Throne of Truth (Truth and Lies Duet #2)(77)

You’re no longer on your own, and when you’re free, I’m going to show you exactly how much I missed you.

With every part of me.

Lips.

Tongue.

Hands.

You get the idea.

I’ll stop before this letter gets censored and not delivered.

Fourteen days.

I can’t wait.





Letter from Penn


ONE WEEK, ELLE.

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t freaking out. That the thought of facing everyone, of hearing that bastard testify against me in court when he was the one who stole you...fuck, just thinking about it makes me livid.

Seven days until I get to see you, smell you, feel you behind me in the gallery and know how much you mean to me.

Seven days until I’m hopefully free and I’m going to do so many dirty bad things to you I’ll probably get locked up again.

And I’m fully aware that has probably just flagged me, and a guard is watching me extra close from now on. But I don’t fucking care.

So close yet so far.

So easy yet so hard.

I’ve shared pieces of myself in these letters, but writing it down is different to pillow talk. I want to stroke your skin while I answer any question you wish to know. I want to hug you close while you tell me about your childhood.

We have a lifetime to get to know each other, Elle.

And soon, we can start living it.





Chapter Thirty-Five


Penn


THE CALENDAR HAD crawled by.

Yet, as I was given a black suit rather than freshly laundered prison scrubs after an earlier than normal wake-up call, five months seemed like it’d been five minutes.

I was ready.

I wasn’t ready.

I was prepared to fight.

I was terrified to fight.

I hated that half of me was unstoppable while the other was a fucking pussy.

I almost wished I didn’t have Elle and Larry fighting for me, supporting me. Because if we lost today, losing them would rip out my heart and I wouldn’t have the energy to keep going. If I was alone with only empty streets and long nights to look forward to, I might be more willing to play hard ass and point fingers at those who could destroy me.

I’d say goodbye to everything I ever wanted if this backfired.

But I’d told Larry I was done keeping Twig’s secrets.

He’d spent months gathering what was needed.

I wouldn’t let him down.

With my heart jumping like a heroin-cranked addict, I showered and shaved, hacking off the beard I’d grown, revealing some of the scars I’d earned thanks to my days on the streets.

Slipping into cotton instead of polyester somehow gave me a sense of power I’d been lacking while locked up like a dog. The too-big-for-me suit gave me courage that everything would go to plan and I wouldn’t end up trapped in here for the rest of my life.

Once I was dressed, I hopped into a barred minivan and was driven to court where I ended up sitting in a holding cell for two hours. A kind-faced elderly guard took pity on my growling stomach—brought on by hunger but mostly stress—and delivered a sandwich complete with mayo, mustard, and roasted chicken.

Nothing had ever tasted so good.

I didn’t have access to a clock, but noise slowly gathered as more prisoners arrived for their court time. I eavesdropped on the guard’s discussions about who was next on the roll call.

The drone of conversation and the scuffing of feet above in the courtroom gave a perfect backdrop for my mind to drift and contemplate.

This was the first break from the monotony of jail in four weeks.

I hadn’t been allowed visitors, and Larry and Elle hadn’t been permitted to call.

Some stupid rule about preventing tampering of evidence now I’d been granted a court date. I hadn’t had any other visitors, but I had enjoyed one phone call from a very pissed off chief of police. Not that the prison would ever know it was him. He’d called from an unknown number and given a fake name on a cell-phone handed to me by a guard on his payroll.

He’d pulled strings to talk to me, despite the risks.

He’d heard about Patrick Blake agreeing to preside over my case as the judge. He’d also noticed Larry digging for dirt—just like we expected.

The conversation hadn’t lasted long and had been layered with cryptic connotations to get around anyone listening.

Those few sentences echoed in my head as a prisoner in a baby blue tuxedo was escorted from a cell for his turn at professing his innocence and begging for a second chance amongst the rest of corrupted civilization.

“Everett. I hear you’re about to head to the slaughter pen.”

I gripped the phone tighter. “If you mean finally revealing the truth then yes, you heard right.”

“Enjoy your last words before they throw away the key.” He chuckled, but it layered with blackness. “Who knows? Perhaps, they’ll put you out of your misery and grant the death penalty.”

“Funny.” I laughed back, matching his tone. “If I were you, I’d stay away from that party. I have no intention of keeping my mouth shut this time.”

“You fucking—”

“Ah ah, language, Arnie.” I grinned so hard it almost broke my face. Tormenting him like he’d tormented me for years felt so fucking good. “Thanks for calling to wish me luck, but the next time we talk, I’ll be free, and you’ll be ruined.”