Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 59287 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 296(@200wpm)___ 237(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59287 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 296(@200wpm)___ 237(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
My fingers trembled as I walked down a long gray hallway at Central Booking.
The officer who arrested me was long gone now, leaving me with a new female officer who’d simply demanded that I “keep walking forward.”
We stopped in front of a door where the words “INMATE INTAKE” screamed in bright red.
“Spread your legs for me, please,” she said from behind. “I need to pat you down one final time for any contraband.”
“But...” I slowly moved. “They searched at the doors when I arrived already.”
“Well, now I’m going to do it again.”
“I’m writing a letter to all of your managers whenever I get out of here…”
She ignored my comment and gently slid her hands along the outside of my pants. Then she moved her hands up my sides before patting down my head.
“All clear.” She yelled out. “Open the door.”
Beep!
The door opened, revealing a room of women sitting in white and blue plastic chairs. Only a few of them looked as terrified as I felt.
“You picked one of the worst days to mess up.” The officer unlocked my handcuffs. “Move toward the desk station on your left for your fingerprints and your photo.”
Before I could ask if that was really necessary, she rushed across the room.
“Stop eating your goddamn fingernails, Becky!” she shouted at a woman in all-purple. “You keep it up, and I’m putting you in a suicide vest.”
I’m not going to ask any more questions today…
“Right here, Miss Spencer.” A brunette officer motioned for me to move forward. “Please spell out your full name and confirm your date of birth.”
I rattled off the letters and numbers, glancing over at the large list of rules that was painted on the wall.
No talking to fellow inmates
No extra phone requests
No fighting
No contraband
My fingers trembled as the officer pressed each one against an ink pad and a scanner. Then she instructed me to look straight ahead into a black lens.
“Keep your expression just like that and hold still, please…”
A blinding bright flash followed, and I blinked several times to recover.
“Okay, Miss Spencer.” She handed me a ticket. “You can now take a seat in blue seat seventy-two and wait until you’re called to the courtroom.”
“Thank you.” I moved toward the group and realized my seat was next to the fingernail biter.
The woman glared at me as if I’d done something to her. Then she whispered, “First time?”
I nodded.
“It’s my tenth,” she said. “Just play like you’re insane and they’ll let you go, okay?”
Too scared to break a rule, I nodded again.
“Take my advice…” She brought her sandaled foot up to her mouth. One by one, she sucked her toes into her mouth.
I swallowed the surge of bile rising up my throat and looked straight ahead.
It was only ten-thirty, so I hoped to be out of here and in front of a judge by noon.
The digital clock flashed twice to announce the four o’clock hour, treating me to my three hundredth minute of confusion.
I’d watched dozens of women get called out of the room, witnessed one fight, and wondered why they chose to make the suicide smock an ugly vomit green.
Bright yellow would be so much better…
“Okay, next call for defendants!” a man shouted from the far left side of the room. “Line up exactly as you’re called.”
I refused to get my hopes up.
“Lisa Stern,” he said. “Harriet Jones. Dahlia Hunter. Freya Montana. Olivia Spencer.”
I immediately jumped up and took my place in line.
My heart thudded against my chest as he led us through a winding hallway, and I was certain that everyone could hear it.
He stopped when we approached two large oak doors.
“Alright, ladies,” he said, opening it. “Sit in the back row and wait until the judge summons you. If you have a lawyer or public defender, they will join you when it’s time.”
As I was settling into my seat, the bailiff cleared his throat from the front of the courtroom.
“All arise for the honorable Judge Ashton!” he bellowed.
I stood up, waiting to see the usual gray-haired man or woman.
“I’m sorry, Your Honor.” I vowed to go with a sympathy defense. “It’ll never happen again…”
The judge stepped into the room and settled behind the bench.
He looked up, and my jaw dropped to the floor.
His deep ocean-blue eyes held mine for a fleeting second, and I found myself wondering whether judges could sentence people for thinking wildly inappropriate thoughts about them.
If they could, I'd probably be held in contempt for imagining what it would feel like to run my fingers through his short, ink-black hair.
His chiseled jawline and full, defined lips were downright lethal, and with every passing second, it became harder to believe this was the man who was about to decide my fate.
This man was sexy as fuck...
“Let’s do a bit of reshuffling, Mara,” he said to the woman to his right. “Start with the last case in this set.”