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PROLOGUE
My dearest Storm,
The day I laid my eyes on you, I knew you were born to be my ruin. You’ve brought so much brightness into my life, without even realizing the impact you’ve had on me. That’s why I could not — cannot resist you. You made me addicted to the possibility of having you, and now I will not stop until I do, my love.
I’ll be out soon.
And then it’s you and me, until one of us dies.
Run if you dare.
I
STORM
‘‘How does this even work?’’
Sierra, my best friend, simply rolled her eyes. Her arms were folded in front of her chest, her crop-top raising more with the action. She crossed her legs, tilted her head to the side and stared at me.
‘‘I keep telling you…’’ This time, she spoke to me slowly, as if she were speaking to a child. ‘‘Pick a goddamn man, write him a letter and send a picture of your own. That’s it.’’
For the past four months, Sierra tried to convince me to send a letter to an inmate in one of the prisons in our state. She saw an ad for a website, and found a list of inmates that applied. She sent her letter without a second thought, and after a while, went to prison to visit the man.
‘‘I don’t know…’’ I hesitated. ‘‘What if I end up becoming a writing buddy with a psychopath?’’
Sierra shrugged. ‘‘Given the books that you write, I’d say you are a psychopath yourself.’’ She paused, her eyes glinting with mischief as a wide grin spread across her face. ‘‘Hey, how long has it been since you published anything?’’
I thought about it for a moment. The fact that I had to stop and think about it was enough to prove that it’s been way too long. ‘‘About two years.’’
Sierra nodded. ‘‘And you write thrillers, with a lot of crime. Why don’t you just give it a shot? You’d be meeting a criminal. You could get into his head and get inspired for a book or two.’’
I snorted. ‘‘That’s what the trip is for.’’
Currently, I was getting a master’s degree in criminology. One of the things we were offered was a trip to a prison with the highest security in the state. It wasn’t too expensive, and since I was interested in the subject, I applied. The trip was in two weeks, and I was getting excited thinking about it.
‘‘Yes, but you also write…something else.’’ Sierra wiggled her eyebrows suggestively with a wide smile. My response was an eye roll.
From time to time, I wrote romance novels. Out of the twelve books I had published, only three were romance. Sierra liked them because they’re basically porn on paper, and I liked them because they were great stress relievers and a good source of income.
‘‘All right, fine.’’ I caved. Excitedly, Sierra clapped once before coming to sit next to me.
I grabbed my laptop, put my glasses on and turned on a blank page to write. The cup of coffee next to me had gotten cold long ago, and it was no longer drinkable. Sierra, on the other hand, didn’t mind. She drank hers, then gulped mine in one go.
‘‘You can’t write it on computer, and then print it out.’’
‘‘Why the hell not?’’
‘‘Because,’’ she drawled out, ‘‘it’s impersonal. Imagine spending days upon days in a prison cell with people you don’t want to even look at, let alone be roommates with, and then get so happy that someone has written to you — only to find out it’s a printed letter.’’
‘‘Jesus,’’ I grumbled. ‘‘You’re being way too dramatic, but fine. I’ll write it on paper.’’
‘‘Perfect!’’ Sierra exclaimed, making me wince. She was being too loud for my liking.
I loved Sierra. Sierra was my best friend and has been my best friend since I could remember. But I liked my solitude, my alone time. Growing up with six siblings made sure I would always hate the crowd and loud spaces. I moved out as soon as I got accepted into university and had not been able to spend more than two days at a time with my family since.
Being alone with my thoughts was healing. It made me feel at ease, and not once did I miss human contact. It was then that all my creativity was let loose, and my weekend getaway to my father’s cabin in the woods, with nothing but a laptop and nature brought out my best works.
My father sold it last year, and I had not written a word ever since. It was a miracle I still had an income.
