Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 68831 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 344(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68831 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 344(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
He couldn’t look at it without wanting to kill Claudia Vorherz. Jail was too good for her. For all they knew, she had been the one to kill Gwen. She could have called her to the suite, posed in a brunette wig as Bell, then shot her the minute that Gwen turned her back.
“You look so serious.” Bell said, and he lifted his gaze to hers. She smiled and his anger at Claudia, a woman who would spend the next decade behind bars, faded. Bell’s smile did unnatural things to him. Her voice, still husky with sleep, brought his arousal to life.
He redirected his thoughts away from anything sexual and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. “Good morning.”
She yawned, the gesture so big that he could see a filling peek out from one of her molars. “Good morning.”
“How are you feeling?”
She thought about the question for a beat. “I’m starving.”
“But, no pain?”
She made a face. “Nothing too bad. Got time for breakfast before you leave?”
He winced at the thought of going to his office, diving back into the thick of things. Being away for a week would mean massive issues. In the hospitality business, you had to be continually vigilant or you might as well give up.
He kissed her. “I’ll always have time for breakfast for you.”
She smiled again, and a part of his broken heart healed.
THE INMATE
Claudia yawned and listened to Bertha. The woman had an issue. Her brother’s girlfriend was pregnant, that skank slept with half the mother-fuckin’ city, and because she’d been kissing up to him the last two weeks, he thought the baby was his, and was going to put his name on the birth certificate when it came.
It’d been four days since her brother had called and the issue hadn’t changed. Bertha sat on that stupid cot all day and obsessed over it. She didn’t understand. The more anger you gave someone, the more power they had over you. The more obsessed you grew, the more vulnerable that obsession made you.
Claudia had learned that lesson the hard way. It was why she was sitting here, a number stitched across her right breast. She had obsessed. Robert had obsessed. They had both let emotions dictate actions and it had led to this.
It was a new day. Going forward, everything would be done the right way. She would take the lessons that Robert Hawk had taught her, analyze their potential, and learn from his mistakes. Her father wasn’t a God. Her sister wasn’t a saint. Claudia wasn’t infallible.
“It just ain’t right.” Bertha shook her head. “You know she gonna get child support out of this. Eighteen years’ worth. And he ain’t got a pot to piss in.”
Claudia tuned the woman out. Ninety women in this detention center, and she had gotten lucky with Bertha. Some of these bitches were crazy. Bertha was just dumb.
She opened the notebook and flipped through the pages the attorney had given her, scanning the long list of assets. Robert Hawk had been very generous to his two daughters. Given the untimely death of Gwen, Gwen’s portion had automatically fallen to her.
Four hundred and three million dollars’ worth of assets. She circled the ones she wanted to keep and starred the items that could be sold. Her eyes drifted over the values and she contemplated what to do with all of that money.
The answer, of course, was easy. First, get her freedom. Then, ruin Bell and Dario’s lives.
Getting her freedom would require some patience. The best legal team money could buy. Expert psych consultants who would attest to her temporary insanity. A well-negotiated plea deal that would reduce her kidnapping and attempted murder charges down to the minimum sentencing standards. Sure, she’d spend time in prison. Eight to ten years at minimum, according to her attorneys. She did, after all, aid in the imprisonment and torture of nine women. She did, after all, kidnap Bell Hartley with intent to kill, then stuffed Janie Bostic in that little concrete vault with plans to suffocate her to death. The evidence, in all of those charges, was irrefutable.
But no one knew about Gwen. They suspected, they had accused, but there was no evidence. Nothing linking her to the crime. Nothing.
So, she’d avoided a murder charge. And for the other stuff, she’d get a new home in a comfortable prison. Maybe even a posh psych ward, though there wasn’t a more lucid mind than hers within a thousand miles.
And after a few years, with perfect behavior and annual appeals, she’d be paroled. Free. Free and filthy rich. Free and well prepared to ruin Bell and Dario’s lives.
She closed the notebook and sat back on the cot, hugging the book to her chest and smiling.
She didn’t even mind the wait. It would give her more time to calmly, coolly, and intelligently prepare. This would not be like before. This time, she would make no mistakes.