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“Oh. Well, nice doing business with you. This one here is going to cost you four books of stamps for all night.” A book of twenty stamps cost nine dollars on commissary, but had a street value of only six dollars in prison. And at Croydon Hill, postage stamps and cans of mackerel were the predominant currency used.
Heaven sl
id the towel back the way a proud mother would her newborn baby, giving the salivating woman a peek of what she’d be getting.
Penelope’s eyes widened as she sucked in her bottom lip. “Yes, yes. That’s the one I want.”
Heaven smiled. “Then you had better show me the money.”
• • •
A few hours later, Heaven made her way down to the second tier, speaking to a few inmates as she sauntered toward the cell of an inmate by the name of Annie-Mae. Annie-Mae had been incarcerated for the last four years for endangering the welfare of a child and kidnapping and burglary. She’d taken her three children to Texas without their father’s permission. And then was arrested when she refused to return to N.J. with the kids.
“What’s going on, Annie-Mae?” asked Heaven as she discreetly slid into her cell. “Seems like you’ve forgotten how to return my property.” Heaven placed a hand up on her hip. “You’ve had it out for more than four days. And you haven’t said one word to me about it.”
The sandy-brown-haired Albanian stood from her desk, and said in her thick accent, “I’ll get it back to you tonight.”
Heaven tilted her head, and her jaw clenched. “Bitch, this is unacceptable. You’re cutting into my coins.” She had three women on the wait list to use the sex toy, and this ho was hogging the vibrator.
The woman apologized. “I, well . . . see, I let my bunkie use it, and then . . .” She shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “And then—”
“So you loaned my shit out without my permission?”
“Sort of,” she admitted. “But I was supposed to have it back two nights ago, and, well . . .”
Heaven’s nose spread. She didn’t have all night with this bitch. “Look. Do you have payment for the late fees?”
“Well, not at the—”
The rest of her sentence was cut off by a large can of mackerel hitting her in the mouth. Heaven split her bottom lip, then hit her upside the head with the can.
The woman’s hand flew up to her mouth, and her eyes widened in shock.
“Ohmygod! You bust my lip.”
“And I’ll bust your skull if I don’t get my shit back, Annie-Mae—with the interest you owe, because if not, I’m going to claw your goddamn eye out like I did that bitch over on Four East. You have until noon tomorrow.”
And with that, she quickly slid out of the woman’s cell and headed back up to the high-rises up on the third floor. God, she didn’t want to resort to violence. But that was what some bitches only understood. So if she had to resort to barbaric measures, then she would.
And, for good measure, she’d sic Clitina on her ass.
THIRTY-SEVEN
Simon Says . . .
“What is it now, Lewis?” the sergeant asked smugly as he sat back in his chair and practically eye-fucked her. Instantly, his dick swelled against his uniform pants.
It was second shift, a little after six in the evening. And she was practically off the housing unit to finish up her last night of extra duty, when Bitchy-ass Harris—God, she hated that bitch—(she was covering overtime again)—called her back and told her she needed to get down to the sergeants’ office.
So here she was—part annoyed, part bubbly with determination; a mixture of irritation and arousal managed to flash in her expression. She’d requested to see him over three weeks ago, and the bastard took his slow sweet time to finally grace her with an audience. Whatever.
She had to race back up to her cell to freshen up a bit. She quickly changed out of her jumper and slipped on a pair of panty briefs. Then slipped on one of her baggy jumpers (well, you know—only in case she needed to slide her hand down into her panties), but she’d pulled her hair back in a sleek bun and shellacked her lips in her favorite orange lipstick. She wanted them dick-sucking shiny and deliciously enticing.
Then she rolled on a scent by Viktor & Rolf called Flowerbomb. The CO Miss Kimberly had slipped her two samplers on the sly, then placed a finger to her lips, before walking off.
So she decided to roll the perfume along the back of her neck and behind her ears, then down the center of her breasts, and in the crook of each arm, making sure the fruity, floral scent lingered around him—even after she was gone.
“Tonight’s my last night of cleaning detail, Sir,” she said sweetly.
