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Chapter One
Psycho
Eastford Prison. A place where the corrupt and troubled are kept away from society, banged up behind bars, guarded twenty-four hours a day, and looked down upon. An authority deeming them too dangerous to walk free amongst civilised people. It’s such a joke. The truly dangerous creatures are walking past you every day, drinking in the same pubs as you, eating in the same restaurants, shopping in the same supermarkets. They’re even running the country.
The judge deemed my sister too dangerous to remain free and sentenced her to ten years, eight of which she’s already served. She was found guilty of grievous bodily harm charges against her wanker of an ex-boyfriend and her bitch of an ex-best friend. What else was she supposed to do when she walked in to find them fucking in her bed after she had spent the day working to provide for his lazy arse? I hated him from the second she introduced us. I knew he wasn’t good enough for her, but she pleaded with me to leave him alone. That she loved him, and he made her happy. All I wanted was for her to be happy, so I promised not to hurt him. I just wish she hadn’t acted in the moment and came to me. I would’ve made them both disappear with no comebacks.
So what if she took a cricket bat to the both of them and put them in the hospital? They caused her more pain than she inflicted, and they got to walk free. Moral laws are a hundred times worse to break than the laws of the land. They are in my mind, anyway.
Lexi Mitchell, my twin sister, and I, share the same inner darkness. But where mine creeps around you like an invisible cloak of death, hers is fire and in your face. I’ll take my revenge from the shadows, whereas she’ll take hers and turn it into a show. I don’t agree with her tactics, but I don’t judge her, either. She knows I’ll always be at her side if she needs backup.
I sit down opposite of her and lean back in the plastic chair, failing to get comfortable. I hate everything about this place. I hate even more that I have to leave here without her.
Her dark hair—so much like mine—is piled up on the top of her head. And her dark eyes—again, so much like mine—light up with joy at seeing me.
“You’re looking tired, big brother,” she smarts. I’m only six minutes older than her.
“It was a long night.”
One hour of patchy sleep doesn’t count, and I smother the yawn trying to escape. “I put a few quid in your account. Try not to spend it all at once.”
Rolling her eyes, she mutters a “thank you.” Every month, I top up her commissary account and make sure she has enough to keep herself as comfortable as possible while she’s in this shithole.
“What’s new in the world? Tell me something exciting. I’m suffering this week.”
My sister has her off days, and sometimes, they can drag into weeks. It’s not the prison setting; she’s been like this since we were kids. One minute, she’d be the life and soul of the party, and the next, she’d slump into a depressive state and turn into “zombie mode.” Only I could ever understand her—what she needed, when she needed it—without her having to speak a word. It’s hard to do while she’s in here, though, but I’ve managed. So far, so good.
“Nothing much. You know, same shit, different day. What’s been happening in here?”
Her voice fades into the background as the sound of a chair scraping against the worn-out tiled floor captures my attention. Instinct has me scouting the room for the source, and I zero in on a disturbance between another prisoner and her visitor a few tables over.
Luxurious, dark brown hair frames the most beautiful, freckled face I’ve ever seen. But it’s her eyes that hold me for a moment, until my gaze drops to her full, plump, pink lips. I force myself to tear my eyes from her and to the woman seated opposite of her. She must be her mother. You can see the similarities clearly enough.
“You can’t take him away from me!” the beautiful woman screams, jumping up to her feet and slamming her hands on the table. The older woman flinches and pushes back in her chair as the screws come rushing over. Grabbing her arms, they haul her away like she weighs nothing.
Upset and angry over something she didn’t wish to hear, she’s the most stunning creature I’ve ever laid eyes on. Maybe it’s the pain etched in her features that makes her so. Whatever it is, I can’t keep my eyes off of her.
“No, no, no,” she chants as she’s dragged toward the door.
I look back to the mother, who stands gracefully, her head held high, and casts her gaze around to everyone watching their explosive display. She’s then escorted through the door for visitors, and before I can search out the beauty again, the prisoner door closes, shutting off her cries.
The room again comes alive with conversation, the show forgotten, but not by me.
Knowing my sister and who she is within these walls, I ask, “Who was that?”
Tilting her head, her eyes narrow with suspicion. “Why do you want to know?”
“Answer me.”
Two stern words are all that’s needed for her to answer the damn question.
Sighing, she sits back in her chair. “Her name is Evie Hemingway. She’ll be out in a couple of weeks.”
“What’s she in for?”
My sister makes it her business to know everything.
“Shoplifting. She got eight weeks from Ramsey.”
