Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 84635 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 423(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 282(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84635 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 423(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 282(@300wpm)
Even the industrial bleach stench of the gray slab of soap they gave us to bathe with didn’t make me feel clean.
Nothing ever would after this experience.
The fluorescent lights in my cell never shut off. Not at midnight, not at three a.m. when the woman two cells down started sobbing into her mattress and didn’t stop until the guards banged on her door. I’d learned to sleep with my arm over my eyes, although sleep wasn’t the right word for it.
My lips twisted into a smirk. “Thanks. I’m hoping to be crowned jailhouse pageant queen later today.”
“Has Numbnuts been here yet today?”
Over the last two weeks, Hailey had come up with a string of names for my useless attorney: dumb fuck, dickweed, fuckwit, cock knob, fuckface. On her last visit, she’d outdone herself with dickweasel twatwaffle, whatever that was supposed to mean.
I twirled the sticky rubber phone cord around my finger. “He keeps pushing me to make a plea deal.”
Her brow lowered. “Fuck that!” A nearby guard took a step toward her and cleared his throat. She mouthed “sorry” to him and turned back to me.
Lowering her voice, she continued. “Fuck that. You are innocent. You shouldn’t have to plead guilty to something you didn’t do.”
The bitterness of my innocence mixed with the weight that this hellhole might become the new reality of my life nearly crushed me. “He showed me the video. Hailey, I’m behind the wheel in it.”
“You weren’t driving.”
“Numbnuts—I mean Barry—says I probably bumped my head in the accident and got confused and forgot I was the one driving.”
“That’s bullshit, and you know it. He’s just trying to force your hand.”
I swiped at the tears on my cheeks. “Yeah, well, it’s working. I’m facing fifteen years to life, Hailey.”
She flattened her palm against the grimy glass. “Don’t give in. We’ll fight this.”
“How? How are we going to fight this?”
The guard on my side of the barrier shuffled forward, a scowl marring her brow. I raised my hand in supplication, then continued. “I have no money and the world’s worst attorney. They have video and the Worthington fortune.”
Hailey leaned in and whispered into the receiver, “You really think Jameson’s brother is behind all this?”
I pressed closer to the glass on my side. “He was in the courtroom at my arraignment.”
“Of course he was. They were charging the person he blames for his brother’s death.” She shrugged. “It makes sense he’d be in court but—”
“And at my bookshop, the very moment I got arrested?” I pushed.
“The guy’s got connections. He probably got tipped off by the CA or the arresting officer, but to say that he somehow arranged to have you charged with murder? Madison, that’s just crazy.”
“Why? Why is it crazy? He’s rich. Rich people get special privileges all the time.”
Hailey’s eyes widened. “Yeah, they get to cheat on their taxes and cut the line in front of us meager commoners, but you’re talking about framing an innocent person for murder. That doesn’t happen in real life. You’ve read too many mystery novels.”
I shook my head. “I’m telling you. It’s him. Pierce Worthington is behind all of this.”
“Why?”
I forced the word out through my teeth. “Revenge.”
I thought back to the time in my bookshop right before the cops dragged me away, and my plea to him.
“Why are you doing this?”
“Because I can...and because someone has to pay for what happened.”
Pierce made it clear that day. He blamed me for his brother’s death. Was it really that hard to believe he would then use his power and money to frame me for murder?
“Sweetie, I’m worried about you. None of this makes sense. You seriously think Pierce Worthington actually forced the CA to bring charges against you?”
My lips thinned as I cast a cautious glance over my shoulder. “Yes.”
“Do you think he’s behind the video, too?”
Again, I nodded, strangely afraid to say it out loud.
I closed my eyes.
The nightmare had been the same almost every night since the crash. The stench of gasoline and blood. The shrieking sound of twisted metal as the Jaws of Life clamped down on the passenger door, shattered pellets of glass raining down on me. A sea of faces obscured by heavy firefighter helmets, their voices muffled by masks as they shouted commands to each other, telling me over and over that everything was going to be okay.
Every night, they freed me from the passenger side, just like in real life.
Until last night.
Last night, the same dream, but this time, as my mind’s eye looked down, my hands were gripping the steering wheel.
I was the one driving.
Still, the dream ended the same way it had since the funeral, with Pierce Worthington’s glowering eyes staring down at me.
The sadistic puppet master pulling the strings of my life.
My nails dug half-moons into my palm.
Hailey asked, “Well, can’t we get some expert to review the video and say it’s a fake?”