Page 55 of Bram

He hesitated, then nodded once. “Understood.”

The room went quiet again. I signed the paper, not bothering to read it. It didn’t matter. The story was already out, and the only question was how many people wanted me dead by sundown.

They walked me to the cell. Not even a holding tank, just a single cell with a cot and a toilet. The walls were new concrete, still off-gassing some chemical stink, and the overhead lights were brighter than any sun. I sat on the cot, feet flat, hands on my knees, and waited for something like relief. None came.

I could see the end of the hall. No one came down it. I tried to remember if I’d ever felt less alone, and couldn’t. It was almost funny.

Just before lights-out, I heard footsteps. Two sets, not in a hurry. I looked up and saw Bram, flanked by a uniform I didn’t know. The cop stayed back, arms folded, and Bram moved to the bars. His face was pale, stitched up with white tape, his shirt washed and buttoned at the collar like a man who still believed in first impressions. The edges of his mouth curled, not quite a smile, not quite a grimace.

“You holding up?” he asked.

I nodded. “Is Emma safe?”

“She’s with Sally,” he said. “Edge is on guard. Rusty’s handling the rest. Nobody’s getting through unless they bring a tank.”

“It’s over,” I said.

“Yeah,” he said. “It is.”

The guard came back. “Fifteen minutes.”

“You gonna let me inside?” Bram asked.

“Fuck, Bram, I’ll get in trouble.”

“Don’t make me call your mama, Joey.”

The guard sighed and opened the door.

Bram came in, sat on the edge of the bunk, and looked at me. Not at my chest or my face, but the whole of me, as if he was trying to memorize the shape of my body for a later date, just in case. I wanted to say something clever, but all that came out was a sigh.

“They treating you okay?” he asked.

“Fine,” I said. “It’s only been an hour.”

He smiled and moved closer, his hand going to my ankle, thumb stroking the inside, just above the bone. The touch was so gentle it made me shiver. I leaned in, our knees touching.

“Feldman says the case is airtight,” I said, my voice flat as always. “Justified use of force. I’ll get a lecture from the AG, maybe a disciplinary for not recusing myself. He’s already called the press. Your name is off the record.”

He nodded. “I figured.”

“Take off your shirt,” I said.

His brow went up, then smoothed. He stripped it off, slow and deliberate, exposing the scars across his chest—old knife wounds, fresh staples, the new one high on his shoulder where the Colonel had scored him. He balled the shirt up and walked to the camera. With a smooth motion, he reached up and draped it over the lens. The red LED vanished. The hum stayed.

I stood, let my jeans fall, then my underwear, stepping out of both with the kind of practiced economy you only learned in a life where time was the rarest thing. I turned and put my hands on the bars, the metal cold against my palms, and pressed my face to the seam.

He kicked off his boots, dropped his jeans. He was half hard already, and the sight of him—battered and beautiful, the furrow above his brow deepening as he lined up behind me—made the whole world tunnel down to a single perfect point.

He stepped in, lining himself up, and then his hands were on my hips, guiding me back. The angle was awkward, but I liked it; it made every thrust a negotiation, every touch a test of how close we could get before the world said stop.

The first push hurt, but it was a good hurt, the kind that scrubbed everything else out of your brain. I bit the inside of my cheek and held my breath, fighting the urge to make a sound. He fucked me against the bars, slow and steady, his chest pressed to my back, his mouth hot on my neck. I could hear his breathing, sharp and shallow, and it made me want to open up, to let him in as far as he could go.

“Fucking tight and warm,” he said. “Damn, babe.”

“It’s yours,” I said, and something inside him broke. It was as if a rabid animal had been released. He grabbed a handful of my hair and pulled back, thrusting harder.

“Fuck me,” I cried out, my cunt sloppy from my building orgasm.