Alle Kapitel von Cellblock Heat : Kapitel 161 – Kapitel 170

Quincy “I’m gonna tell you something. And as crazy as it may sound, I need you to believe me.”The pill is long forgotten.Or… maybe not forgotten. It has just been pushed into some dark corner of my brain where everything is already swimming. My thoughts are soft around the edges, like they’ve been soaking in warm water for too long. The taste of the pill still lingers on my tongue, the sweet-sour tase, sitting right beside the lie Jordan’s about to untangle.To crown it all, his scent is everywhere.It surrounds me. It’s in my lungs.It’s in the fog that’s been wrapped around my head since I swallowed that stupid pill in a moment of even stupider desperation.He’s leaning beside me, shoulder pressed against the metal vent wall. The air is cold, but he radiates heat like a furnace. Without realizing, I inch closer—just a little. Barely noticeable. Except I notice. And apparently I’m pathetic enough not to care.What is it with me and his stupid scent anyway?It's not so nice, to sa

Jordan A weight is on my chest. Nah, scratch that. A weight is draped over my body. Snuggling on me. I don’t move right away. Quincy is lying on me. I held him closed, making sure he wasn't bruised by the rocks as we made our way back through the tunnel. I changed him out of his sweaty clothes, then I laid on my bunk in exhaustion. Up until this morning, was when I realized he ended up sprawling across mine—half on my chest, half wedged between my shoulder and the wall, like gravity decided I was safer than empty space. His cheek is pressed against my sternum. His arm is slung loose across my ribs, fingers curled in my upper arm like they’re holding onto a dream. I go still, every muscle locking, like if I breathe wrong he might fall off me. His heartbeat was steady against my chest. I slowly leaned over to sniff the hair. A tang of citrus and muskiness. Fuck. I can't get enough of it. I laid my head back, resting my hand lightly between his shoulder blades, not even to

Quincy My anxieties settled somewhere deep in my chest. It was hidden, not gone. The uncertainty of the whole situation clings to me like damp air, refusing to evaporate. I do hope it wears off… eventually.Dad and I drift into safer topics, if anything about his life can be called safe. He talks about the abduction, though I can see the way the words strain his pride. It’s why he veers quickly into the part he likes better: revenge.He speaks of it with a quiet, chilling pride. Precisely like he planned every breath Myles didn’t take.He mentions the same Grim Reaper Jordan talked about yesterday, and I mentally pin that name to the growing board of things I need to look into. Whoever or whatever that is, it's tied to too many loose ends.Dad tells me he tortured Myles far more brutally than Myles ever touched him. He fed him to his dingos—those lethal beasts he raised since I was twelve. Then he burned what remained and carried the ashes to Mom’s grave. He scattered Myles around he

“Forget about repaying me,” I mutter, trying to pull away even though every nerve in my body is burning for him. “Let’s just head back to the cell.”But Jordan hooks a finger under my chin, lifting it with that slow, deliberate confidence that always unravels me.His touch steals the air from my lungs.“I insist,” he says, voice low and rough enough to scrape along my spine. “You and I both know you don’t want to go back to that cell in the same state you came.”The words… God, the words. They punch straight through the fog in my head, lighting everything on fire from the inside out.I swallow hard. The darkness hides the flush on my face, but my breathing—heavy and uneven—gives me away.Jordan reaches into his pocket without breaking eye contact. Another small plastic bag gleams between his fingers. Mollies. Of course he has more. He carries them like they’re stitched into him.“Let’s get you started,” I say quietly, almost ashamed of how easily the words slip out as he pulls out a s

Quincy The tunnel swallowed me whole in heat and dust. The stale air tasted like sweat and old rust settling thick on my tongue. Tiny rocks stabbed into my palms and knees with every crawl forward. Normally I wouldn’t complain; pain and I have a long, committed relationship. But tonight? Tonight the pain felt personal—maybe because Jordan was crawling tight behind me, close enough that I could feel the weight of his stare burning into the back of my head. He insisted I lead the way. Debatable choice, honestly. Because I wasn’t exactly in the mood to speak to him, much less lead him through anything. But since he had molly stashed for both of us—emphasis on both—I decided maybe this night didn’t have to be a complete disaster. Maybe by the time he finally admits to whatever the hell he did, I’d be mellow enough to not sock him in the jaw. Maybe I’d even accept the apology gift he’d definitely owe me. We finally climbed up onto the rooftop and claimed a spot far enough from the