Strays

An Impasse

Chapter Nine

Tully

The minute I hang up with Jaycee, my mind's already back on Juicy boy. He's watching me like he wants to ask something but doesn't dare. I don't blame him. In here, curiosity gets you killed. But I'm not just any shot-caller—not with him.

I lean back against the cold wall, arms crossed. "What do you know about the Elvis impersonator?"

"Bobby?" he says, eyes flicking up like I just said the name of a saint. "He's... he was family. Voice of reason, old school. Why?"

I sigh through my nose. "He was murdered."

The words barely land before he stiffens. Then the fight goes out of him all at once. His shoulders sag, his mouth parts like he's about to speak—but instead, he rubs furiously at his eyes with the back of his hand. No shame, just grief. Real, aching grief.

"Fuck," he breathes. "Bobby."

I've seen men break from less. Seen them beg, seen them scream. Juice just sits there, jaw clenched so tight I can hear the grind of his teeth. He tries to hold it in, tries to act hard. But I can feel it in the air—he's breaking.

I move without thinking, sinking down beside him on the bunk. I put my arm around him, slow and firm. He jerks at first, like instinct's still in control, but I hold him tighter. Let him feel how steady I am.

"Let it out," I whisper, rubbing the back of his neck. "You're safe here."

It takes a minute, but eventually he leans into me—heavy, shuddering. His head drops to my shoulder and the pain in his body rolls off him like heat. I close my eyes and hold him, and for once, I don't feel like the man in charge. I just feel like a man.

It's strange, this pull. It ain't about power, not with him. And yeah, I've got a thing for brown skin—always have. Call it pattern, not fetish. Some men seek comfort in women, others in men. Me? When I reach for warmth in here, it's a man who looks like Juice. Strong. Sad. Real.

I don't want to own him. I want to protect him.

He exhales shakily, voice ragged. "You gonna kill me?"

I feel his words down in my ribs. "Nah, baby. I ain't here for that."

He shifts, tries to look me in the eye. "But you're with the MC. With Jax."

"I'm with Jaycee," I say simply. "And I got my own rules."

That stops him cold.

"You care about her that much?" he asks.

I nod. "She's more like me than she knows. Too loyal to people who keep fucking her over."

He laughs bitterly. "Yeah. That's our thing."

There's silence for a while. Just the hum of the pipes in the walls and the muffled clatter of bone dice outside the cell.

Then he says, "She saved me. Even when she shouldn't have. Even when it cost her."

"I know," I murmur. "She told me."

His voice cracks. "She doesn't deserve this war."

"No," I agree. "But she's in it. And so are we."

I don't move, don't breathe loud enough to break the moment. His hand rests on his thigh, inches from mine. My chest tightens with the weight of what I can't say. What I want.

He looks up at me, eyes glassy. "Why are you being kind to me?"

"Because someone should be."

I reach into my pocket and pull out the second vial. Hold it between two fingers and offer it to him.