Throne of Truth (Truth and Lies Duet #2)(43)

Just like I will.

Tomorrow, I would give Greg a little visit.

And just like I’d told Steve, I would get my way—one way or another.





Chapter Twenty


Penn


TWO & A HALF YEARS AGO

––––––––

“YOU HAVE A visitor.”

I looked up from where I was reading. The Department of Correction’s library had come a long way since the previous visits I’d enjoyed, but it still needed some TLC. The torn linoleum was ugly, and a lot of the books had missing pages from bastards not handling them with care. But at least, the government required certain books to be accessible to inmates.

For the past six months on my third stint here, I’d read most of the heavy volumes on law, company structure, and other mind-numbing jargon. Most of the time, they put me to sleep, making me wonder why I fucking bothered.

It wasn’t as if I’d ever get out and have the money to either trade the same companies I’d researched or somehow build a community out of nothing for the homeless kids I’d met along the way.

But I never stopped reading because of that one chance in a million that somehow I’d win the lottery of life, and all of this would change.

It sucked ‘cause a few months before I got locked up, I’d been introduced by accident to Gio’s younger brother, Stewie. We’d met one night behind a pizzeria that donated their end-of-night waste to alley kids.

Gio and I didn’t get along—mainly thanks to his friendship with the fuckwit Sean who used me as his ‘get out of jail free’ card, but Stewie was too young to get caught up in their world.

I had no idea how Sean and Gio became such idiotic friends. The son of a police captain and the orphaned, homeless kid. Just like most of us street rats, the young ones had no family to turn to.

Gio had successfully hidden Stewie and provided for him through crime. Sean was looking for kicks, and encouraged it.

I didn’t approve, but I did approve of the love between the brothers and almost wished I had a sibling to care for like he did.

I liked Stewie. I enjoyed his juvenile naivety that life would get better.

But then I cursed myself for wishing such a shitty existence on anyone—even if it would mean I wasn’t so damn lonely.

“Did you hear me?” The officer kicked the leg of my rickety chair. “Visitor.”

I closed the book on truth and justice and what the court of law was supposed to do and not how it’d failed me, and looked up. “I don’t have any visitors.”

Any I wanted to see, anyway.

Sean I definitely didn’t want to see. And Arnold Twig? Hell, fucking no. They were as bad as each other.

“Too bad. You have one, and they’re not leaving.”

I contemplated making a fuss, hitting this douche-bag over the head with the book to be reprimanded and not allowed visitors for a month. But I had eight years this time. I had nowhere else to be out there, but I was slowly fucking dying in here. I needed fresh air. I needed grass. I needed baseball fields and chocolate kisses with some girl who made my insides change owners and leap to belong to her.

Fuck...that girl.

She’d been a saving grace for me the past six months. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had something good to think about...but that kiss? Man, it warmed me on the nights I was coldest. The feel of her breast in my hand...wow, it gave me good dreams while I lived this fucking nightmare.

The officer rapped the table with his fist then walked away, pulling the proverbial leash that his uniform dictated over my prison overalls.

Reluctantly, I pushed the book away and followed.

Sean would be sorry if he ever showed up here again. Rules or not. I’d punch his motherfucking face in and screw it if it cost me an extra few years.

Punch Sean, and you’ll earn life.

Punch Sean and Arnold would have exactly what he’d wanted since the beginning.

A reason to crucify me.

No, as satisfying as it would be to waste my life on one measly face smash, I had bigger plans.

Someone had to pay.

Somehow, the law had to work.

Otherwise, what sort of fucked-up society did we live in?

*

“Hello, Penn.”

I scowled, shaking the hand of some old geezer with a canvas jacket slung over a shirt with a cravat and linen pants.

I’d never met him before in my life. “Who the hell are you?”

He grinned as we squeezed palms then separated. Motioning toward the metal table and chairs in a private room (not the welcome hall where normal inmates saw their loved ones), he sat first, waiting for me to join him.

“My name is Larry Barns. I’m your new attorney.”

What the fuck?

“I hate to tell ya, but you’re about six months too late.” I waved around the space. “Look around.”

Larry smirked as if he had a secret, pointing once again to the chair. “Please. Sit.”

I paused for a second, weighing pros and cons, deliberating about being a dick or decent.

Ah, whatever...I have nowhere else to be.

The book would still be there. I was the only one who read them apart from Henry who got released last week.

The guy linked his fingers over a file with my name scribbled on the top.

Penn Michael Everett.