The Ganga Shift

Chapter 4

Chapter 4Isabella laughed out her relief in one long, nervous sigh. The blond pretty boy standing in front of her was probably the least intimidating inmate she had ever come across.

Sure, he was built like a quarterback, with broad shoulders and biceps thicker than her thigh, but boyishness was chiseled into his facial features. He had smooth, well-moisturized skin, manicured nails, and his deep-blue eyes danced with innocence.

Okay, so obviously he wasn’t innocent. He was in lockup, after all. Still, there was no way this kid was a hardcore career criminal.

“Helloooo.” Her cellmate c****d his head and gave a small, uncomfortable wave.

Good. He was just as confused as she was. “How’s it going?” She offered an uninterested nod. “Guess I’m the new roomie. Isabella.”

He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against a set of bunk beds behind him. “Uh, well. We’re pretty full in here.”

“We?”

“Yeah,” he confirmed before lifting his leg behind himself, and kicking at what Isabella thought was a pile of blankets . . . until it started spewing expletives. “Language, kitty-cat. We’ve got company.”

Someone underneath the cloth tossed the blanket to the foot of the bed, unmasking another inmate. This one not-so-pleasantly unthreatening. A single look shot anxiety through her like a bolt of lightning.

Something about this one’s features was entirely menacing, almost sinister. His deep-bronze skin blended well with his hair, which was the color of a moonless midnight. One of her foster parents had a painting of a Cherokee chief that could’ve been this guy’s father.

She bit her lip as she ran her eyes along his uncovered, exposed torso. The grey pajama bottoms he wore rested way too low on his waist, revealing just a glimpse of where the black curls of his happy trail led.

His firm, square jawline contracted as he took in the sight of her and stood up. He took a hesitant step in her direction, his abdominal muscles flexing in on themselves as he moved. The look in his eye was one of familiarity, as if he knew her inside and out, but a fog of disbelief kept his excitement at bay.

In spite of the darkness that rolled off him in waves, she wasn’t afraid. Then again, Isabella usually found herself drawn to the things she should be running away from.

Something told her this guy was no different.

Her new fascination rubbed a lazy knuckle against his eye to banish the grogginess that still weighed on him like an anchor. Damn. He was a sight.

A small sliver of sunlight fought itself through a small window, illuminating his body like a spotlight. He winced away from the beam, hissing at it like a rabies-infested feline scolding the day for forcing him to rise.

“Shake it off,” he grumbled to himself.

Isabella raised an eyebrow at him. “You all right?”

“We have a guest,” he acknowledged aloud in a deep baritone voice that sent a shiver up Isabella’s spine.

The blond one squeezed himself between them and waggled his eyebrows. “Her name’s Isabella.”

“Isabella,” he echoed. “Beautiful name. It suits you. I’m Chase, and I see you’ve already met Brayden.”

Brayden turned on his heels, moved his nose to the nape of her neck and inhaled. “Jesus Christ. Smell her, Chase.”

She lifted an arm to shove him away, but an iron grip had already slammed down on the kid’s shoulder.

“Step away,” Chase ordered as he pulled him backward. “I’ll have to ask you to excuse Brayden, Isabella. You’ll find he’s lacking severely in common manners.”

Brayden rubbed at his aching arm. The pigment was already darkening. Damn, that was going to leave one hell of a bruise. “What the hell? It was a compliment.”

“Charming.” Isabella smirked. “You’ll be in my pants in no time.”

He screwed his face, trying to read if she was joking or not. “Sorry. I just meant you smell . . . different.”

“Different than what?”

“Than everyone, I guess.”

“Different good or different bad? Like, roses or rotten fish?”

“Definitely not rotten fish.” Brayden chuckled, then shook his head. “I don’t know. Just . . . different. What are you?”

“I think your homeboy has been locked up too long.” Isabella held out her hands and waved at her curves. “I’m a woman. What the f**k are you?”

“Brayden,” Chase scolded before turning sympathetic eyes to Isabella. Streaks of gold stained the soft silver of his iris. “He’s not trying to be crude—honest. He’s just stupid.”

She rolled her eyes. Her fuse was usually pretty short as it was, but between this dumbass, Doctor Asshole, and the nagging war of cocaine withdrawal that was slowly bearing down her, she was about to lose her s**t.

The strangers in front of her fogged over, and her mind swirled in a haze of distorted consciousness. Breathing was becoming an increasingly labored task, as her chest grew heavier under the weight of her own helplessness. Shock was setting in.

Chase moved toward her with a helpful hand held out, but she took a step back. She wasn’t about to accept his help now only to have repayment expected of her later.

“Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” she insisted as she braced herself on the cell bars behind her. “I just need to sit down for a minute.”

Chase rested a burning-hot palm on her arm and flinched at the iciness of her skin. “You’re not fine. Brayden, help me get her to the bed.”

Before she could object, the men had positioned themselves with their shoulders under her arms. With minimal effort, they lifted her feet from the ground and carried her to the bed where Chase had just been sleeping.

She sat on the mattress, struggling to keep upright. Chase slipped gentle fingers under her chin and tilted her face to look at him. He examined her closely, his brows stitched together in concern.

“You’re coming down, aren’t you?”

Isabella jerked away from him, breaking eye contact. She had been doing drugs since she was twelve. It never mattered what anyone had thought about it; it wasn’t their business. She had never felt ashamed of the habit—until now.

The judgment plastered all over his face made Isabella want to hide under the covers.

“s**t, I can fix that.” Brayden stepped on the bed Isabella sat on and fumbled with the mattress on the top bunk. With a graceful leap back to the floor, he knelt in front of her with a proud smile plastered on his face. He held out his hand, revealing the blissful glisten of a white rock.

Sweet relief.

Like a kid seizing a chocolate cupcake, Isabella snatched the goods from Brayden’s hand and held it up between her thumb and index finger. The longer she stared at it, the more her ears pounded with anticipation. This little ball of comfort was exactly what she needed to feel normal again.

Her relief was short-lived. The little piece of heaven was stolen just as suddenly as it was given. Chase swiped it from her fingers, throwing it across the cell. With a resounding c***k, it impacted the concrete wall, disinteresting, into an explosion of dust and powder.

“What the hell?” she shrieked.

Chase ignored her, turning a blank, unreadable face toward Brayden. “If you choose to poison yourself, that’s your decision.” The tremble in his voice hinted at the fury he had become an expert hiding. “But, I will not watch you do it to her.”

“Who the f**k do you think you are?” Isabella demanded through gritted teeth. “You’re not my—”

“Don’t take it personally, sweetheart.” Brayden sneered. “He’s got a thing about being the hero. He does it with everybody. Used to pull it with me, until he finally accepted I’m a lost cause.”

Chase pointed a finger into Brayden’s chest. “You can’t help someone who sees no sin when he looks in the mirror.”

She sat in silence, vaguely listening to the insults they hurtled at one another. For a desperate moment, Isabella gave serious thought to salvaging what was left of the coke. An image of herself on her knees, sweeping the little bits of powder together until they made a tasty little pile just big enough to get high from . . . It was enough to make her wretch.

She hadn’t sunk that low, had she?

This stranger wanted to save her from his cellmate, or more accurately from herself. She should tell him not to waste his time. Like Brayden, she was beyond redemption. There would be no rescue for her, and she wasn’t worth the effort anyway.

Picturing the look he might give her if she told him as much kept her from opening her mouth. It was nice to have someone think of her as more than just a d**g-addicted fuckup for a change . . . even if the hope was misdirected.

“Hey.” Brayden waved a hand in front of her vacant eyes. “Earth to space girl. Are we losing you?”

She blanched and swatted his palm away. “Don’t be stupid. I’m just tired.”

“Well, I’m not sure where the guard expected you to sleep when he put you in here. Chase sleeps on the bottom and I take the top.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Isabella rolled her eyes at the kid’s lacking hospitality. “I’ll sleep on the floor.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Chase said in a firm tone. “You’ll sleep right there.”

“I’m good, honest. I’m not taking over anyone’s space. I’ve slept on worse, trust me.” A few of her worthless exes came to mind pretty quickly.

Chase traced the creases around Isabella’s eyes. Now that she saw how terrible she looked, Isabella couldn’t help but look away from him.

“Your eyes are sunken in you’re so tired. Sleep, at least for a while. I’m rested enough. I’m more of a night owl anyway.”

“Is that a nice way of saying I look like s**t?”

“Please,” he insisted, “I would consider it an insult if you refuse.”