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The warden didn’t blink. “Miss Lewis, I’m not your enemy. And—”
“You’re not my friend, either, so”—she flicked her hand at her—“go back to wherever the hell you came from. I’m good.”
The CO reentered the cell, not liking how she was coming at the warden. His jaw tightened. He kept his mouth shut, though. After all her years as a corrections officer, he knew the warden could still handle herself, if she had to.
The warden sighed. “Though I am certain you didn’t start what happened over on Three East . . .”
“You’re right. I didn’t. I finished it. That ho came at me from the moment I stepped in that nasty-ass cell. Trying to antagonize me. So I snatched her scalp. And beat her ass.”
“That as it may be. You practically beat her into a coma.”
“Good. Next time, it’ll be the grave. I’m not here to be fucked with. I’m here to do my time and get the hell home. Period.”
“And I’d like nothing more than to see that happen,” the warden assured her. “However, for now, you’ll be serving ninety days for your role in the violence that occurred over on Three East. Afterwards, when you’re released at the end of August, you can start with a clean slate. But I am going to need for you to focus more on programming so that you can eve
ntually return back to your community as a productive member of society, instead of being a problem in my prison.”
Heaven narrowed her eyes at the warden. There was something remarkably familiar in her eyes. She’d seen it before. Many times.
“Lady, I’m already productive,” she spat. “So maybe you should focus on your own problem, instead of focusing on me—or my return to society. Because, trust me, hon. I am no career criminal.”
“Which is why I want you to program.”
Heaven scoffed. “Maybe you should program.”
The warden blinked. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.” She ran a hand through her hair. “I am not your problem. You are.” She got up from her bunk and dropped her sheet. Then boldly sashayed her bare ass over to the far wall, looking out the tiny cell window.
The warden and the CO both willed their eyes from sliding a caressing gaze over Heaven’s voluptuous ass.
The CO swallowed. He needed to shake the thoughts of him sliding his dick into her body from his mind. The last thing he needed was a hard dick in front of the warden. He took a step back, then shifted his eyes to the chipped paint on one of the walls.
The warden diverted her stare to the back of Heaven’s head, folding her arms. This rude bitch! She pushed out a breath. “Tell me, Miss Lewis. What is it I can do for you to help you acclimate to prison life?”
“You see this?” she asked crudely as she faced the warden and pointed to her crotch. The warden gave her a blank stare. “It’s hairy, lady. I want a razor and some cream so I can shave it.”
The warden turned back and looked at the CO. “Make sure she gets what she’s asked for.” He nodded, silently disappointed that she wanted to shave her curly bush. He wanted to run his fingers through her pubic hairs before dipping them inside her creamy heat.
“I’ll take care of it,” he said, quickly shifting his eyes from the beautiful thatch of hair between her legs.
The warden turned her attention back to Heaven. “There. You’ll have it here in time for this evening’s shower. Anything else?”
Heaven pursed her lips, turning back to the window and staring out at the rosebushes that lined the edges of the perimeter, blocking her view from anything else.
She loved roses. She’d grown up all around them. Her father had an array of colorful rosebushes planted all over their neatly manicured yard in the suburbs of Northern New Jersey, where she’d lived most of her childhood. Clusters of red and pink and yellow rosebushes always scented the air. And, now seeing them outside her window, suddenly reminded her of her deceased father, Lincoln Lewis.
He’d died a little over six years ago. And she hadn’t quite gotten over it. His death had been a shock. One moment he was alive; the next moment he was gone. He’d gotten behind the wheel of his Suburban and ran into a telephone pole en route to Loew’s to pick up more rosebushes.
He’d had a heart attack behind the wheel.
Her whole family had been devastated. But his death had hit Heaven the hardest. He’d been her everything. He’d practically raised her and her three brothers singlehandedly, while working as a plant supervisor for Anheuser-Busch brewery. He, along with her overly protective brothers, doted on her, spoiling her rotten.
Their mother, Vivian, however, spent most of her days in a fog, and her nights passed out on the sofa, drooling. Other times, lying in her vomit.
As a young girl, she’d watched her father and brothers clean her up, then roll her into bed. For years, Vivian had hidden her—
Heaven turned her head and blinked the warden back into view.
