sleeve crew neck shirt that hugs his chest and shoulders with tailored perfection is tucked neatly into the black cargo pants, held snugly with a leather belt and combat boots.

Looking around, his outfit mirrors the security guards, save the badge and gun belts, and I wonder if that was his intention.

The guard who stands at the entrance of the prison doors glances up and eyes him as he approaches the check-in desk, standing a bit taller as they attempt to match his intimidating demeanor.

One finger knocking at the table, he grabs the attention of the security guard who is sorting through paperwork attached to a clipboard.

His neck cranes up, the grove between his brows peaks as he stares at Seamus’ hand before his eyes roam up his body, then instantly relaxes as he stands up quickly with a mile wide smile.

“Matthews, what the hell are you doing here, man?” The guard holds out his hand and Seamus slap shakes it as he pulls him in for a chest bump.

They share a few pleasantries before Seamus leans in and speaks to him in a hushed tone.

The security guard tilts his ear toward Seamus, but his eyes peer up toward me. He looks away then stands stick straight, giving Seamus a curt nod before sitting back down with his clipboard in hand.

Seamus pats him on the shoulder then retreats back my way, an unreadable look on his face—which is typical for everyday life, so I’m uncertain how to take that whole interaction.

“So, what was that all about?” I ask as Seamus sits down in the chair next to me.

He just shakes his head then says, “Nothing, he’ll call us up shortly.”

“But you know him?” I ask.

“Yes.”

“From where?”

“We were stationed together.”

“Hm, interesting,” I reply. “Did you know he was going to be here?”

I ask because it’s either a miraculous coincidence or planned exactly like Seamus needed it to be.

He takes in a deep breath and finally answers what I already knew.

“I had Rocco run all the names of the guards at this penitentiary. Whitlock,” he nods at the guy at the desk, “got called in on his day off to be here today, because I need someone I know I can lean on if anything happens.” He glances back over to me as his broad hand trails over the top of my thigh.

“Nothing will happen, but it’s always good to know people in the right places. ”

The concerned look on his face contradicts his statement.

What the hell am I thinking? Do I really need to do this? Confront Nathan? What for? What am I hoping to accomplish?

I know in my heart this is something I should do. Something I should have done a long time ago, but what if it makes everything worse and seeing him puts me in a tailspin I can’t get out of?

I look up to Seamus who’s studying me with concern. I see it in his eyes, too. I know he senses my doubt.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” he asks, his head dipping to look into my eyes.

I nod, urgently. “Yes.”

“Naomi?” one of the guards asks, stepping in front of me. I look up and nod. “Come with me, please.”

Standing, I follow him past the security desk Seamus checked in at and pass the two other guards. One holds a large metal door open with only a small square window that looks through it.

As I walk through the door, the quaint room has multi-sized lockers surrounding it with a few benches in the middle. The fluorescent lighting is piercing to my irises, and the stench in here is like taking a whiff of a carton of milk ten days past its shelf date.

I scrunch up my face in disgust. It’s partially a relief that Nathan has had to live in a sewage smelling cell if this is anything like the jails.

“Put all your belongings in the locker, including all the jewelry you are wearing. Follow the instructions on the inside door jamb and pick a code of your choice, then I’ll meet you over here for a pat down.

” He points at the corner of the room, a four walled cement cubby specifically for ‘pat downs’.

I was prepared for this. Well, I expected it. I know this is standard, but it’s all surreal that this is happening, and just behind that door I’ll come face to face with Nathan. After all these years, I finally get to say what I need to say to the person I need to say it to.

I place my belongings in the locker and type in a code, 0722. It clicks in place as I close the small metal door and step into the corner of the room.

The guard glances at Seamus, then to me, giving me a once over before squatting down and cupping my ankle, patting all the way up my leg, then repeats the same on the other.

He runs his hands over my waist and between my legs.

There is nothing sexual about it, but when I turn to look at Seamus, his face is fire engine red.

I can practically see the heat steaming off his head.

He could probably fry an egg on top of it.

His fists clench at his sides while he tilts his neck from one side to the other, huffing out a long, drawn out breath. His eyes are dark as he pins the unknowing guard with a look that could kill an army.

Groping Guard makes me jump when his hand lands on my torso. He presses them underneath my boobs and into my ribcage, then moves his hands over my shoulders, down my arms, before grabbing my wrists. He flips them over, using a firm grip to inspect my fingernails.

I flinch and pull back on instinct.

My mouth drops open and I apologize, not wanting to seem suspicious. “You startled me.”

“You’re good to go in,” he says as he gestures his arm toward the door.

I step through the archway and pause as Seamus steps into the space I was just in for this pat down, and the guard clears him.

Seamus places his hand on the small of my back, guiding me through the doorway as we enter the visitation room. The air is stale, the space is vast, and it’s filled with metal, circular tables. It smells just as bad as the locker room.

Seamus’ lips graze my ear. “Pick a table in the middle of the room. I’ll have my eyes on you the entire time.” Then he steps to the side, blending in with the wall at the back of the room.

I walk toward the middle of the room, as he instructed, and take a seat.

My hands begin to tremble at the realization that Nathan is just outside this room, waiting to come in. He must know by now that it’s me, and that is both terrifying and liberating.

Breathe.

I remind myself as I close my eyes and draw in a deep inhale through my nose, expelling everything out of my lungs through my slightly parted lips.

Opening my eyes, I realize my back is facing Seamus and I’m not sure how he wants me to sit.

Pressing into my feet I stand, glancing back at Seamus.

His brows pinch together in confusion as his foot drags forward, before a loud clang catches both of our attention and the metal barrier separating us from the inmates opens.

My ass plops down on the seat, feeling as if I need to hide myself behind the table while Seamus steps back, pressing his back against the wall.

The men scatter in different directions, looking around for whoever it is that is visiting them. I keep my eye on the line of men as they disperse out before one of them stops next to me.

His arms are covered with tattoos that are barely visible under the thick layer of hair coating his forearms, and he’s huge . His body is able to block the entire table next to mine as he looks down at me with a lopsided smile.

“You should come back to see me next week, darlin’.”

I steel my spine and lift my chin. Before I can respond with a stern no, I’m interrupted by a far too familiar voice that makes my stomach burst and my throat constrict .

“Beat it, Charles. This one’s mine, and she’s here for me.” I side-eye my view from Charles to the man who has consumed too many years of my life.

My rapist.

It took me years to call him that, to claim it. Not just the title for him, but the ownership of who he is to me. The word is vile, but what he did is worse. He deserves to wear the title as if it were tattooed permanently on his face.

I’ve thought about forgiveness and allowing myself the thought that he could change, he could become better.

I would hang onto the advice of my therapist, telling myself to forgive so I could move on.

But as he sits in front of me, forgiveness can never be given, because I can see in the dark orbs of his evil eyes, he’ll never earn it.

My eyes quickly scan his body. His once boyish face is rough and hard. His body isn’t excessively lean and fragile like I expected. He looks strong and healthy. Like he spends a majority of his days working out. He wears a smile like he enjoys the luxury and time he has.

“Mimi,” he sits down across from me, intertwining his fingers as he places his hands on the table, “to what do I owe this pleasure?”

I swallow thickly at the distinct sound of his voice. It hasn’t changed. It pierces me as it echoes through my eardrums, bringing forth the terror from that night.

For a moment, I feel like I’m falling. Dizzy from the adrenaline coursing through my body and torn between being fragile and weak, but still so mad and angry.

My eyes sink down into my lap and I feel like that eighteen-year-old girl again, sitting in the courtroom as everyone else spoke for her, about her, like I couldn’t hear what they were saying.

I refuse to be that silent girl again .

Sitting to my full height, I confidently lift my chin as my eyes take in the weak, sorry excuse of a man.

“You don’t deserve an appeal, and I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure it’s not granted.”

“Ahhh.” As if he’s possessed by Lucifer himself, he chuckles. Like I’m joking, or what I’m saying won’t be taken seriously.

“How did you find out?” I remain silent, not answering his question as he shrugs.

“Doesn’t matter. By this time next week, I’ll be outside of these walls, enjoying what I’ve been missing out on for the last ten years.

Basking in the pleasures of what you took away from me.

And nothing you do is going to stop me from that, sweetheart. ”

“The parole board will hear my story. They will see the pictures of what you did to me?—”

He slams his hand down on the metal table, interrupting me.

“The parole board doesn’t give two shits about your story. Texas has too many prisoners and not enough cells to hold them. My crime ,” he air quotes with his fingers, “is nothing compared to what some of these other guys in here have done.”

“You raped me and almost beat me to death,” I grit through clenched teeth.

“You wanted me for years, and when I finally gave it to you, you claim I took advantage of you because it was a little too rough for you. You women are all the fucking same.”

I’m stunned for a moment as I try to understand what he’s saying. But there is no use. It’s impossible to understand someone who has made up an entire relationship in their head. Who justifies their actions because of their delusional interpretation of reality.

“Is there a remorseful bone in your body for what you did to me?”

He leans back, shaking his head as he chuckles to himself. “I didn’t do anything to you. All those years you flirted with me, you were begging me for it.”

I tilt my head, appraising him, realizing this isn’t the first time he’s given himself that excuse, nor will it be the last. Nathan Simmons is a natural born predator. Someone who will never take no for an answer and will always take what he wants. Right, wrong, or indifferent.

He leans forward over the table and aligns himself closer to me, whispering, “Do you know the things they did to me when I first got here? The things I had to do to get to where I am now? I dream of the day I can pay back my sweet Mimi with the same pain and suffering you’ve caused me, and it will come.

It will come very, very soon, sweetheart.

In fact,” he pauses, lowering his voice even more, “I’ve always wanted to visit Seattle. ”

I gasp at his knowledge that he knows where I live.

“You think you’re the only one keeping tabs on things?” he asks, smiling from ear to ear. “You’ve gotten to live your fun little life, free of restrictions on that cute little cul-de-sac. You even have a white picket fence and everything. It’s adorable.”

Dipping even closer to me, so he can lower his voice, he vows, “I will come for you, Mimi.”

His rancid breath wafts through the air between us, and I screw up my face in disgust as his threats hit my chest like a ton of bricks. My lungs deflate and I gasp for air with the knowledge of what he knows about my life.

Turning to avoid his stare, I scooch back in my seat, attempting to create some distance between us. As I lift my hand to tap my shoulder, he slams his palms down over my wrists, pinning them to the table. Pressing into the joints he knows all too well.

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?”