Chapter 17: Touch the Flame

Quincy

There are days you forget you’re in prison.

Days when the sky outside the bars turns gold, and the wind that cuts through the cracks in the concrete walls smells like freedom. Days when a laugh lasts more than a second. When their food almost tasted like something other than punishment.

Today was not one of those days.

Today was the opposite.

I was still restricted. Still locked out of yard time. Still branded as the idiot who got caught smuggling. Still hearing whispers from the other inmates that had me clenching my fists under the sheets.

I knew Jordan did what he did for me.

And I hated him for it.

Hated that he made me feel safe.

Hated that I needed that safety in the first place.

Because now, every sideways glance in the cafeteria came with a smirk. A knowing smirk. A ghost whispers.

“That’s Vex’s boy.”

“Jordan’s little project.”

“Wonder what he gives him in return.”

I was gonna ignore them.

I would try.

I tried to focus on my book while I stuffed mashed potatoes—that tasted off—into my mouth. But all the while I did that, I was self aware of the stares. I'm sure as hell Jordan noticed it too, that's why he'd brought his tray to my table—where I sat solo—to come sit with me like that gesture will shield me. Like it will comfort me.

Yes, the intimidating glares he'd shoot back at some of them will lessen their judgy eyes on me. That wouldn't keep them from spilling trash from their mouth hole.

Jordan will also try to engage in a conversation with me, meanwhile all I needed was a space for solidarity. My nerves are on the edge.

And when lunch time was over, I made it straight to my cell. As quickly as possible.

And when I got back into my cell, I climbed to the up bunk to try to get some sleep. Of course, that didn't work. I tried to pretend that my thoughts weren’t burning holes into the ceiling above me.

But the second Jordan came back from the yard, swaggering in like nothing had happened—shirt tied around his waist, lips chapped from the sun, feeling the space with a low hum like he owned the air we breathed—I snapped.

He dropped onto the lower bunk and started unwrapping a granola bar he'd gotten from the commissary like it was any other day.

“You got a problem?” I blurted.

He looked up, one brow lifted lazily. “Other than this expired-ass granola? Nah. You good?”

I sat up fast, the top bunk creaking. My heart—for unsure reasons—is racing. Anger shimmers just beneath the surface of my skin, and all I itch for is to vent.

“No. I’m not good.” My view is on the wall across the room, but I can still see from my peripheral view that Jordan never glanced at me. His focus is on that stupid flapjack.

“Too bad they ain't no hoes to fuck. You should try beating your shit up at midnight. Trust me, you'll be good.”

I think he tears the wrap of his junk because I'm hearing him cussing. His granola bars hit the floor and broke into pieces. That's his reward for spilling that garbage.

He sighed deeply, lowering his back on his bed. “That was the one in the commissary. Fucking hell.” He shifted his weight on the bunk, simultaneously shifting the weight of the room. “Tell me preppy, what's wrong?”

My jaws gritted at the choice of nickname he used, but I go on to speak because calling him out on it will change absolutely nothing.

“I’ve been stuck in here for three damn days while you get to strut around out there like a goddamn rooster.”

He drew out a long sigh, and I counted four seconds before I heard him say: “That wasn’t my call, Quincy.”

“You made it your call when you went after Malik.”

The bunk creaked as he stood slowly, he leaned on the wall. Arms folded as he peered at me. “You really think in your jelly brains that I was gonna leave that shit slide?” He shook his head slowly, unfolding his arms as he walked to the toilet to take a pee. “Y'know sometimes I wish I could see through your foggy ass brain to clearly understand how the fuck you think.”

He lowered his pants, released his junk, and the only sound that echoed in the cell was the pee hitting the toilet.

“If you wanna get a better view of my dick, all you need to do is ask. Don't just stare.”

Prick.

“I'm not staring.”

“I feel a Lazer gaze shutting at my back, and you're the only one present, pretty boy.” He said in a mocking tone.

Before I could think of a comeback, Jordan had flushed his pee and turned to face me. Pants still hanging low. Junk still out. A vile smile plastered on his firm lips.

I quickly took my eyes elsewhere, feeling beyond uncomfortable. If only we weren't guided by rules in this facility, Jordan wouldn't mind flaunting his nudity for the world to see. Because he thinks he has a great body.

I think that's the only basic rule he'd tried to keep up with in the long run.

“Please, put your junk back into your pants and fix your clothes, Jordan Vex.”

I'm calling his full name so it wouldn't be hard to miss out on how dead serious I was. The metal door was where I had my eyes fixed on.

Jordan let out a brief laughter, “What now? You scared of a dick?”

“I'm not playing with you, Jordan. I'm dead serious.”

I've had a peek of his dick once…in the shower.

Okay, a few times.

And I feel really intimidated by his size. The prick takes pride in flaunting it in my face during the shower. If there are lots of things I could possibly ignore in this prison, it wasn't my cellmate. Or his massive penis.

That doesn't sound gay right? Wanting to sneak peeks at another's willy.

Good, Gracious Lord.

“Okay, fine.” Jordan said, and I believe he's doing as I'd ask. I hope so because I'm not looking.

“All done. You can look at me now.”

When I turned my gaze back, he had a smug smile on his face. And the sunlight from the small window kissed his face. His green eyes were the brightest I had seen. But then, I've seen them morph into something darker.

“Thank you.” I said, holding his gaze. I wish I could deny that I'm feeling a prickle in my skin. That's probably his eyes poking.

“We were talking about your jelly brain. And how I wish I could explore it.” He said, maintaining the smug smile.

The anger that burbling beneath my skin rushed to the surface like an angry volcano

“Jesus Christ, Jordan for once can you just cut the crap!” I slid off the bunk. “I’m not some piece of property that needs defending!”

He stepped closer. “You sure about that? Because last I checked, you were the one holding the book.”

I shoved him really ard. Palms flat on his chest. Even I was astonished by my act, but I'm too far gone to care. He caused it. He's driving me nuts. He should suffer for it.

Instead, he didn’t move.

Didn’t even flinch.

Just blinked, slowly.

“You done?” he asked.

“No,” I said, voice sharp. “You made it worse. You made it worse for me.”

“I made it safe for you.”

His voice is as calm as a gentle river in the crown of dawn. Let's not get judgy. I've seen this man burst someone's nose in this state.

But guess what?

I'm not bothered if he planned on ruining my face up too, I just need to come clean on all his insolence.

“Bullshit! You claimed me like a dog pissing on its territory!”

That did it.

His body moved faster than I expected—than I could prepare for.

One second we were nose to nose.

The next, my back slammed into the wall. Hard.

His hand was around my throat.

Not squeezing.

Not hurting.

But holding.

Firm.

I froze.

We both did.

The tension between us was thick—hot—like we were standing on the edge of something neither of us had the language for.

His breath was ragged. So was mine.

His eyes—once bright—were molten, sharp, pinned to mine like he could see through every defense I had left.

“You think this is about owning you?” he said, voice low, dark. “You think I went after Malik to mark my territory?”

I swallowed.

He leaned in closer, his nose almost brushing mine.

“I did it because he used you. Because he lied to you. Because you got played, and I couldn’t stand the look on your face when you told me what he did to you.”

His fingers twitched against my neck.

Still not choking.

Still not hurting.

But my skin burned beneath his palm.

“I don’t protect people, Quincy. I don’t give a shit about people. I still don’t.”

He paused. Swallowed.

“But for some unknown reason, I'm seeing myself doing shit for you. I care what happens to you.”

My breath hitched. I hated how much it did.

Because I couldn’t tell what part of me was shaking more—the angry part or the part that wanted to lean closer and feel the way his voice rumbled against my chest.

“Let me go,” I whispered. My skin is on fire. His skin against mine ignites the heat. Shit

“Say you believe me.” His warm breath fanned my face. It wasn't the case of my heated skin because I'm having a tingly feeling somewhere.

“I said let me go.” I gritted out.

He didn’t.

He just looked at me for a long moment. A raw, unblinking moment.

Then finally—finally—he stepped back. It's just his warmth that's gone. His touch isn't.

The air between us buzzed. Like it had teeth.

I exhaled hard, dragging a hand over my face.

Jordan turned away, pacing once, twice, then stopped at the bunk. He gripped the top edge, knuckles tight.

“I don’t know how to do this shit, Quincy,” he said quietly. “I don’t know how to give a damn about someone without fucking it up.”

I stared at him broad back, chest still heaving.

“What is this to you?” I asked. “This thing between us. What is it?”

He looked over his shoulder.

His eyes weren’t soft.

They weren’t wild either.

They were just honest.

“I don’t know yet. But I’m not letting anyone else fuck it up. Including you.”

And with that, he dropped onto his bunk, arms behind his head like the storm hadn’t just passed.

I remained standing.

Neck tingling.

Heart pounding.

I want to lay my hands to feel his ghost touch, but I don't.