Those fantasies kept me on the brink of sanity, especially during the endless weeks I’d spent in the hole, bereft of interaction with humans and confined to a dark cell smaller than most bathrooms for twenty-three hours a day.

When I looked in the mirror these days, I didn’t recognize the man staring back. The guy who’d wiped the sorrow from her face the day she buried her mother, absorbing liquid grief that dripped from her eyes in torrents of despair, was gone, replaced by a man who thrilled in eliciting her tears. Darkness turned at the core of my being, a turbulent need that had simmered for years.

No one knew of my fucked up nature better than my old cellmate Jax. As I entered the kitchen, her clothes weighing heavily in my hands, he watched me carefully from the kitchen table as I disposed of them.

“Did you fuck her yet?” That was the thing I liked most about him—he didn’t beat around the bush. He put everything out there without reservation.

As I prepared dinner, I didn’t answer, and he didn’t speak at first. His silence wasn’t uncomfortable. We’d spent hours upon hours in the same cell with nothing but silence and each other.

We’d forged an alliance after I’d beaten the shit out of his would-be killer in prison. He owed me, or so he insisted, and when they paroled him two years ago, he’d set out to repay the debt by keeping tabs on Alex. He’d also taken care of the island since the deed transferred to my name. In exchange, I gave him a place to live.

After last night, I considered the debt more than paid. He’d helped drag Alex’s limp body from her car to mine, then we’d shared a minute of silence as we watched her Volvo sink into the river.

“Well, did ya?” he pressed, breaking into my recollection of how satisfying it’d been to follow through with my plan.

I gave him a single glance, and he laughed.

“Man, you’re whipped. I can’t believe you didn’t fuck her yet.”

“I didn’t say a word, so how do you know if I fucked her or not?”

“I know you,” he said, pushing his dark blond hair back from his forehead. “You go all quiet and shit when you don’t wanna talk. Alex De Luca has been our topic of choice for years. What the fuck is the holdup, man?”

“I don’t know. I can’t go there yet.” I dropped my head with a sigh. Going where I wanted to go would probably turn what was left of me to stone.

“‘Cause you’re not a rapist. I told you so. No way can you do that to her. Not after what you’ve been through.”

“No, believe me—I want to go there.” I returned my attention to the oven and slid the chicken onto the rack. “She wanted it too much.”

“You want her to put up a fight?”

Blood rushed to my cock, confirming his theory. “I’m fucking whacked.”