Cold Justice

Three years earlier

Breaking a few rules didn’t seem like a huge deal. Until the cops busted down the door to the computer room, guns drawn. Wren Gibson scrambled away from his computer, knocking over his Red Bull. The can hit the floor, splashing up the leg of his jeans as he rushed to follow the shouted orders.

Put your hands up. Kneel. Don’t move.

“You have the right to remain silent. You have the right to an attorney. If you—”

“Yes, please. An attorney would be great because you’re making a huge mistake and I have a lot to tell you.” Wren tried to look over his shoulder at the officer cuffing his wrists, glasses sliding down his nose as he spoke in a rush. “I didn’t keep the money—well, I kept some of it, but I didn’t have a choice. I’ll give it all back, just give me a minute and—”

The officer glared at him. “Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.”

Another cop laughed and pulled out a pad and pen. “Let him keep talking, Jennings. The D.A. can get an early start to his weekend.”

Wren snapped his mouth shut. He needed to save the information for someone who could get him out of this mess. The lawyer. Yes, he’d tell the lawyer everything and be back home in no time. He winced as officers started pulling apart all his equipment. The wires to his three CPUs, all neatly organized, dangled onto the dark wood floor, the multicolored lights on the towers going out, one by one. His room was too bright with the inlaid, overhead lights on, gleaming off the dark purple walls, off the shelves with all his books, which were being packed up too.

The space he spent most of his days and nights invaded. Torn apart. Ruined.

A lump formed in his throat as he ripped his gaze from the destruction. He could fix this. All he had to do was go along with the officers. Not give them any trouble so they’d let him talk to the right people.

Time passed in a blur. So many questions. A kind lawyer came to him every day and his world revolved around the time he spent with her. The deal. The deal was a sure thing. He believed that even when he stood in front of the judge months later. Even when the gavel sounded, accepting his guilty plea.

Ten years in prison sounded like a lot, but he wasn’t worried.

He had a...deal.

As he was led to his cell in the maximum-security prison, his mind went numb. The last words his lawyer said to him going over and over in his head.

“I’m sorry, Wren. The information you provided wasn’t enough.” Soft brown eyes met his, the kindness still there, but her words were everything but. “You’re still young. You could get out in eight years with good behavior. Spend this time learning to make better choices.”

Better choices? He shook his head, laughing to himself, drawing a cold look from the guard. Swallowing, he focused on the compact, square room. Different than the smaller prison where he’d been in his own cell, pending investigation. His new home while he was alive.

Which won’t be long.

Everything was...white. The smooth, bare walls. The beds that looked like big shelves with thin mattresses on them. The bottom bunk had a man on it. Wren almost backed right into the guard when gray eyes shifted from the open book in the man’s hands to him. He fumbled the stack of blankets, sheets, and uniforms he’d been given after processing.

“Gibson, this is your cellmate, Leonov. Leonov, you start shit with this one and you’re going in the SHU for a month, hear me?” The guard nudged Wren forward. “Set up your bunk and get comfortable. You missed lunch, but you can go to the commissary in about an hour if you want to grab a snack to hold you over until supper.”

Wren nodded, turning to face the guard with a hesitant smile. The guards hadn’t been allowed to talk to him in his old prison. Here was different. Maybe that was a good thing. “Thank you. I don’t have much money, all my accounts were frozen, but—”

The guard sighed and shook his head. “You’re going to have to learn to keep your mouth shut, kid.”

“Okay.” Wren took a deep breath. “But—”

“I don’t have time for this. Talk Leonov’s ear off if you want, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

The prison door, which was nothing but dark gray metal bars, slid shut inches from his face. Reality hit him and he tripped backward, pulse pounding.

This is it. Not protective custody. A real prison. This is where I’m going to die.

A soft rustling behind him made his whole body tense. His eyes widened as the man, Leonov, came closer. He cringed as the man’s hands came toward him. Closed his eyes, expecting those hands to wrap around his neck and strangle the life out of him.

Instead, Leonov took the pile from his arms. His deep voice was soothing as he moved away. “Sit down before you pass out.”

Sit. Yes. Sitting is a very good idea.

He backed up without opening his eyes and plunked down when his legs bumped the edge of the bed. Cracked his head on the bottom of the upper bunk, knocking his ugly, black plastic-rimmed glasses off his face. “Ow, fuck!”

“Jesus.” Leonov exhaled roughly. “Pull yourself together, boy. I’m not spending a month in solitary because you’re a damn mess.” The man stepped in front of him, slipping his glasses back on his face. “Open your eyes.”

That rough, commanding tone calmed the panic spiraling through his mind. A familiar sensation spilled over him and he opened his eyes, meeting deep gray. Damn, this dude was hot. Wren bit hard into the edge of his lip, taking in the dark brown hair, cut short, but the curl to it would soften the man’s harsh features if it was longer. Stubble shadowed a hard jaw and framed lips that were firm, but he could imagine being soft for the right person.

Not that Wren would ever be that person. He wasn’t delusional. But the slight curve of the man’s lips as his breathing slowed made his whole fucked up situation seem a bit less terrible. He’d pleased the man. That was good.

“What’s your name?”

The question made him blink. He wet his bottom lip, flushing when the man’s gaze lowered to his mouth. “The guard just told you. It’s Gibson. Not that anyone’s ever called me that. Or, well, not many people use my name either, not since I moved out of my aunt’s house. But she’s gotten really sick over the past few years and she can’t talk, so she didn’t call me anything anymore when she still wanted me around.”

Brow raised, the man shook his head. “All that and you still haven’t answered my question.” He chuckled, then sat on the bed next to Wren. Not too close, but close enough that his presence wrapped around him like a heavy blanket. Focusing on his voice made it easier to forget the threats lurking beyond the bars of their cell. “First name.”

“Wren.” Sliding back, Wren pulled his knees to his chest and hugged them. The stupid glasses the prison made him swap for his expensive Cartier ones slipped down his nose. “Not that you need to remember it or anything. I won’t be here long.”

Turned slightly to face him, the man frowned. “Do you have a short sentence?”

“Short life expectancy.” Wren lifted his shoulders when the man’s expression darkened. “I had information that was supposed to help this big case against this huge crime family. Told the D.A. everything, even where I’d stored all the files I had on them. I was supposed to plead guilty and get probation and community service. Instead, I got ten years and a price on my head.” He tightened his hold on his knees. “You’d figure people paying off cops and politicians and running major drug rings would be more important than me taking a few pennies a day from a bunch of different bank accounts, but nope.”

The second he paused, the man reached out and put his finger over Wren’s lips. Amusement lit his eyes, but his expression was serious. “You need to stop talking.”

“Like, forever?” Wren’s cheeks heated as his breath dampened the tip of the man’s calloused finger. He’d never had anyone touch him like that. Sure, the guy was trying to shut him up, but it was still nice. “It would suck to have to be quiet when I don’t have long to live.”

“Are you trying to intentionally make that happen?” Leonov inclined his head when Wren shook his. “Good, then don’t draw attention to yourself. If you start sharing that kind of information, you’ll have every prisoner looking for some easy money ready to slit your throat. Setting up a hit on you will take some time. If you’re careful, we’ll have an idea of who you need to avoid.”

Eyes burning, Wren stared at the man. “‘We’? Why would you help me? You don’t even know me.”

The edge of the man’s lips quirked. “I’m bored. And other than talking a mile a minute, you’re not the worst cellmate they could’ve stuck me with.”

“Oh, thank fuck.”

“Stop that.” Interest sparked in the man’s eyes as Wren clamped his lips shut. “You’re a submissive.”

Sucking in a breath, Wren nodded quickly. “I mean, I’ve only really done stuff online, but it totally counts. One Dom I had was really intense and we’d spend hours on video cam. He’d make me—”

“We don’t know one another well enough for you to be sharing those kinds of details, boy.” Leonov tapped his cheek lightly. “But this could come in handy.”

How could using a dildo on a suction cup, getting his freak on to orders from a man jerking off on the other side of the world, be of any use in prison? Wren opened his mouth to ask, but a hard look from Leonov had him shutting it again. Right, no overshares.

Instead, he tried to follow the man’s example of appropriate topics. “Do you want me to call you Leonov or something else?”

“Noah.” The man pushed off the bed. Went to the shelves between the built-in desk and the metal toilet-sink combo. He picked up a small bag of trail mix. “Are you hungry?”

“Starving.” Wren grinned as he caught the snack, tearing it open and pouring the mixed nuts and raisins into his palm. “So, Noah, what are you in for? You seem like a nice guy. It can’t be anything serious. I’m thinking…” He cocked his head, studying the man as Noah folded his arms over his chest and gave him a level look. One that had Wren filling his mouth with more nuts, chewing and swallowing before chancing a smile. “That I shouldn’t be asking that question?”

Leonov—or, Noah, his name was Noah—shook his head. “No, you shouldn’t. But I may tell you, one day.” He motioned for Wren to stand. “Go fix your bed. We’ll talk more after you’ve rested up a bit.”

Finishing the trail mix, Wren glanced around the room for a trash can, finding one under the desk. He dusted off his palms and climbed up to the top bunk, grateful for something to do other than imagine all the painful ways he was going to die. Once the sheets were perfectly spread out, the thin blanket laid over them, he set his head on the pillow and stared at the ceiling.

Below him, he heard pages flipping slowly.

“Noah?”

A chuckle. Then Noah’s deep voice. “Yes, Wren?”

There were so many questions he wanted to ask. So many things he wanted to say. But only one that really mattered. He pressed his eyes shut, tears breaking free as he whispered, “Thank you.”