Prologue
RYLAN
I stare at my reflection in the stainless steel version of a mirror. The only mirror I’ll be allowed to use for the next five years. It’s only been months, but I look a lot older than I did the day I walked into this place. A convict. For the rest of my life, I’ll carry this title with me. A black stain on my soul. One that I deserve.
Vehicular Manslaughter.
In reality—murder.
I’m a murderer.
My blond hair hangs in front of my eyes. My light brown eyes stare back at me. They’re as dead as the lives I took. Five years, if I’m a good boy. I’ll get out of this hell in five years, but the lives I stole? They’re gone forever.
My mix of color and black tattoos that cover my body stare back at me. Lifting my hand, I scrub it over my face. My hand and finger tattoos look distorted in this sad attempt of a mirror. I look distorted, or maybe that’s just the way I appear now. Maybe that’s how the world sees me. I can’t expect anyone to see me any differently than I see myself, can I?
“Lindsay, times’ up,” the guard shouts.
Pushing away from the sink, and shit excuse for a mirror, I turn away from the bathroom. Walking toward him, I lift my chin once I’m in his view. His angry eyes swirl as he looks down at me. He’s made my time here almost unbearable. If I gave a damn about what he thought of me, I might be offended by how much he truly hates me without knowing a fucking thing about the man that I am—or at least trying to be.
“Punk,” he grunts.
Pressing my lips together in a firm line, I ignore his word. He isn’t wrong. I was a punk. Constantly drunk and high. Selfish. Young, dumb, and full of cum. I had zero ambition. My only goal in life was to sell enough dope to keep myself comfortable in my own habit, and fuck. I liked to fuck, though I have a feeling that’s just part of being human.
Not hard to do in a little Podunk town in Texas where you’re one of the best, and most well-known dealers, and fucks, not to toot my own horn. Following behind the guard, I think about my past. I could blame my shit childhood. However, I know people who were raised in worse environments, who are living and breathing clean, free air. Who haven’t murdered.
I allowed myself to become a product of my environment. It was just easier than working hard and climbing out of the shithole I’d been created in. So, instead, I swam in the shit I’d been born into. Then, I turned into my father. A drunk and a junkie, except my father never spent more than a few months in jail. Not like me doing a stint in prison.
In five years I’ll be free. Until then, I’ll do my time, quietly. Keep my head down and then come out of this a better person—hopefully, maybe, possibly.
Walking back into my cell, I sit down on the edge of my shitty fucking cot and I pull out paper and a golf cart pencil that I bought myself recently. I think about writing a letter to my mom, maybe she wouldn’t use the paper to roll up and snort her dope. Though I fucking highly doubt that shit.
Tossing it to the side, I instead lay down on my back. Staring at the ceiling, I wonder how many men like me have laid here.
How many men have royally fucked up their lives at the age of twenty-five?
How many men have been released only to return?
Will I survive? Thrive? Fail? Die?
Death would be deserving for my actions, for the pain that I have caused an entire goddamn family.
Death would be too good of an ending. Too easy.
I deserve to suffer.
CHANNING
THREE YEARS LATER
He watches me from the front of the room, hiding most of his body behind a small podium. I bite the corner of my lip as he grins over at me. Tall, dark, handsome and my teacher. He’s older, but only by five years. He’s sexy, forbidden, and I should be running away from him.
I shouldn’t be shifting in my seat, crossing my leg a little too high so that my skirt shows more of my thigh beneath the desk. His eyes flick down, and a thrill shimmies up my spine. It’s so wrong. So incredibly wrong. The way he watches me, the things he says to me when we’re alone, I can’t help but feel that this is so right though. He wants me, he craves me, and soon we’re going to be together, for real.
The bell rings, students stand and gather their backpacks leaving class for the day. This is the last period and I can’t wait until everyone just goes. This has become a bit of tradition for Mr. Bridges and me. Once the classroom is empty. I watch as he walks over to the door. He sticks his key into the bar, twisting it, and locks it, then turns to face me.
“You’ve tempted me all afternoon, Miss Shephard,” he smiles.
He looks exactly like a wolf, and I feel like Little Red Riding Hood, except I’m excited for him to devour me. I can’t wait until he does.
“Did you tell your wife about us?” I ask as I stand from my desk.
His eyes darken as he looks at me from across the room. “Channing, you know that I can’t. Not yet. You’re still enrolled in school. Once you’ve graduated, then we’ll talk. She has me by the balls, you know that.”
I bite the corner of my lip, lowering my eyes. “I’m sorry,” I breathe.
He closes the distance between us and I feel his finger beneath my chin. He lifts my head, his gaze searching my own. He smiles softly, then lowers his face closer to my own. His lips touch mine, they’re soft just like his hands.
“You know how I feel about you, Channing. You’re the only one who understands me. You’re the only one who makes me happy. I have to deal with her, and soon she’ll be gone, and we can be together.” His voice is barely above a whisper, and before I can respond, he slips his tongue inside of my mouth.
He backs me up until my ass hits his desk. Slowly he breaks our kiss, his lips traveling down my neck, to the swells of my breasts. His fingers wrap around my hips and he turns me around. He places his hand on the center of my back, pushing me over so that my ass is in the air. I hear him take his phone out, he always does. He likes to watch later, and I can’t deny that I love that.
“Fuck,” he grunts as he flips my skirt up.
I wore this skirt for him, because I know how much he likes me in them. His fingers grip my panties before he tugs them down my legs. My thighs shake when I feel his cock at my entrance. He pushes inside of me.
Pinching my eyes closed, I inhale through my nose. It burns as he enters me, but I know he likes it this way. He says it feels better for him. I want nothing more than to make him happy. Whatever he wants. It’s his.
His hand wraps around the back of my neck and he holds me down, my cheek pressed against the hard wood. He fucks me, my hips slamming against the edge of the desk with each thrust. I’ll have bruises later, and I’ll run my fingers over them as I reminisce about this perfect moment.
“Fuck,” he grunts as he thrusts in and out of me.
It doesn’t take long for wetness to gather between my legs, and my body to begin to enjoy the way he fills me—the way he moves inside of me.
“Yes,” I hiss as his fingers tighten around the back of my neck.
“Fuck, this tight pussy. So good,” he mumbles as his jerks become less rhythmic. “So tight. So good,” he chants.