I also had my hair down because I couldn’t find the strength to put it up after an exhausting shower.
My hair had never been down in all the times that he’d seen me.
I always made sure to straighten it at least.
This time? My wild curls were just… everywhere.
Then his eyes swept over me.
They swept away just as fast only to shoot right back to me.
I held my hand up in a feeble wave.
His eyes narrowed dangerously as he stalked his way toward me.
He caught my chin with one knuckle when he was close enough, then carefully pulled my chin up while staring into my eyes. “What’s wrong?”
He growled it in such a way that it had my heart hammering.
He was mad.
Like, he looked super pissed.
At what, I wasn’t sure.
“Nothing’s wrong.” I paused. “Other than I’m getting over the most hellacious bout of pneumonia/flu followed by antibiotic reaction followed by whatever the hell else I caught. I’m fine. I promise.”
He narrowed his eyes. “I don’t like it.”
I snorted out a laugh and gestured to my seat. “I didn’t much like it, either.”
“You look like shit,” he said, his eyes wary as he took a seat. “Tell me what happened.”
His order made a shiver of delight slowly roll down my spine.
“It all started with me treating a flu patient,” I began.
When I was done with my story, he was frowning hard. “Just how much weight have you lost?”
I grimaced. “About twenty pounds. But don’t worry. As soon as I get some energy back, I’m sure that it’ll all come back and more. I’m not meant to sustain life at this weight.”
I was a curvy girl. Always had been, always would be.
In fact, when I wasn’t careful with what I ate, curvy turned into not so much curvy but round, and that meant that I was constantly aware of what I was eating.
But for now, it was nice not to have to worry about every little thing I put into my mouth.
“Besides my obvious sickness,” I said, “everything else is going well.”
Then I chattered with him for the next thirty minutes, telling him about every little thing in my life that had changed.
I told him about something funny the dogs did.
I told him about how they’d slept in bed with me.
I told him about my aunt’s newest antics.
I told him about the time I thought someone was breaking in and it turned out to be his sister. Which I’d found out only after she’d left and I’d looked at the monitors.
“Whatever you do,” he said, “don’t let them inside.”
With that, he stood up when the guards indicated it was time to file out. “Take care of yourself, honey. I want to see you healthier and back up to fighting weight the next time you come see me.”
That was the first time that he’d actually sounded like he was looking forward to the next visit.
I beamed at him. “I’ll be here. And I’ll try.”
• • •
Twelve months later
I was fighting mad.
Why was I fighting mad?
Because my aunt had delayed the court hearing.
Again.
We were now going on almost two years of her fighting every single fucking thing she could fight.
And she was picking the most petty, ridiculous things she could think of.
The bad thing was, the court was actually allowing these delays, and I had the sinking suspicion that she had an inside foothold where I did not.
I also had a feeling that I was losing ground, and she might just win this.
Which had me seething as I sat waiting for my man to get into the visiting rooms.
When he did finally show what felt like long minutes later, he looked… odd.
I frowned.
“What’s wrong?” I asked the instant he sat down.
He stared at me blankly. “Nothing.”
That’s when I saw him move stiffly, and I tilted my head. “Are you hurt?”
He gritted his teeth, obviously not wanting to answer.
I sighed. “You don’t have to tell me. I mean, it’s not like you really owe me anything.”
It’s not like I’m your wife in truth.
“Bad day in here yesterday,” he said as he softened slightly. “Tell me about your aunt.”
I narrowed my eyes. “I’d rather not talk about her at all, if it’s all the same to you.”
His lips quirked, as if he wanted to argue, but he couldn’t.
That was true, too. The thing was, he nor I owed each other anything.
“Your hair’s getting pretty long,” I found myself saying. “Can you cut it here? Is that allowed?”
“There’s a barber here, so yes,” he answered. “But I’m not really keen on getting it done by someone I don’t trust, so other than a couple of trims on my own, it’s just getting long.”
Meaning he hadn’t cut it in almost two years.
I kind of liked it, really.
It looked good.
Really good.
Sexy good.
So good, in fact, that the longer it got, the more I wanted to sink my fingers into it. To use his hair to pull him close.
I mentally berated myself for losing track of what I was doing, then got back on point to cover my tracks.
“So let me tell you about the dogs…”
• • •
HUNT
Nine months later
The moment I walked into the room and saw her face, I felt things inside of me clench.
God, she was fucking beautiful.
And when I say beautiful, I mean, she took my breath away beautiful.
Then she turned, realizing that the prisoners were being let in the room, and my breath left me in a rush.
I wasn’t aware that I was pushing people out of the way, men that could make my life a living hell, until I’d already made my way to Wyett.
My hand slid up her throat until I could get to her face, and then I tilted her chin up so that I could see her cheek. My thumb rested just underneath of her chin while the rest of my fingers rested over the bounding pulse in her neck.
Goddamn, but she had one hell of a shiner.
“No touching, McJimpsey,” one of the better guards ordered.
And when I say better, I mean he ‘didn’t try to fuck me over’ better. The guard, Tetters, was probably a decent man outside of the prison. But inside, he got all hyped up with the rest of the guards and ended up being a piece of shit still. He just didn’t kick me or bash me in the head with a baton when nobody was looking.
He always waited until someone was looking to do anything because otherwise he would lose face with the rest of the guards.
Well, so far he wasn’t on my list of people I was going to fuck over when I got out of prison, but he could be.
Oh, would he be, if he ever fucked me over like the others.
I let go of my wife and stared down into her eyes.
One was the bright chocolate brown that I knew and loved. The other was brown, but it was surrounded by bloodshot whites, and then a black eye. A really bad black eye.
“What happened?” I growled.
She narrowed her eyes. “It doesn’t feel good when I’m hurt and you can’t figure out how, does it?”
I narrowed my eyes. “What happened?”
“So about the dogs…” She ignored me.
My growl of frustration was cut short by her continued diatribe.
“Calm down, McJimpsey, or I’m going to have to take you back to your cell early.”
The snotty, sugary sweet, asshole of a guard…
“He’s not uncalm,” Wyett snapped. “At least, he wasn’t until you came over here and told him to calm down. He was actually doing quite well considering I wasn’t telling him how I got a black eye. A black eye and the poor guy can do nothing about it becau
se he’s in here in this joint cooped up with the likes of you. Now, please kindly get the fuck away from me.”
And, surprisingly, Breen did.
I looked at her with narrowed eyes. “What the hell was that?”
“That was me getting really tired of that asshole talking to me every time I come in here,” she growled. “I don’t know what his obsession is, but I only have enough time for one crazy person in my life.”
I gritted my teeth. “Your aunt?”
She snarled in frustration. “My aunt.”
CHAPTER 5
Optimist: the glass is half full of white wine.
Pessimist: the glass is half empty with white whine.
Realist: that’s pee, isn’t it?
HUNT
Twelve months later
The new prison in comparison to my old prison felt like I’d moved from a hovel in trailer town to a mansion in Bel Air.
No more daily fights. No more random attacks in the middle of the night from my roommates. No more guards beating the shit out of me for no reason.
No more random shanking in the lunchroom.
No more accidentally losing an ear at the barbershop.
Honestly, I could do a lot with what I was given here.
If only my first three or so years had been like this, I wouldn’t have hated it so much.
And, on top of it all, I had access to computers.
Access to computers that I’d already used to do basic searches into assholes’ lives that decided to make my life a living hell over the last two plus years.
One man in particular.
Breen.
The doors slid open, allowing us to enter into the visiting area, and there she was.
This time, her eyes didn’t have the same dark circles indicating that she’d gotten up early to drive the four hours to get to me.
This time, she had makeup on, looked fresh-faced, and had a smile on her lips that was aimed directly at me.
When I sat down, she pounced. “This place is so much better than the last. It’s like ten times better. And I don’t get groped on the way inside!”
Something sour filled my stomach. “You got that at the other place?”
She grimaced. “I didn’t want to tell you.”
“Why?” I asked carefully, trying to control my temper.
“Because I didn’t want to make it any harder there than it had to be,” she explained. “There was one guard in particular that always used to make me feel so grossed out.”
She shivered, and I knew right then and there what her reaction was about the last time she was visiting me at my former prison.
Breen.
He’d touched her.
He may not have done it in an obvious way, but he’d touched her and made her feel enough disgust that she’d reacted in a way that should’ve sent red flags shooting out everywhere.
“Yeah,” I said. “Was it the guard that you snapped at last time?”
She grimaced. “Yeah.”
I ticked off yet another box inside of my mind that would ensure that the asshole paid for what he’d done to me. And now to her.
My rage built.
That asshole was seriously going to pay.
I was going to find a way to make his life a living hell.
I was going to ruin him.
And I was going to enjoy every fucking second of it.
• • •
Six weeks later
I was honestly worried that I’d been caught doing what I was doing on the prison computers.
What I was doing on them wasn’t meant to be done, but seriously, there was no other way to do this.
It had to be done. Now.
“Get in there,” the warden, a rather large man that never quite met my eyes, ordered.
I sighed, having a feeling I was going to hate what was about to happen.
But there was no other way for it.
I had to do it.
And I had to pay for what I’d done.
It wasn’t nearly enough, that was for sure, but it was a start.
“I’ve been monitoring you.”
I frowned, looking at the man that was sitting in the visitor’s chairs in front of the warden’s desk.
The warden who hadn’t followed me into his office, but instead had closed the door and left me here with a man I didn’t know.
“Okay,” I replied.
“I need someone with your set of skills,” he continued. “In a few days, you’re going to have a group meeting with a few fellow inmates where I’ll explain this again. But I need you on board. I want to give you a few more days to contemplate this since you’re likely the one most at risk here.”
I frowned. “You’re going to have to tell me so I can make an informed decision. Beating around the bush really isn’t my style.”
Not lately, anyway.
I’d lost the art of patience.
Now I was just pissed.
All the damn time.
“I want you on my team,” he informed me. “As of right now, you have about eight more months in your sentence before you’re eligible for parole. Sadly, all the fights with guards at your old prison will make it to where your ‘time inside’ was not with good behavior. You’ll be denied parole, and your newfound enemy, Breen, will make sure of that.”
Fucking Breen.
“Okay,” I grumbled. “And?”
“And…” The man stood up, reaching for the lapels of his really expensive suit and buttoned the first button. “I want to make you a deal. I get you out of here early, you work for me. Not all the time or anything. Just when you’re needed.”
“Do you do illegal shit?” I asked. “Because I’d rather you shoot me now than have to deal with that kind of crap.”
I was nobody’s pawn.
“Quite the opposite.” He paused. “Though, it is slightly illegal seeing as it takes away some Americans’ basic human rights. But with what they’re doing, they deserve for those to be taken away.”
I frowned.
“I brought this,” he said as he pulled up a small laptop from the second chair that’d been beside him. “I want you to look up a ‘Doris Rosen.’”
More than intrigued, I booted up the laptop and did, coming up with a young woman that’d been picked up off the side of the road and never seen again.
“I was one of a few that helped find her six months later,” the man said. “She was sold into sex trafficking. She was found nine hundred miles from her home, starved, abused, and a whole lot of other things, where she was forced to work in a brothel in Las Vegas. At the age of seventeen.”
My stomach clenched.
“She was from East Texas,” he continued. “And as I was looking into it, I realized that there were a whole lot more that’d gone missing from my neck of the woods… and I didn’t like it. So I’ve made it my personal mission to clean up my streets. And I need a few good men like you, and the others that you’ll meet in a few days, to help me accomplish that. All of you have a special set of skills. Ones that are needed to make this undertaking successful.”
I closed the laptop and handed it to him.
“You can continue doing whatever it is that you want to do. I just ask that you help on the cases that I need help with. And…” He paused. “There’s a bit of a catch.”
I knew there would be.
“You’ll have to pose as a member of a motorcycle club. To give reason to why you are all together in the small town where I’m based,” he continued. “It’ll give you a logical story to explain to people. And I have a feeling that you’ll blunder if you don’t have a prepared story. It makes it easier, I believe, in the long run if we have a devised plan.”
A motorcycle club?
“I guess,” I admitted. “I mean, I’ve never even ridden a motorcycle.”
Lynn’s eyes sparkled as he said, “You’ll have to learn. It’d look mighty odd if you didn’t do that when you’re posing as being a part of one.”
With that, he stood up.
I stood up, too, realizing that it was time to do some thinking.
“I’m married,” I said. “And I have to explain this to my wife. Is that okay?”
His head tilted slightly, as if he was a cat who’d just found something interesting. “My sources didn’t tell me that you were married.”
I shrugged. “I didn’t tell anyone before I went in, if you’re talking about my family talking about me. And if you’re not, then you are more in need of my services than you even realize. I didn’t try to hide my actions before I got into this place.”
Lynn flashed me a quick grin. “The information gatherer is me. And since you’ve so kindly offered…” He pulled a sheet of paper out of his pocket. “This is a list of names of men that I’m considering. I would like you to do a thorough background check on all of them before I talk to them. Is two days enough time to do that with?”
Two days.
Easy.
I could have it in ten minutes if he gave me a decent computer and watched my back for enough time.
“If you give me time to access the information, I can have it all back to you pretty quickly, depending on what I find,” I said, sounding as cocky and arrogant as I knew myself to be.
Lynn’s brows widened. “Then, by all means, use this computer and get that information.”
“What’s your email and I’ll forward it all to there. And” —I slid around the desk to the computer behind it— “how far do you want me to dig?”
He wrote his email down on a Post-It note and handed it to me. I took it and pressed it at the corner of the desk.
“Seeing as these men are going to be leaving prison early along with you, I’d like to be a hundred percent sure that I’m making the right decision before I bring this same offer to them. So, in that case, go as far as you think you need to go. I don’t care about moral lines and boundaries. I want to know everything.” He took a seat in the visitor’s chair all over again and pulled a phone from his pocket. “And you have two hours to get me as much as you can. That’s as long as the warden takes for lunch.”
With that last comment, he got to work on his phone, typing things out, answering emails, and generally staying busy as to not disturb me.
Doin' a Dime Page 4
