Page 7 of Maddest Temptation

“Why you here, Princess?” The way Kimberly said princess sounded like an accusation.

“You first.” I glanced at the corridor watching the two men that stood guard by the door, who were entertained by their conversation.

“I bet daddy will be here any minute,” Kimberly accused me again. What was it with this girl? “So, what happened, Princess?”

Facing her, I decided whether or not to grace her with an answer, sighing, I offered her the truth. “Trust me, daddy doesn’t give a shit.” The last time I had talked to him we’d had a heated conversation which ended with him calling me a whore and slapping me so hard I saw stars.

Of course, none of that had been a surprise. My father enjoyed using his fists more than he did using his words, and when he did speak…let’s just say it would have been best if you kept your mouth shut.

Kimberly ran her fingers through her messy black hair and slouched against the wall, her legs falling apart and flashing me a view of what lay beneath her dress. “I stabbed my ex with a broken glass bottle.”

“Cool.” I turned to face the guards again. The metal bars were cold against my fingers as I grabbed them to keep myself steady as my head began to spin. “I’m here for assaulting an officer and having coke on me.” And in you.

Kimberly was silent for a while and then she began to laugh, it was throaty like she had been smoking for a lifetime. I turned to face her surprised with her reaction. “You,” she laughed. “Look at you.”

I furrowed my brows wondering what that was supposed to mean. Yeah, I got that a lot. One look at me and people already decided what kind of person I was. A spoiled little princess. A trophy wife. Arm candy. A gold digger. They all judged the book by its cover and never stuck long enough to realize the book was actually fun to read.

“How long have you been in here?” I decided to change the conversation.

“Three hours.”

My eyes widened. “Shouldn’t you have been bailed out or something?”

“I have no one to bail me out,” she explained. “Plus, I was found guilty so… dunno.” She shrugged like it wasn’t important. Her reaction or lack thereof, left me wondering if this was her first time in here.

“Shit, that’s bad,” I thought out loud.

That’s when it hit me, I wasn’t so different from her. Thinking about it now, I had no idea who would bail me out. I couldn’t call Marie, not even if my life depended on it. I had promised her I had stopped using, she was going to be so disappointed if she knew I had broken it.

Antoine was also out of the question; he was busy right now, and I didn’t want my friends cleaning up my mess—again. I wanted more than just that; I wanted them to see me beyond the broken pieces.

My nails found the soft skin of my palms and I squeezed them hard, trying to focus on the pain instead of how erratic my heart was beating or how I couldn’t seem to pull enough air into my lungs.

The officer who brought me in had asked me a few questions and had taken my ID. By now he must have done a background check on who I was. Which meant he knew I had ties to the wrong kind of people. The kind of people who would get a one-way ticket to prison and probably the electric chair.

Last year, a friend of Paolo’s had been arrested for driving under the influence, and in less than a few hours, the FBI had come to take him away. He was charged with so many crimes, it would be a lifetime before he was freed from the maximum-security prison he was sent to. He died a few months later, stabbed in a fight. I had overheard Paolo say it was a necessity. But I knew the Outfit killed him, so he’d keep his mouth shut.

“Oh God,” I closed my eyes, and my head came to rest against the bar as I held it tight.

What if the FBI came for me? What if I was taken into one of those maximum-security prisons? I wasn’t built for that, there was no way I would last a single day inside that place. Not to mention the Feds, they creeped me out. What if I was murdered like Paolo’s friend? I might not know much, but I did know something. The Outfit may protect their own, but they were not above killing to make sure they remained safe. Not to mention I hated those orange jumpsuits they’d look terrible on me.

“Don’t I have the right to a phone call?” I shouted, grabbing the guards’ attention.

I watched as the asshole who had ogled me came to stand before the cell. “What do you want?”

“My phone call, Stronzo.” I was pretty sure it was part of my rights — at least all the movies I watched said so.

Officer asshole sighed in frustration but proceeded to take me out of the cell and escorted me all the way toward the phone booth. He remained by my side, an uncomfortable distance from me. I imagined he was doing it on purpose. Officer asshole really did hold a grudge. What was he thinking that I was going to run of again? I knew how to accept defeat.

“Don’t I get some privacy?” I offered him my sweetest smile. Hoping he got diabetes from it. The guard’s eyes trailed me once more this time landing on my ass. He stepped back giving me some space, albeit not as much as I desired.

“You have five minutes,” he gritted out.

I stared at the phone and in that moment, it became my worst enemy. Truth be told, I had no one to call, wasn’t even sure why I had requested it. If Paolo had been alive, I would have been forced to call him, even if there were consequences later. But since I didn’t have a phone line directly to Hell, I was back to square one.

“Are you going to use that thing or not?” The guard said impatiently.

“I don’t know who to call.” My cheeks turned pink. I hadn’t planned on sharing my reality with him.