Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 77118 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77118 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
The stitches looked red and angry with crusted black blood around them.
It was… ugly.
And that, well, it only pissed me off more.
Then, suddenly, I knew exactly what my next move was going to be.
“Shady Valley Penitentiary,” the voice on the other end of my phone greeted me.
“Hi, yeah. I was calling to see if I was on the visitation list for Czar Petcova.”
“Czar Petcova, you said?” the woman asked, sounding surprised.
“Yes. My name is—“
“Nyx,” she filled in for me. “You are the only person on his visitation list,” she told me. It was more than she was supposed to let me know. But if this was who I was pretty sure I was talking to, I’d once saved her daughter from a guy who’d spiked her drink at the bar.
“Are there visiting hours today?”
“Ah, yes. But you would have to hurry. They are over in a few hours.”
“Okay. Thanks,” I said, ending the call, and hopping into the shower before throwing myself together.
The clothes in my weekend bag were casual. Black jeans. A black t-shirt. Tame enough, I figured, for a prison visitation.
I pulled my hair back, slipped on my ballet flats, grabbed my wallet and keys, and made my way out.
“You look like a woman on a mission,” Jack said, looking exhausted. He worked seemingly around the clock. I figured he might typically catch some sleep in his office. I couldn’t help but wonder if he had stayed awake the night before to keep an eye and make sure no one was coming for me.
“I am,” I agreed.
“You coming back?”
“I don’t know yet,” I told him. “So I am holding onto your belt for a little bit.”
“Alright sounds good. Be safe, okay?”
Oh, I was pretty sure I didn’t have to be worried about being safe as I drove through the razor-wired gates of the prison, following a few other cars of people heading in to visit their loved ones.
Except, of course, I wasn’t there for love.
Thanks to the throbbing in my head, it was quite the fucking opposite, actually.
After a half an hour of body checks and paperwork and lectures from the COs who all ignored my face. Probably because I served them drinks and gave them deals on appetizers since they tipped pretty well.
There was probably some rule on the books about letting someone in who looked like I looked right then, but it wasn’t long until I was being shuffled into a room full of white tables with tan plastic and metal chairs and vending machines.
Taking a deep breath, I chose a seat at a table facing away from the door where the prisoners were coming in, wanting to keep my face a surprise until the last possible moment.
“Baby girl,” Czar’s familiar, smooth voice called as he approached. “I knew you would come even—“ he started, then his words fell off as he came around the table. “What the fuck?” he hissed as his gaze fell on my face.
“Sit down, Czar,” I said, voice tight.
He looked… surprisingly good.
I mean, wasn’t prison supposed to be tough? Age you? Something?
It only seemed to make him even more attractive.
Time did that to men, I remembered.
And men in their thirties were almost always hotter than ones in their twenties.
He’d been a looker back then.
He was stunning now.
Still tall, dark-haired, golden-brown-eyed, but his face had etched a bit sharper with age. And he’d clearly been doing a lot of working out since he’d gone away.
Czar’s gaze held mine for a moment before he lowered himself down onto a chair.
“Do you really think you have a right to look horrified right now, you bastard?” I snapped, voice low, but cutting.
“Baby, what the fuck happened?”
“I was attacked in my apartment,” I said, jaw tight until it made my head scream louder, making me force it to relax.
“Who? Who did this?”
“Oh, cut the shit, Czar,” I snapped, wincing when I said it a little too loudly, making the woman at the next table jump and the CO glance over.
I held up a hand to him and mouthed an apology before looking back at Czar.
“Who are you involved with?” Czar asked. “Was it the fucking Irish guys?”
“The Murphy brothers would never put a hand on me,” I said, brows drawing together because, well, this was not going how I’d been playing it out in my head on the way in.
“Who then?” he snapped.
Czar was not a guy with an explosive temper. He had a cold, cutting type of anger. A stare and a tone that could make a lifelong criminal squirm.
“You, you fucking asshole. You.”
“Me?” he asked, falling back into the chair as if my words were a strike, and the force pushed him backward.
He stared at me for a long time, those familiar golden eyes looking at me like he’d never seen me before.
Then he leaned forward, arms going on the table, head dipping.