Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 71226 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 356(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 237(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71226 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 356(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 237(@300wpm)
My brother, the Irish Mafia’s bitch boy, thought he had a lot of pull.
He didn’t.
He just knew how to annoy people enough that they found it easier to let me go than deal with him.
I stood up, scrubbed my fingers along Neo’s jowls, then went to my bedroom and searched for something appropriate to wear.
I always, always wore pants.
Dresses and skirts were too easy access.
I also made sure to wear layers.
No way would I be caught dead without wearing something underneath.
Whether it be a bra and a camisole, or boy shorts over panties.
Today I wore a skin-tight pair of leggings under a pair of sweatpants.
It wasn’t cold enough for what I was wearing, but I didn’t care.
I was always prepared when I went to my father’s house, just in case he showed up.
And wouldn’t you know, when I got to my parents’ house an hour later, there was his car in the driveway.
I didn’t kill Dario the night that his brother tried to rape me.
What I did do, however, was cause him to pass out from lack of oxygen.
Even worse, the lack of oxygen he’d suffered through had warped his brain.
He was no longer rational in any way.
When I’d married Ramsey Kelly—though I called him Gentry after his favorite baseball player—I’d done it for two reasons.
One, to make sure that Gentry would have the protection of my name.
I may not be liked by the Rice family, but the world didn’t know that.
And two, by marrying Gentry, I’d also taken away my father’s ability to force me to marry Dario.
Which had been on the docket after Mario’s death.
And since the Irish were all about the sanctity of marriage, they wouldn’t make us divorce.
In the eyes of God, Gentry was mine.
Not even my father would mess with that.
At least, that was what I thought.
For five years, it had been enough.
It had saved the both of us.
But as I walked into the kitchen that night and saw the divorce papers in the spot where I normally sit to eat, I knew this was it.
My dad had finally had enough.
Dario sat next to those papers with a grin on his stupid, smug lips.
I wanted to pull the forty-five in my bag out and shoot him in the face.
But I knew I wouldn’t be able to get that far.
My brother was watching me like a hawk, his hand on his own gun that sat on top of the table.
He would shoot me if I made any moves for his remaining best friend.
“Sit,” my father ordered.
I snorted. “No thanks.”
I walked away and left, knowing this wouldn’t be the last time I’d be seeing those divorce papers.
Or the man sitting next to them with a sinister smile on his face.
Devin
“Did you intercept the latest letter?” I asked.
“Sure did,” the post office worker said. “What do you want me to do with it?”
“Throw it away,” Dario said. “Did you get anything from him again?”
We both knew who “him” was.
The “convict.”
She nodded to the letter that was sitting on the table. “There.”
I took it and shoved it into my pocket.
I used to read the letters that my sister sent to her husband, but there was only so much I could hear about her day, her dog, or how much she hated me.
Eventually I just started throwing them away.
Now her husband’s letters?
I had no issue reading those.
They were informative.
Like today’s, he talked about what had happened. Who had tried to kill him today. What information he’d heard on the inside that might help Sage escape from us.
Tucking the letter in my breast pocket, I took the divorce papers that I’d just had notarized with Sage’s forged name—my mama had helped with that—and I headed for the prison.
It was a four-and-a-half-hour drive from home to Kentucky, but it would be worth it.
I nodded at the security guard that I paid weekly to give Ramsey a shakedown, and he allowed me in with my knife and my papers.
He led me to a room where I would be meeting Ramsey in and then said, “I’ll go get him.”
He arrived within five minutes, a fresh bruise forming on his face, likely courtesy of the life that I saw that he lived in here.
He saw me and rolled his eyes. “Of course it’s you.”
I waited for him to sit down, but he never did.
So I gestured at the papers in front of me. “My sister wants a divorce.”
His eyes flared. “Does she?”
I nodded.
His smile was smart as he said, “No.”
“No?” I asked. “You say no to me?”
Ramsey rolled his eyes. “You’re the fuckin’ pinky toe of the Mafia. You’re just a right hand, of a right hand, of a right hand, of another right-hand man. Don’t act like you’re anything special.”
My brows rose to my hairline. “You don’t think I’m anything special?”
His eyes went glacial. “No. I don’t.”