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TWO
Desperado . . .
“What’chu readin’, cutie?”
Heaven Lewis looked up from the book she was reading, and looked over toward the opened barred door of her nine-by-twelve cell. There, leaning up against its frame, stood a light-skinned woman sporting a Mohawk and a snake tattoo wrapped around her neck—a cobra. Droplets of blood dripped from its fangs.
The women housed in 3 West affectionately called her Snake because of her venomous temper when crossed, and the way her long tongue slithered all over her lovers’ pulsing bodies whenever she crept into their cells for a salacious romp.
She had a raspy voice as if she’d been smoking cigarettes since the day she’d been born.
Heaven took in the burly, twenty-something-year-old with the handsome face and the spray of freckles across the bridge of her nose, and knew without having to say it that the stud wasn’t the least bit concerned with what she was reading. What she was interested in was tucked away between her thighs beneath two pairs of white women’s briefs and a pair of long johns. She kept her pussy triple-wrapped to stave off any easy attempts at getting to her good-good if some devious bitch tried to scheme on her pussy, that was.
“Just some book,” Heaven calmly answered, and closed her book, placing it face-up beside her on the bunk. The Power Couple. By Allison Hobbs.
Snake smirked at her, the tip of her pink tongue peeking out from between her full lips. The stud had been trying to charm her way into Heaven’s panties from the moment she’d stepped foot into Croydon Hill Correctional Facility—a woman’s prison tucked away on 117 acres in Northwest New Jersey, twenty miles from the New York state line—nearly six months ago. And so far—without much hassle, she’d managed to keep her snatch untouched by the hungry advances of wolves like her starving for fresh cunt.
But the glint in the young stud’s eyes told her that today she wouldn’t be so easily dissuaded. Of all the females here, she had to pick today to fuck with her. She fought to keep from sucking her teeth.
Snake stepped inside the cell. Uninvited. Unwanted. Undeterred.
Long legs and large breasts swept through the small space in two steps. And then she was hovering over her, an arm up on the top bunk, looking down at her, casting her a hungry, primal look. She grabbed at her crotch in the way a man would, then pulled at the whiskers on her chin.
“So how is it?”
The hair on the back of Heaven’s neck stood at attention. But she remained calm. “How is what?”
“The book.”
Heaven shrugged. “It’s okay.” She kept her tone innocuous, not interested in engaging her with book talk. But she didn’t want to be rude to her, either.
All she wanted was to do her bid. Period.
She was here on attempted murder charges. The aggravated assault and possession of a handgun—a Glock she’d used to shoot her cheating boyfriend—had been dismissed under the terms of her plea agreement. A ten-year sentence. And now all she wanted to do was her time so that she could return to her beloved Jimmy Choo stilettos and Birkin handbags. She missed all of her coveted pieces, along with her diamond studs and tennis bracelets.
But this—a one-piece stainless steel toilet/sink and a steel bedstead that held a thin mattress inside of a brick box surrounded by concrete walls and razor-sharp wire. And this God-awful orange New Jersey Department of Corrections jumpsuit—was her current reality.
The stud smirked. “So you like them nasty books, huh?”
Heaven gave her a blank look.
“Yeah, I read, baby,” the young stud said, catching the surprised look on her face. She gave Heaven a lecherous stare. Then she lewdly slid the tip of her tongue over her bottom lip. “I like that kinky shit, too. I just finished reading Vengeance by that broad Zane. Yo, she wild as fuck. Reading her shit makes my dick hard.”
Dick?
Was that what they were calling clits these days?
Dicks?
Heaven frowned. She’d never been friends with a lesbian, so she had no frame of reference to speak of—not that she was prejudiced or anything; she simply didn’t hang in social circles where bisexual or lesbian women frequented—but one thing was for certain: she wasn’t interested in becoming friends with her, or any other women who thought she had a dick hanging between her legs.
“I haven’t read that book,” Heaven simply stated. But what she wanted to say was, “Why the fuck are you in my cell?”
Snake glanced over her shoulder, then gave a slight head nod to her lookout, a tall lanky Dred about nineteen with bad acne and an overbite. The girl nodded back, then stood watch, like a faithful watchdog.
And then came the weight of the stud’s body on Heaven’s bunk. She smelled of Irish Spring soap, and Dial scented roll-on.
Heaven flinched, and inched away from her.
