Page 9 of Justice

The pair looked at each other, then shook their heads and smiled.

“Can you at least tell us who has the book, so we can see if they’re finished with it?”

Olson waved the pair over, taking another stack of books in her arms. “Don’t see why not, it’s overdue anyway.”

They followed her into the tiny office, the glass walls designed to allow security for the lone computer in the room, yet keep the custodian in full view of the guards. However, it was a well-known fact the warden kept microphones all around the prison, using them to keep up with what was happening among the inmates. Olson had found one of those microphones in the library.

“I was hoping you would stop by,” Olson whispered as she opened the program she kept the books listed in. “When I saw the article in the paper this morning, I started searching their records. So far, nothing, but I’ll keep trying.” She continued, pointing to a book title on the screen.

“Thanks, Olson. We still on for Thursday?” Justice questioned loud enough for the guard stationed at the entrance to look their way.

“Of course, if things go right, our lessons will come to an end after the Christmas holiday.”

Justice started working out with Olson shortly after she arrived. She had shown her several defensive moves, taught her how to throw an effective punch and how to slit a person’s throat, killing them instantly. It had all come at a price, but now the pair were unofficial friends. Olson was up for parole in the next few weeks, she had stayed out of trouble, volunteered with the library, and helped other inmates enroll in online classes. All positive actions the board looked for when making their decision.

“I’ll keep my fingers crossed. You deserve to be out there, showing women how to fight back and not be afraid.”

“Thanks, Justice, but you deserve more than anyone to be on the other side of that fence. I killed the lying sack of shit. You, on the other hand, are innocent.”

CHAPTERSIX

“Hannigan, you have a visitor.”Officer Sanchez announced through the door as the locks clicked open. Light from the hall pierced the dark space, causing her eyes to narrow, and shield her face with her hands. Deidre had lost count of how long she had been inside the padded cell, no clue whether it was day or night as they hadn’t brought her any food for a while. What she did know, was how bad she needed a fucking cigarette.

Her feet and hips protested in pain as she stood, crossing the short distance to the door.

“Hands in the window,” Officer Sanchez instructed over the rattle of chains and handcuffs connecting with the door. She had no idea who had come to visit, but doubted it was her bastard husband, and hoped like hell it wasn’t her sister or mother, she didn’t want them to see her like this, tattered and torn.

Deidre had a privileged upbringing. Her father had been the leader of one of the largest Family syndicates in Boston, able to shower her with luxurious gifts and fulfill her every whim. In his attempt at keeping her happy, he had given her a false sense of indestructibility, letting her believe the rules didn’t apply to her, thus paving the way for her incarceration.

“Let’s go,” Sanchez demanded, pulling at her elbow as the officer in front of them unlocked the main door. Shuffling her feet, she questioned whether her husband had tossed out her designer shoes and clothes. She missed her closet and the soft sheets on her bed. What she wouldn’t give for a cup of coffee, lightly sweetened and full of real cream, not the powdered shit they force her to drink in here.

Officer Sanchez led her down the hall, the keys on his belt clinking against one another. His shoes tapping against the tile of the floor with every step, a tiny squeak sounding when his left foot touched the floor. As they passed the office, she looked through the window to see if she recognized anyone, but the room was empty except for a few employees.

As the hall ended, a solid brown door separated her from whoever waited on the other side. The sting of tears clogged her throat, making her anxiety all that much worse. Deidre had never been an emotional person, except when it benefited her, using faux tears as a way to argue her case when her father, or Drake, had forbidden her to do something.

But as the door opened, and Sanchez escorted her to the private area reserved for attorneys, her heart rejoiced as her eyes landed on the silk-suit wearing man standing in the corner.

“You have fifteen minutes,” Sanchez started, as he unlocked the handcuffs and shackles. “Use it wisely.” Moving to stand at the door, his massive arms crossed over his chest.

Deidre took his advice, rounding the table and launching herself into the man’s arms.

“Lloyd,” she swooned, before crashing her lips to his, their bodies melting together as they always had. As much as she adored her husband’s money, she loved his attorney, Lloyd Bremmer, more.

The pair were introduced at a charity auction, and the instant attraction was fierce and consuming, the intensity causing them to be careless, and Deidre knew the minute her husband didn’t buy her freedom, he knew about the affair.

“Please, do something to get me out of here.” She begged in a breathy voice, her fingers gripping the lapels of his suit.

“I want to,” he swore, placing a kiss on her forehead. “But he is already suspicious, I had to send my brother to Barbados using my identity just so I could come here. We have to cool it, no email or letters, at least for a little while.”

Her eyes fill with tears at the thought of never seeing him again, her heart crumbling in her chest as the truth in his words became real. Lloyd made her happy, gave her what she needed as well as what she wanted. Their love was crazy and adventurous. It was a rush of adrenaline finding places to be together, sometimes right under her husband’s nose.

“Lloyd, you can’t leave me here. I have no privacy, no makeup, and the soap is killing my skin.”

“You’re still beautiful.” Tracing the edge of her face with the back of his hand, sealing his words with his lips once again on hers. Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out a handful of cash, placing it in the palm of her hand.

“Listen to me,” he says, as his eyes waver back and forth between hers. “Find a woman named Olson. Let her know there will be another thousand and a representative for her parole hearing next week, all she has to do is keep you safe until I can figure a way to get you out.”

Deidre nods her head in earnest, a fresh set of tears trickle down her face. “I know who she is.”

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