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Of course the simpletons I was surrounded by didn’t know what I meant. That was fine. The less people in on my plan the better. But, you see, with good behavior I was out of a fifteen year sentence within three years. Sure, my brother with his money and influence would challenge the parole board. But, if I had a record that sang my praises, if the visits to the prison shrink went well, in three short years I’d be back in my own place, just a few blocks from my brother’s building.
Right at this moment I was paying an outside investigator to check on my big brother and his beautiful, budding family. Every month he’d pay me a visit and we’d talk about the weather and sports and he’d tell me if there were any indicators that my brother was going to move or if Natasha was having another baby.
So far the only thing that surprised me was that Diamond was still in the picture. That one I should have finished off when I had the chance. I should have never left her alone in her apartment. That was my own negligence and I accept the full responsibility on my own sloppy handiwork. But see what I mean? There is no use getting mad at Diamond for living. I am mad at myself for not killing her outright when I had the chance.
Too many of these big brutes in here have a chip on their shoulder that they put there. Many of them hate the idea that I am enjoying the respite from bills and socialite bloodsuckers and charity gold diggers and the whole army of leeches that automatically bubble around the fringe of someone who has the money I do. So, when I find myself cornered by a couple of these fellows and they want a piece of me just because, well, of course I defend myself.
But, in order to make sure it doesn’t happen a lot and that the rumor mill gets the stories going, I just pay off someone who doesn’t have anything to lose to take care of them. They’ve got a mother or grandmother or half a dozen baby-mamas to take care of on the outside. A couple thousand dollars doesn’t mean anything to me. To them, it is all there is.
So far I’ve just had two guys put down and not a single drop of blood has shown up on my hands. I’m not sure if they are dead or if they were just hurt so badly they were assigned to solitary to recuperate.
So you see, I’m not upset that I’ve been sent to this place. I’m learning valuable skills and making priceless connections. Once I am out I’ll have several family members of some of my new brethren more than happy to help me tie up a couple of loose ends that were left when my sentence was started. Prison life is supposed to help us realize our mistakes and strive to not make those same mistakes again.
I couldn’t agree more. So far I’ve met a man who has a cousin on the outside who really likes blondes. I mean, really likes them. There is another guy with a tattoo of a teardrop next to his eye that knows where a budding marksman can find a weapon to hone his skill.
So the Universe hasn’t turned on me. She hasn’t left me. She’s provided me with a banquet table of oysters each one with a valuable pearl nestled deep inside just waiting to be reaped.
I’ll see my brother again and Natasha. I guess I should just call her my sister-in-law, right. Not this year. Not next year. Maybe not even the year after that. But some time, someday I will be released from here. I’ll shake hands with the friends I’ve made, clap the guards on the back and stroll out of this place climbing into my favorite sports car that Bernie will make sure is here and waiting and pick up where I left off. I won’t rush right over to Marty’s place. It will take some time. I’d hate to think he’d go out of his way baking a cake or getting the house all decorated and cleaned for my return.
No, I’d rather it be a big surprise. Just one day I’ll show up on his doorstep. Maybe he’ll be the only one home. Maybe Natasha will be the only one home or maybe their child. It doesn’t matter. That day I will smile with open arms and tell my family I’m out of prison and that I am home.
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Mia’s Hot Seller - Seduced By Two (Complete Story)
BLURB
My whole life, I’ve been a perfect little goody two-shoes. Even at twenty-two years old, I had a life no more exciting than most preteens. My mom and her husband, Dean, made sure that I was sheltered, safe, and incredibly boring.
Maybe it was because Dean’s son Andrew had always been a little on the wild side. Dean was five years older than me, so I never really got to see how Andrew acted when he was young. But now, he wasn’t welcome in Mom and Dean’s house. Maybe, he was a complete bad boy and rebel. He was so dark and sexy, with messy hair, wild eyes, and a grin that could break the most frigid of hearts.
And another thing about Andrew?
I had a hopeless, helpless crush on him.
When I got in a fight with my mom about visiting Boston for a weekend and staying with a girlfriend, I decided that I’d had enough of her rules. But sneaking out didn’t earn me any extra points…instead, Mom decided that I wouldn’t be allowed back inside of her house until I was able to respect her.
I didn’t have anyone else to turn to.
I had to call Andrew.
When Andrew brought me back to his house, my whole life changed. But would I come out on top and stronger than ever?
Or would Andrew be the man to break my heart?
If someone had told me that December twenty-third was the day my life was going to change forever, I wouldn’t have believed them. In fact, I probably would have laughed. Despite always being kind of a Pollyanna, my friends have always told me that I’ve got a very cynical sense of humor.
But I’m getting a little away from myself now. It was a Friday evening, and I was sitting at the kitchen table, working on homework. I was twenty-two years old, and I had no idea what was about to happen.
“Kristin, sweetie, how’s it going?” Mom slid into the chair opposite from me. Everyone always said we looked like twins, but I didn’t see it. She was tall where I’ve always been short for my age. Her hair was blonde to my brown, and her skin was a perfect
rosy color whereas mine always looked tinged with yellow, like I had jaundice. Still, we did have the same round cheeks and pouty lips. I always thought Mom was beautiful, like an angel. But when I looked at myself in the mirror, I always wished that I looked like someone else.
“It’s okay,” I said lamely. I showed her what I was working on – a paper concerning the architectural history of the Florentine Cathedral.
Mom nodded. She squinted, looking over her glasses at the page below me. I cringed – I knew she was judging my handwriting.
“Sweetie, don’t use that word,” Mom said, pointing down at the page. “It doesn’t make you sound very smart.”
