Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 85183 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 426(@200wpm)___ 341(@250wpm)___ 284(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85183 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 426(@200wpm)___ 341(@250wpm)___ 284(@300wpm)
"You're gonna spend a long time here," he mocks.
I can feel my blood pressure rising, and I just can't help myself. "You shouldn't be so sure of yourself," I say, staring up at the ceiling of the car. "I haven't had my trial yet."
He laughs. "Okay. I've never heard of a man as low-down as you walking free."
"And I'm sure you've never met a man quite like me. I've just been in the wrong place at the wrong time an awful lot."
"You're a bookie, a killer, a criminal. You are going to fucking die in a jail cell."
"We'll see what my lawyer says about that."
The car stops and the agent opens the door, grabs my elbow, and yanks me out of the car. "Get out." He shakes his head as he pulls me toward the open door on the side of the concrete building, and pushes me through.
I'm taken to an office where they fingerprint me, strip me of my clothes, and give me a full cavity search before handing me a bright orange jumpsuit. I'm told I'm wanted on five counts of first degree murder, kidnapping, running an illegal gambling ring, money laundering and tax evasion before I'm ushered against a wall, handed a plate with my prison number on it, and told to look straight ahead. I smirk when the light flashes.
Two prison guards are brought into the room. One stands on each side of me and holds onto my arms as they walk me down the hallway.
"Two? Aren't I fucking special?" I groan.
One of the men glances up at me. "No, just insane," he says as we round a corner.
We navigate through several long corridors and down a set of stairs. They're taking me to solitary confinement? Fuck me. The entire hallway smells like bleach. Inmates bang on the doors and shout as we pass by.
"Hey, piggy, piggy..." one sings behind his door.
The officer bangs his fist over a door. "Marshall, shut up!"
We stop in front of a metal door that has a tiny window at the top. The guard unlocks the door and the hinges creak as it swings open. The room is tiny, with a stainless steel toilet and sink in the corner, a small cot against the wall.
"Don't cover the window. That will get you an extra week in confinement once you're sentenced, buttercup. Don't shit in the floor either."
They uncuff me and turn to leave the cell. The door slams shut with a heavy finality. I stand, staring at the thick bars, completely in denial that this has happened. Five counts of first-degree murder. I will never get out of this fucking place. I pace with my hands clasped behind my head. This is not how my life is supposed to go. I'm supposed to be with Tor, far away from all this shit. I promised her I would never leave her... the baby... I wipe my hand down my face and stare at the cinder block wall. The longer I let myself think about the life I was so damn close to, the more enraged I become. I draw my arm back and punch the brick. Pain splinters up my arm. I slam my fist into the concrete again, and again, and again. I keep hitting the wall until my arm is weak, my knuckles busted and bleeding; until the pain grows numb. Breathing hard, I stare at the patch of blood on the white bricks. Out of everything that has happened in my life, out of all the fucked up, gruesome, heartless shit I've done, failing her is the worst. Knowing that she'll raise our baby alone, that I can't take care of them the way I should; there's no other way to explain how this feel besides that it breaks my fucking heart. I was going to have a life. Was going to.
"Fuck!" I shout, my voice bounces around the small cell. "Fuck!"
I hear some of the other inmates laughing, and I fall onto the cot, the worn springs groaning under my weight. Trapped for the rest of my goddamn life. This is worse than death. It's worse than hell. This is the cruelest form of torture I could ever be sentenced to. Knowing I had a chance at life, at a family, at things I know I never deserved, but, instead I'm stuck in this fucking place. The rest of my pathetic life to rot in here and think about how badly I fucked up.
I'm taken to a room, with white walls, a mirror on one side, and a table with four chairs in the middle.
A woman strides into the room wearing what looks like a very expensive suit. "Remove her cuffs." She waves off the officer who brought me in.
He releases the cuffs from my wrists, and the blood rushes back into my hands. I wince as I work my fingers, getting the feeling back. The officer leaves the room, and the woman flashes me a smile.