Shiloh kept his hands in his pockets and his head down until it was time for the guards to search him for contraband. He stood patiently, counting the cracks in the cement floor, as they patted him down.
Once the man finished, he signaled to a woman on the other side of the bulletproof glass. Shiloh jumped as the alarm sounded, the grating buzzer making his eardrums vibrate uncomfortably a moment before the lock disengaged. The guard pushed the door open, then escorted him towards the visitor room.
The farther into the prison they went, the more depressing it became. Iron bars gave way to dingy white walls, water stained ceilings, and rooms with heavy iron doors. It was all so bleak.
The walk seemed to take forever, the guards echoing footsteps, adding to the overall anxiety shaking Shiloh’s insides. A voice in the back of his head whispered that he shouldn’t have come. The voice was right. When Micah found out—and he would—Shiloh would probably get another beating. He mighteven end up on the roof again. He couldn’t take another trip up there.
But it wasn’t Micah’s wrath that made Shiloh question his decision to visit. It was Mal’s impending reaction when he saw what Micah had done to him. Shiloh’s eye was a solid eggplant purple from his brow bone to his cheekbone. Another green and yellow bruise mottled his jaw. And even though he’d sealed his split lip with some super glue, it was still swollen and red.
Mal would be…upset. And when Mal was upset, he didn’t think straight. Shiloh couldn’t afford for Mal to do anything stupid while he was in this place. There was too much at stake. Like his freedom.
Luckily, most of the damage was below Shiloh’s clothing. As long as Shiloh sat before they brought Mal in, he wouldn’t be able to see how badly he limped from his sprained ankle or the abrasions from the ropes. He wouldn’t know how discolored his abdomen, hips, and legs were or how it felt like he’d been trampled by a dozen horses.
Shiloh could do this.
Once inside the large visitor room, he chose a table in the far corner of the otherwise empty space. He wanted some privacy. He sat on the cold metal bench on one side of the equally cold metal table, both bolted to the floor. He chewed on his thumbnail, leg jittering as he waited. He glanced at the six narrow slots they called windows at the top of the tall ceiling, wondering why they even bothered at all.
Prison was supposed to be for rehabilitation, but how could anyone better themselves there? It was so dreary and demoralizing. The truth was, prison wasn’t about reformation, it was about punishment. And, sure, some people deserved punishment, but Shiloh thought punishment should fit the crime. How was it that a money launderer, a drug dealer, and amurderer were all somehow considered equal under the eyes of the law?
And Mal was locked in there with all of them.
“Shi?”
Shiloh’s heart leapt at his brother’s soft voice. He jumped from his seat and threw his arms around his neck before the guard by the door barked, “No touching.”
Shiloh clung for another few seconds before Mal pushed him back gently, nodding for him to sit. Shiloh looked him over, taking inventory of his brother’s appearance. He wore socks and sandals, baggy gray sweatpants, and a gray hoodie with only one arm in the sleeve, the other sleeve and the rest of the sweatshirt tucked up around his neck like a scarf, revealing a thin white t-shirt underneath.
His previously bleached hair was now the same deep brown as Shiloh’s, and his lanky frame seemed to have gained a bit of muscle, making his shoulders look broader than before. His face was as delicate and unblemished as Shiloh remembered; no bruises marred his perfect skin.
Somehow, despite months in prison, his brother looked just as pretty as the day he’d been sentenced. Something inside Shiloh unclenched at that. He looked far worse than Malachi.
They stared at each other for a long moment, Mal’s long lashes fluttering, like he was trying to process the numerous bruises on Shiloh’s face, his jaw muscle ticking like a heartbeat as he did. He reached over and snagged Shiloh’s jaw, turning his face this way and that.
“No touching,” the guard shouted again, seemingly more out of a sense of duty than any actual concern for the rules.
Mal flicked his cat-like gaze towards the doughy-faced man with his paunchy stomach, his fingertips hot against Shiloh’s chin. The guard eyed him warily, then took a step towards them.Mal dropped his hands, raising them in mock surrender. The guard rolled his eyes, then went back to staring at the far wall.
“What happened?” Mal asked, voice as serene as always. “What did he do?”
“It was my fault.” Shiloh swallowed hard. “I-I fucked up.”
Mal slow-blinked at him, then tipped his head one way then the other, neck cracking loudly in the quiet. “I very much doubt that.”
“I…I was supposed to kill somebody,” he whispered. “One of Jericho’s boys. You know, the mechanic guy Micah has such a hard-on for? Micah wanted me to kill one of his guys as a message. But…I couldn’t do it.”
To an outsider, Mal’s placid expression would have looked cold, even disinterested. His gaze traveled the room slowly, taking in every crack in the brick, every chip in the paint before finally settling on Shiloh once more.
“Of course, you couldn’t,” he said, as if the notion of Shiloh killing anyone was absurd.
“But I was supposed to. He made me take a gun, dragged me to the convenience store where the guy worked, and wouldn't leave until I went inside. I tried… I tried so hard to do it, even though I didn’t want to…” Shiloh trailed off, cheeks hot. “I thought, if I could just kill him, maybe Micah would get you out of here.” Mal gave him another long, lazy blink. “I tried, Mal. I swear, I tried. I stuck the gun right in his face.”
Mal’s lips twitched. “And what happened?”
Shiloh pushed his jacket hood off his head, the room suddenly feeling stuffy. Should he tell Mal everything? He wanted to tell Mal. He needed to talk to his brother, to process all the weird feelings bubbling up inside him that he couldn’t put a name to.
“I fucked up. I forgot to take the safety off. I-I didn’t want to hurt anyone, but I worried Micah was still out there, watching,and I was afraid he’d think I hadn’t even tried if I didn’t do something. But the boy he wanted me to kill…” Shiloh trailed off again, thinking of Levi’s kind eyes and sexy mouth. “He was just so…nice.”
A grin spread across Mal’s face, eyes sparkling. “Someone’s got a crush.”
