Page 22 of Pen Pal

I placed my shackled hands on the edge of the desk, leaning over it to peer at her. My blonde curls fell above my eyes, and I regarded her curiously. Either she was mugged, or she had some good-for-nothing boyfriend who was knocking her around.

“Is that Mrs. Branson or Miss Branson?” I drawled, lowering myself into the chair. I was still taller than her, even sitting down. I liked that she had to look up at me.

Her nose wrinkled. “Mrs. Branson, for now,” she mumbled as she dropped her gaze and flipped through the pages. “You’re aware of the charges?”

“Yes, and what do you mean, ‘for now’?” I pressed.

She looked up at me again. “I mean, that’s my name right now. Let’s stick to the subject, please.”

She looked so scared, so I decided to drop it for now. “Fine,” I relented.

She looked relieved. “Thank you. The charges against you are murder in the second degree and assault—”

“Murder?” I asked, feigning surprise. “I’m pretty sure the fucker was still alive when they dragged him off to medical.”

“He died of his injuries,” she interjected, her lips pressing together in a thin line of disapproval.

I smirked and shrugged. “Shit happens.”

Her hands trembled as she flipped to another page. “You were already convicted of several murders since your stay here at Ashwood. Mind telling me why?”

“Why, what?” I prompted, scooting forward.

“Why do you keep…killing people,” she whispered those last two words. “Why can’t you just…stop? Behave?”

I broke out with a cruel grin. “Where’s the fun in that?”

She shuddered with either fear or revulsion as she stacked my papers together and straightened them. “I recommend you plead guilty. There’s no reason to take this to trial; they have video footage of what you did, and an autopsy proved Mr. Sokolov died of the injuries you inflicted on him.”

“Is the prosecution offering a deal?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

She looked at me incredulously. “Why would they? They’ve got you. There’s nothing you have that they could want. You better hope they’re lenient.”

I scoffed. “I’m already doing life, darling. At this point, getting out of here is like a vacation.”

Her eye twitched. “You…you did this to get out of the prison?”

I reached across the table and grabbed her wrist. She yelped, trying to pull it back, but I was too strong. Her struggles caused a thrill through my blood, and I smiled at her whimpering.

“I don’t need a reason to kill,” I whispered, pulling her closer to me until I could taste her breath. “I enjoy it.”

She squeaked in horror, and I released her. She jumped back, getting to her feet and shoving the papers in her briefcase. “I think you need another lawyer,” she whispered as she made a break for the door.

“No, I don’t,” I sneered. “And you don’t want your new boss to take you less seriously than she already does. It’s hard for a woman, especially just starting out.”

Her shoulders stiffened, and I could tell my words were sinking in. She knew I was right. She knocked on the door to alert the guards, and the door was promptly unlocked and opened.

“I’ll see you in court, Mr. Ricci,” she stammered.

“I think you’ll see me before then, Mrs. Branson. After all, we need to plan my defense strategy,” I winked.

Huffing indignantly, she strolled briskly from the room as I laughed.

She was going to be so much fun.

And something about her was so familiar.

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