A Pound of Flesh (A Pound of Flesh #1)(10)

Maybe he’d pushed it a little harder than he should have, but his philosophy tutor had most definitely overreacted. And Ward? Well, he just knew all of Carter’s buttons to press.

Jack soon arrived with a rescheduled visit for Max and a disappointed look on his face, which made Carter’s insides clench. He appreciated Jack’s gesture, given the man’s thoughts on Max, and once again, he kicked himself for acting like a dick with his counselor. His mouth just ran away with him sometimes.

“So, I take it we don’t like philosophy?” Jack had asked with a small grin. “Aristotle not doing it for ya?”

“Not exactly.”


Jack nodded and rubbed the back of his neck. “Thanks for the shit storm from Anthony Ward, by the way. I owe you big-time for that.”

“About that,” Carter mumbled from his bed. “My bad.”

It was the closest to an apology Jack would get.

“Yes, it is,” Jack agreed. “Jeez, Wes, you’re better than that.”

Carter sighed despondently and pulled his knees up to his chest. “The guy was talking crap, Jack. He deserved it.”

“Well, whatever your reasons, you have a lot of making up to do.”

“Oh, yeah?” Carter snapped.

“Yeah,” Jack returned, undaunted. “I’ve enrolled you in Literature. I know you like to read.” He gestured to the shelves on the right wall of the cell, filled with battered, dog-eared texts. “And the tutor is a woman, so maybe there won’t be as much hostility.”

“Hostility?”

“You know what I mean,” Jack said sharply. “You promised you’d try, so prove to me you are. I had to kiss that son of a bit—” He glanced toward the prison officer standing two feet away. “I had to speak nicely to Ward to give you another chance. Don’t tell me I’ve wasted my time here.”

Carter sat forward, running his hands over his buzzed hair. He was at a dead end. Ward had not only Jack’s balls in a vise but his, too. He wanted nothing more than to beat the arrogant shit with his book of “rules,” but he couldn’t let Jack down again. He was stressed, frustrated.

“You’ll do fine,” Jack said quietly, moving a step closer. The guard behind him shifted, too.

“Yeah,” Carter muttered. “We’ll see, won’t we?”

Even after his long sleep, fatigue began to creep silently over him. The walls had started to close ever so slightly, making his head heavy. Twenty-two hours locked in one room could do that to a man. Even him.

“Tomorrow morning,” Jack said with an encouraging nod. “The tutor is Miss Lane. She’s very good. Try to be … Just try, okay?”

“Okay.” Carter held up three fingers. “Scout’s honor.”

Jack smiled. “And just to be safe, I’ve made sure all the chairs in that classroom have been bolted to the floor.”

Carter laughed loudly. “Good thinking, J,” he called before the guard shut the door of his cell, leaving him alone once again.

*

The final two hours of the punishment crept by at a snail’s pace, and Carter almost knocked the guard off his feet when he finally opened the cell. He stretched his arms back, cracked his neck, and hurried toward the yard.

“Yo, Carter!”

Riley Moore’s thundering voice traveled across the basketball court.

Carter smiled. “Moore,” he replied, strolling toward the giant man.

“Where ya been?” Moore asked with a slap against Carter’s shoulder. “I’ve missed your punk-ass face.”