Page 3 of Betrayed

It also reminded me of my own little sister, whoIlost beforeIwent into prison.BethanyandIhad always been close andIstill missed her.Ifshe’d still been alive,Iknew she would have been writing me letters just likeSunnywas writing toKane.

BeforeIknew it,Ifound myself composing a letter back to her in my head.Prisonis fucking boring—it’s the same damn thing day after day after month after year.Anythingnew or interesting makes a huge positive difference in your life.AndSunny’schatty little letter did that for me.

I somehow convinced myself it was okay to write back to her, pretending to beKane.Imean,Iconsidered letting her knowIwasKane’scellmate instead, butIwas afraidI’dscare her.

How would it look, having some strange inmate writing to her from prison?Somescary guy who stole the letter she wrote to her big brother and read all her private thoughts?Prettyfucking creepy—that’s how it would look.SoIdecided just to write back asKane.

Sunny’s next letter was much longer and more involved.Shewas thrilled that her “big brother” was finally writing back after years of trying to get in touch with him.Ihad been right—she’d been carrying on a one-way correspondence withKaneever since she’d tracked him down in the prison system years ago and he’d been ignoring her weekly letters for just as long as she’d been writing.

I had intended to only write back once—Iswear that’s true.Buther second letter got me hooked.Shementioned gossipy little details of her life and painted a picture of the small town she lived in and the diner she worked at so vividly,Icould almost see it all in my mind.

I was starved for any little bit of affection—Iheard fromBransonregularly, but he’s my business manager and he’s not about to send me cute little notes to brighten my life.That’snot his job.

It wasn’t my job to write back toSunnyeither, butIcouldn’t help myself.Shestarted asking my opinion about things in her life—asking my advice.Shesent me pictures and in every one she looked so fucking adorable—so sweet and innocent—everythingIknewIshould avoid becauseI’djust fuck it up.

I told myselfI’dstop writing.Butevery timeIsaw a new envelope withSunny’sround handwriting in the trash,Ifelt like a moth being drawn to a flame.Iliterallycouldnotfucking resist.Everyletter was like a ray of light piercing the gloom of my dark, ugly prison cell.

BeforeIstarted corresponding with her,Isaw no reason to go on.It’snot exaggerating to say that she gave me a reason to live.HowcouldIever give that up?

So that’s whyI’vebeen writing to my cellmate’s little sister for the past two years, pretending to be him and the reasonI’mplanning somethingIknowIshouldn’t even be considering now that it’s time for my release.

Even thoughIknow it’s fucking wrong,Iwant to go seeSunnyin person.

2

CONNOR

Ifollow the guard who came to get me through the prison yard on my way to the office where my discharge papers are waiting.Placedat three-foot intervals around the perimeter of the cracked concrete rectangle that counts as “recreation space” are the cages.Eachone is three by five—not very fucking roomy, especially for a big guy like me—you have to crouch down on all fours to get in one.Yetalmost every full moonI’vebeen crammed into one of these until myShiftwas over.

You can probably see the point of the cages.Afterall, you can’t have a bunch ofRogueAlphasrunning around in theirWolfforms.TheprisonI’min—Briarcliff—is one of the few that accepts my kind.

The human world and theWereworld don’t mix much, but there are a few people who straddle the line between both.Oneof them is the warden here.He’sa blank—aWerewith no wolf in him—but he apparently recognized the need for a facility that could handle my kind.Afterall, what’s worse than a hardened criminal running around loose?Ahardened criminal who shifts into a huge, powerful wolf is the answer to that fucking question.

So cell-blockCwas established and the cages made an appearance.They’remade of solid steel and painted with silver, which makes them strong enough to keep even the most determinedWerein place during hisShift.

Honestly, they’re not as bad as being thrown into solitary once a month—which is what used to happen before they brought in the cages.Atleast you can see the sky and feel the moonlight working on you when you’re in a cage instead of being held underground in the dark.ButI’llstill be fucking glad to never see them again.

It sends a shiver down my spine to think that this month, when the moon gets full,I’llbe able toShiftand run and hunt in freedom with no bars to hold me back.I’llgo to the woods and bring down a deer, likeIused to.Ican almost taste the fresh venison now—it’s a hell of a lot better than nutri-loaf.Butthen, almost anything is.

Once in the office they take their time with the paperwork and eventually they give me back my clothes and thingsIcame here with.I’msurprised thatIget it all back.Ifinger the goldRolexUltra, which was a gift from my old man before he passed.Hewanted so much for me—he would be disappointed to see me now.

Or maybe not.Ithink he’d understand ifIexplained whyIdid whatIdid to get in here.

My mom died from breast cancer the year after my dad went.ThenBethany…butIhate to think about how she died.Andwhy.Idid whatIcould for her but it was too little, too late.

The result of all this is thatIhave no family to meet me asIcome out of the prison and walk across the road to the dusty gray parking lot beyond.Ijust haveBranson.

Of course, it’s notBranson’sfault he’s all business.I’mglad he is—he did a great job keeping things running whileIwas gone.Whichis whyI’msure he can keep it up just a little while longer.

To giveBransoncredit, a genuine smile breaks over his face when he sees me heading his way.Hegets out of theBentleyand waves at me.WhenIget to him he gives me a hearty handshake thatI’msure would be a hug if he was just a little less uptight.Ormaybe ifIlooked a little less threatening.

“Mr.Lowell—Connor!” he exclaims.Asmy family’s most loyal employee, he’s earned the right to be on a first name basis.WhichIhave often told him, but he almost never takes me up on it.Thefact that he does now lets me know how excited he really is to see me.

“Branson!”Ipump his hand gratefully. “Thanksfor coming to get me.”

“Of course,Mr.Lowell.”He’sall business again. “Er…Ibrought the vehicle you requested,” he adds and nods distastefully at the beat-up old pickup truckIasked him to buy.

“Good.Perfect!”Iwalk around the truck, noting the dents and the dirt.Exactlyright.SomethingSunnywould expect her big brother to drive in keeping with the fictionI’vebuilt around him.

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