SCANDAL: PART TWO -- Chapter 1

one

Jaxson

It’s hard to tell the time in here. I have no window, no watch, just this sickly, never-changing dim light. It could be late afternoon or I could be way off. The only certainty is that time can be a cruel bitch, fucking vomiting out its claustrophobia and paranoia like prison bile.

          I know what the inside of a cell looks like. It might be the first time I’ve been arrested but it’s not the first time I’ve been imprisoned. It’s more than just a saying that the walls close in on you. The constant pacing of your feet when in isolation creates a desire to call out for a guard or a loved one or a rat—anything to make contact with something other than your failing mind.

         What makes this time different is Ella. The sense that there is someone out there waiting, someone wonderful, creates an ache in my chest like I’ve never known before. I haven’t decided yet if this is a weakness or a strength.

I’ve been trained to stay calm but my gut tells me I’m in serious trouble. Real, not-going-away, shit-your-pants kind of trouble. Someone with the ability to fabricate evidence wants me in here. I must have made the wrong kind of enemy. It could even be my uncle who’s behind this. He likes to teach lessons. It’s unlikely that he would go this far.

The truth, I fear, is far uglier.

Footsteps approach. A guard stops in front of my cell. “Cole, your lawyer is here,” he says, unlocking the door. He steps inside to put handcuffs on my wrists. Again, not my first time with handcuffs. That road I have traveled for both pleasure and pain before.

The guard leads me to an interrogation room where Elaine Parker waits for me with a tall man in an expensive suit who must be my lawyer.

“Hello, Jaxson,” Elaine says, patting me on the shoulder before the guard unlocks the cuffs, pushing me down on a chair behind a table. “How are you holding up?”

“I’m fine,” I say, “all things considered.”

“We’ll clear this up,” she says as the guard leaves the room.

Elaine eyes me silently for a second or two in a way that makes my stomach churn. Her expression tells me I’m in trouble in more ways than one.

I turn to the tall stranger in a suit who poses as my lawyer. Maybe he is, maybe he’s not. But he’s definitely a lot more than that.

“Let me have it,” I tell him, too tired and impatient to ask for his name or pretend I don’t know why he’s here. They can play their games on their own time. I’ve been locked up for hours and right now I need answers and I need them fast.

“Okay,” he says, taking his eyes off me to open his briefcase on the table. He extends his hand to me. “Eric Borland.”

The name means nothing to me. I shake his hand silently.

“Here’s the deal,” Borland says. “The police have evidence that places you at Madison Starr’s apartment on the night she was murdered.”

“That’s bullshit,” I say, banging my fist on the hard surface of the table, needing the pain to help me stay focused.

“No interruptions, Mr. Cole. You can air your grievances after I’m done.”

There is something in his eyes that gives me pause. A dark mix of cruelty and joy. Bad combination. There’s some fucked-up wiring behind those eyes. So I shut up and let him finish.

“I can get you out on bail with the assistance of your uncle.”

“And by that you mean his money or his connections?” Yeah, to hell with Borland’s personal story of darkness, I’ll interrupt the motherfucker all I want. I can flip the badass switch too, when needed.

“Both. Consider yourself lucky.”

“What’s the catch? Dear Uncle Lucius never does anything out of the goodness of his heart. There’s always a catch.” Why bother to explain? The dude either knows my uncle or he doesn’t.

Borland’s eyes glisten like fog lights on water. “Same old story. Do as I say. Don’t think twice. When you’re out, you go visit your uncle.”

“Easy as pie,” I say incredulously.

“With cream and cherries,” Elaine says trying to convince me.

“Listen, guy,” Borland says. “Do your part and you’ll be out Monday morning. Don’t complicate your extraction.”

Ex-military. He might as well wear his fatigues and boots. He picks up his briefcase. I don’t want to show Borland my relief, but my lungs feel like they can exhale for the first time since I was arrested. I’m not sure what I think about Lucius coming through for me. It’s better than the alternative.

“One last thing,” Borland says as he walks to the door. “That girl. You are not to see her again. What was her name? Miss Wade.”

“Ella Wade,” I whisper under my breath.

My throat runs dry. My vision warms and blurs. Anger swirls into a hurricane force that wells in my clenching right fist. I will burn down their fucking world and piss on the ashes. No one tells me who the fuck I can see or not see. No fucking one. Not Lucius. Not fucking God himself.

“Ella Wade?” I say again. “Yeah. Whatever. She served her purpose.”

Elaine puts a hand on my chest to stop me from going after my own lawyer as he knocks on the door to be let out.

“Jax,” Elaine says when we’re alone. “I know you like the girl. Be careful. There are things in motion that won’t be stopped. Play your part.”

“I’m tired of having my life planned out by evil bastards.”

“Does that include me?”

I shake my head, not in the mood for her calculating games. Elaine Parker has been an ally for the most part but she can also be highly manipulative and ambiguous, saying one thing and meaning another, which makes her a perfect subordinate for Uncle Lucius.

“This is a mind game this time, not a game of courage and might,” she says as if reciting a magical chant. Clandestine sorcery bullshit.

“Lucius can take all his games and choke on them.”

“Jaxson,” she says, letting out a long, exaggerated sigh. “It’s me you’re talking to. Let’s be honest for a moment.”

This life is pure exhaustion. “Did you have a moment in mind?”

She bends her face at me, some attempt at motherly concern. “All I am saying is run the probabilities through your mind before you make choices that could lead to harm.”

“Harm? That threat is not even veiled, EP,” I tell her.

“Don’t play that adolescent rebellion bullshit at me,” she says. “I’m here as a friend. There’s a reason your uncle struggles to trust you. Jax, if not for yourself. Think of the girl. We need you to stay real regular on this. No hero ball. Understand? Let’s keep the collateral damage in a ring box this time. We need to play this neat. All cleaned up and whistling.”

Despite the concern on her face, there’s not much feeling in her eyes. Not much of anything. Emotion is a nostalgia she has long abandoned.

“Noted,” I say as cold as frozen beef.

“Well, then, it’s simple,” Elaine says, taking my face in her hands. “Let’s get you out of here for now, Jaxson. Take a breath and then show up at HQ. You need a table talk with Lucius. He’s been waiting on you for months. Most importantly, you have to let Miss Wade go. At least until the dust lands.”

Dust is what dead people are made of. I get it. Stand in line or nap in a hole. I’ve had better options. I have to give up something to gain something. This is Lucius math. Get it wrong and pay with your life. My uncle has all the charm of a hand grenade.

“Heard you the first time,” I say.

“And easy on Mister Borland,” she says. “He’s the best attorney money can buy. One not slowed down by legalities. Leave this in our hands. Rest that big brain of yours.”

“Scary as hell, but you have left me no options,” I say. “Bang your drums and I’ll dance a nice little jig.” My words come out slowly and deliberately to hide the fact I feel like killing someone for real.

Elaine is not stupid—she senses my fevered disdain instantly. “Without laughter, what is a joke?” she says in a benevolent manner that pisses me off way more than anything else. “You knew this would happen. You knew you’d have to give her up sooner or later. You can’t play with civilians.”

She pats my cheek before the guard arrives to escort her out.

I feel a chill. Everything she said was true. I knew the end game. I always know. It’s like a curse. Lucius has his math and I have mine. And they’re related. Pun intended. I hate math. I love Ella. That’s a problem.

When I’m back behind bars and they lock the door, I wait for the footsteps to fade into the prison. My only answer is to pound my head against the cell wall until a little blood trickles down my nose.

Pain shoots through my temples, a brutal reminder that I’m still alive.