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There was silence a long moment before Kareema finally broke it.
“Freedom wants you to call him . . .”
FOURTEEN
It Takes A Fool . . .
By the time Heaven returned to her tier, she was literally drained. She needed a drink. A bottle of Moscato and a chilled wineglass would do her fine. Thank you very much. Better yet—a hard, deep fucking would do her even better.
She spoke to a few inmates as she moved through the day space, but had no interest in hanging around socializing, participating in of their tea parties (where they sat around gossiping) or watching them gamble on a card or board game. She needed a moment. Yeah, she was in the mood to brood and mull.
“Freedom wants you to call him . . .”
The fucking nerve of him!
Freedom.
How apropos. She’d lost her freedom by fucking with Freedom. And while he was free to still do his own thing—fucking whomever he wanted, she was locked up. The fucking nerve of it all! She’d allowed that motherfucker to take everything from her—her dignity, her heart, and now her liberty.
Caged in, like some damn wild animal.
She cursed Freedom, herself and this entire fucked-up situation. She should have left him alone a long time ago. Hell, she had no one to blame, but herself. She’d done this to herself. Not Freedom. Not the prosecutor. Not the judge. Only her.
And the sad thing was—if she really, really was honest with herself—that after everything she’d allowed him to put her through, she sadly still loved him.
But, physically, she was done with him. Emotionally? Well, not so much. The hurt was still fresh. She still felt the sting of his betrayal. Nevertheless, her heart was still burned raw from the pain, from all the love she still had for him. Still, she’d never take him back. Ever. And he’d be a damn fool to ever want her to.
Because the next time . . .
She’d kill him.
Heaven walked over to her cell window and looked out. The sky had darkened over the yard, and lightning struck. Then came the echoing boom of thunder. How fitting. The weather suddenly matched her mood. Shitty.
“Freedom wants you to call him . . .”
She grimaced as her pussy pulsed. Fuck him. She wasn’t calling him. Period. She never wanted to hear from him, or see him again.
She knew she was lying to herself. Still, she repeated the lie over and over in her head, in hopes that if she said it enough times to herself, that it would eventually become fact. But, for now, her truth was this: as bad as she wanted to hate him, to wish him harm, her heart wouldn’t allow it.
God, she wished she had shot him in his heart instead. Killed him. Put his cheating ass out of his misery, her misery. Then watched him bleed out.
Freedom.
Freedom.
Freedom.
Why the hell did he want her to call him? What could he possibly have to say to her? What, offer her an apology for being a grimy motherfucker? Tell her how much he still loved her? Promise to hold her down during her bid?
No. She didn’t want his apology. She didn’t want his bullshit-ass promises. What she wanted was, him gone from the crevices of her thoughts. She wanted him erased from her memory. She didn’t hate him. She was deeply hurt by him. And, though, a part of her missed things about him, she wished he’d bled out when she’d shot him. She was feeling like she’d never be free of him as long as he was still breathing.
Heaven pursed her lips, sighed.
He was lucky she hadn’t been a snitch. She could have easily brought down his narcotics operation in exchange for her freedom. Sent him away for life. But no matter how many times he’d betrayed her trust in him, she could never bring herself to turn his ass in.
Ever.
Freedom. Freedom. Freedom. His name kept running through her mind like a chant. She knew the real reason she wouldn’t call him. She wasn’t calling him because she knew the sound of his deep, sexy voice would weaken her defenses. She knew herself too well to pretend otherwise. A broken resolve would mean damp panties and, eventually, he’d—figuratively speaking—have her flat on her back with her legs up over his shoulders—right in the same compromising position he’d had his sidepiece in.
