Unlawful Seizure (Filthy Florida Alphas Book 1) (2 page)

I
’ve given up on hope. Hope doesn’t exist. It hasn’t since five years ago when I heard the sound of cold metal slamming shut, and I began my stay at the Ormond County Correctional and Rehabilitation Institution. Hope left that day, and it hasn’t returned. Life took on the dull gray color of the prison itself, and I became a creature who didn’t live. I only existed.

Today is my parole hearing. My fourth to be exact. It doesn’t mean shit. They’re not going to set me free. That doesn’t happen when you kill a man. I don’t give a fuck. I find I don’t give a fuck about anything these days. I haven’t in a long time. I won’t get parole because every time a bunch of stiff-necked suits ask me if I feel remorse for my crime, I laugh.

I killed the man who murdered my wife. She was a whore. I didn’t love her, didn’t even like her. But I did love the child she was carrying. So I hunted him down, and I squeezed the life out of him with my bare hands. I watched as, bit by bit, the light drained from his eyes and just when he was about to die, I let the pressure off his neck and allowed him to gasp another breath. Then, I did it again. Rinse and repeat until finally I ended the motherfucker. I relished it. I spit on his corpse as I let him fall to the ground. I didn’t feel remorse. Shit, no. Instead, I got the first fucking hard on I’d had in months.

A machine-made sound buzzes and the retracting of my cell door begins. I stand there as Officer Jenkins comes into view. He’s a cocky asshole who gets his kicks out of beating prisoners, just because he can. I tower over him. Hell, I could snap him like a fucking twig. I’ve always restrained but as he looks at me a sneer on his face and spits at my shoes, I can’t help but wonder if two murders would send me to hell quicker? It might be worth the gamble.

“Let’s go, cupcake. Time for you to go and beg for freedom like the candy-ass you are,” he says, grabbing my arm and pulling me in front of him.

I don’t say anything; I don’t even change my facial expression. This piss-ant ain’t nothing to me. If I liked him, even marginally, I’d warn him there is a prison riot and break out planned for today. I might even go one step further and tell him he’s the one Hernandez, and his crew are planning on beating the shit out of. Hell, I’d even warn him about the jagged Coke bottle they had smuggled in and have been fixing up, just for his lily white ass. I don’t. The ass-reaming he’s going to get couldn’t happen to a nicer guy. We walk down a long hall, surrounded by prison cells on each side. I ignore the yelling, questions, and catcalls. I have a reputation as someone you do not fuck with, in this joint. That’s good enough for me. Hernandez tried to get me to join his crew for the breakout. I didn’t. There’s nothing waiting for me outside these doors. Not a fucking thing.

We make our way to the last set of steel doors, and they slide open as the guard on the other side lets us in. I’m escorted into an elevator where another guard joins us. I forget this one’s name. Byron or something like that, pretty decent guy. I’d warn him, but then he’d feel obligated to stop it, and that wouldn’t be good for me. So I don’t. My conscience has been colored gray like these fucking walls, too.

The small room where they hold the parole hearings hasn’t changed; neither has the smell. The smell of the prison permeates every inch of the place. If there is one thing I fucking hate the most about this place, it is the stink of it.

I’m placed at a small table that will face the panel. It’s a familiar routine. There will be a bunch of tight assed, fancy dressed assholes, who look as if my presence offends them. Hell, they need to get in line. My presence offends my own damn self.

I’m waiting for everyone to show up when she walks in.

Fucking hell! Who let her in here? She walks through the door looking lost. She is. She’s a damned baby thrown into an angry tank of sharks. She’s going to get eaten alive. She has hair the color of coffee, creamy and rich. It’s pulled on top of her head and wrapped in a bun. I’m sure it was meant to give her a matronly appearance. It does not. It exposes her neck and makes the beast in me want to bite into it while I bend her over the damn table she just put the briefcase on. She’s wearing black, dress pants that hug her slim thighs and a red silk shirt. I can’t even remember the last time I had sex and one look at her, and my dick is ready to come for days. Come all over her, to be exact. A picture of her buck-ass naked and covered in my jizz, from her thick apple lips to her fuck-me stilettos, cements in my mind.

“Who the fuck are you?” I bark at her, annoyed at the way my dick is standing at attention.

“I…I’m Mr. Barger’s paralegal,” she stumbles, her eyes widen in surprise, with a healthy dose of fear mixed in when she looks at me.

“Who the fuck is Mr. Barger?” I ask, doing my best to ignore the way her shirt exposes the mounds of her breasts when she bends over to look through her papers.

“Your lawyer, he was unavoidably detained. I’m here to stand in…”

“I don’t have a fucking lawyer!”

“The court appointed Mr. Barger to appear on your behalf. Now, if you’ll give me just a few minutes, we can get started. There are some things I’d like to go over with you before I address the panel.”

“I don’t want you addressing the panel,” I respond, and when it appears like she’s going to argue with me, I look at the guard who stayed to monitor me. “I don’t want her talking on my behalf. I want her gone.”

“Really Mr. Kincaid, if you would just…”

“Lady, my name is Max or Inmate number 91428, not Mr. Kincaid.”

“Fine, Mr. Kincaid, I mean Max, if you will just allow me to…”

“I don’t want counsel! I decline it. Now get the hell out.”

The guard finally stands up. Maybe he’ll actually do something. I need this little lamb out of here before the animals start to attack and eat her alive. She needs to be gone before we go into a full-blown riot. It would appear my conscious is not totally dead.

“Is there a problem?” The guard asks. If I weren’t worried about getting this chick out of here, I’d stop to roll my fucking eyes.

“Not at all officer. Please have a seat,” the woman interjects. “Now as I was saying, Mr. Barger was called out of town with an emergency. I am the one in the office most familiar with your case, and he sent me in his place. I’m Tessa Oliver, now if we could get started.”

“It would appear that the prisoner does not want your counsel, Ms. Oliver,” the guard says.

Gee ya think? Dumbass.

“No, he just didn’t realize…”

“Damn straight I don’t,” I interrupt before she can finish.

She looks back at me with shock, and there’s a fiery glint in her eyes that tells me I’ve just pissed her off. That might have been interesting had the alarm not sounded right then. She looks in the direction of the noise.

“What is…?” She asks. The guard, who already knows what the alarm means, breaks every rule in his training and runs out of the small room, leaving me alone with the woman.

“What’s going on?” She questions again, and this time she looks pale and scared. She should. I take a deep breath.

I didn’t want this. I have no fucking use for the game that’s about to be played. It’s too late; the die has been cast. If I leave her on her own, she will be dead or wishing for death by nightfall. I stand up. I’d be lying if I said my dick wasn’t twitching at the way I tower over her small, delicate frame, or at the way her eyes widen in real fear as she tries to step back from me. My hands are in shackles so I do the only thing I can. I take them both and lift them over her head and pull her back into me, letting the heavy chains rest on her chest and against her neck.

“You have just become a prisoner in a prison break.”

Her cry of fear competes with my growl of anger.

Fuck.

I
can’t stop the scream that comes out of my mouth when Max wraps his arms around my neck. All those signs the universe sent out, telling me it was going to be a bad day, telling me not to leave the house? I really should have listened. I see it now, but did I before? Of course not. I was living in a dream world. Where I have been living, since I first heard Max Kincaid’s story. Instead of listening, I went forward, guns blazing. What I should have done was tell my damned boss to cover his own stuff. Did it matter to him that a paralegal was not an attorney, and his clients were getting short-changed? Not in the least. Did it matter to him that the judges I stand before rake me over the coals, get pissy and ruin my day further by pointing out that I don’t have the credentials necessary to stand before them and defend these people? Hell no!

I should have quit. I didn’t. Heck, I should have never taken the job five years ago, when I walked into the place. I didn’t. The truth was, I was days away from living on the street and Curtis Barger, L.L.C. knew that. He knew it and jumped on it like the shark he was.

He used it to his advantage, and when he didn’t want to do something, it was Tessa Oliver to the rescue. When an appeal he was supposed to have been working on for freaking months was due the next day, and he had nothing done? Good old Tessa didn’t need sleep; she’d do it. When he was due at a maximum security prison for a parole hearing of a convicted murderer? Fucking Tessa Oliver would hike her ass there to defend him and get her dumb ass killed in a fucking prison riot! Fuck, fuck, and fuckity fuck!

Why did I think Max was special? I knew nothing about him! And for the love of all that is holy, why didn’t I quit? Living on the streets would have been better than dealing with this shit. So I would have been forced to live with Winfred, the homeless alcoholic who begged the local businesses on Main Street for money. All while reeking from not bathing since Ronald Regan was president and urine—yes, he smelled of urine. Lots of urine. Still, even that was preferable to this. What good is dying smelling good, if you still fucking die?

“Now you’re going to do as I tell you, or you’ll die. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” I squeak. Turns out when you’re being held captive by a convicted killer, you can’t speak due to the fear coursing through your system. Who knew?

“You don’t talk to anyone, especially the other inmates. You don’t even look at them. You keep your head down, your eyes on your feet and you only speak when I tell you to. Do you understand?”

Oh hell, he’s taking me into the prison break? I want to scream at him. I want to yell, stomp and throw a temper tantrum that would impress any two-year-old child. I do none of those things. Although, I must admit I’m starting to see why Winfred smells like urine. I really need to pee. Since I didn’t even get time for my pumpkin spice latte this morning, I can only assume it’s a byproduct of fear.

I don’t answer, and I guess he takes my silence as agreement because he pulls me to the door that the worthless guard ran out of. He stands there for a moment looking around. For what, I have no idea. The place is loud with sirens, people yelling, and gunfire. Suddenly that urge to pee becomes stronger. I should probably start praying now. It’s not like I’m a bad person, but I don’t go to church. I’m not even sure I know how to pray. Hail Mary full of grace? Bless me Father for I have sinned? Shit, do you need to be Catholic? I’ve watched too many Godfather movies!

We go about ten feet into the valley of death, when I scream. It’s not a little scream, but a big one and barely heard over the noise surrounding us. I look down at the lifeless guard at my feet. He might have left me alone, but I didn’t want him to die. Mr. Kincaid, aka the prisoner, aka Mad Max, aka the harbinger of my death, puts his large hand over my mouth. It goes kind of silent around us. Who knew I was screaming that loud?

He leans down, his mouth against my ear, his voice is a deep rumble and eerily calm. “Don’t make me knock you out. I will. Now, keep that pretty mouth of yours shut and stand against the wall. Don’t scream, don’t move. Our lives depend on you doing exactly, what I say.”

I swallow nervously, tears stinging my eyes. I nod once. He removes his hand from my mouth, taking his arms away and then pushes me roughly against the wall. He leaves me alone and bends down to rummage around the guard. I look around and carefully take two steps away. If I can just make it to the door we came through and back to the safety on the other side…

His voice stops me. I turn at the sound, and he’s pointing a gun at me. The mixture of the chains on his hand, the slick black gleam of the gun and the bright orange prison jumpsuit terrifies the hell out of me. I stand still—not because he told me to, but because I am literally petrified, frozen in my fear. He motions me, using the gun as a pointer.

“Search his pockets and belt. Find the key to my chains,” he commands. I look at him like he’s crazy.

“He’s dead!” I mention the obvious.

“Exactly, I’m sure he won’t give a damn if you dig around, hunting for a key. I would do it myself, but since you can’t seem to follow orders, you get the pleasure.”

“I can’t touch him! He’s dead!” I exclaim again.

“You can either do it or join him. It’s up to you.”

My face goes white. I know, because I feel the cold, clammy sweat break out over my body.

“Listen, Mr. Kincaid, I’m sure…”

“Lady, you need to stop your damn chatter and find the key or else he’ll be stinking as well as dead. I don’t know if you’ve had the pleasure of smelling a rotting corpse, but trust me when I tell you, you don’t want to do that.”

I want to say no again, but I’m pretty sure he’s not kidding about me joining the guard. So I bend down and start trying to find a key ring.

“Why the hell didn’t I quit? I swear, if I make it out of this alive, it will be my personal mission to have every fairytale ever written removed from libraries for misleading kids. Next, I’m going to march into the office and tell my boss to go fuck himself! Then, I’m going to tell his wife what a freaking, bitter-ass pill she is and how they can take this thankless job and shove it up their asses. I don’t care if I do smell like piss and have to hug up to the likes of Winfred at night. I am done. D-O-N-E.” I’m mumbling under my breath without even realizing I’m doing it.

I gasp when Max starts laughing because honestly there is nothing remotely funny about any of this.

“Why are you laughing?”

“Do you always talk this much?”

I look at him confused, having no idea what on earth he is talking about. I decide to ignore him as my hand finds a key ring hanging from the guard’s belt. I try to pull it off, but it just extends and then pulls back. With a heavy sigh, I go to undo the man’s belt. “I’m sorry about this; you gave your life today and…”

“You do realize he can’t hear a damn thing you’re saying?”

I have to push and prod the body to get the belt off. “I’m not stupid; I talk when I’m nervous. You could help you know!” I huff. I figure I’m going too far. He’ll probably kill me at any minute. I know it’s an issue, but I do talk when I’m nervous. I can’t control it. One of my foster mothers used to say I had verbal diarrhea. She was a bitch.

“Just hurry.”

Just hurry. I mimic him in my mind; though I’d really like to do it out loud. Once I manage to get the belt free, I stand. I stumble once because my legs feel like jelly. My hand is shaking when I reach for the lock. I tilt my head forward and to the right to dodge the gun. I can almost feel the cold metal.

“Don’t you dare shoot me,” I grumble, continuing to go through the twenty plus keys on the chain.

“You’re awfully bossy for a hostage,” his dark voice rumbles. “And who is Winfred?”

I freeze—yet again. I think about explaining, but I ignore him instead. Finally, I find the right key and the metal lock opens. The shackles slowly fall to the ground. I jump at their heavy clang. Before I can run, he grabs me by the elbow and starts pulling me toward the chaos.

“You know you might come off hot and sexy on paper, but in person you are the Devil.”

He grunts and continues to pull me along. I want to argue, but I know it’s useless.

“Remember what I told you. Keep your head down and only speak when I give you permission.”

I bite my lip to keep from begging him to let me go. At least he’s partially blocking my body. Maybe I’ll get lucky, and a stray bullet will take him out. A girl can hope. I ignore the twinge of guilt I feel. I can’t still be infatuated with Max after this, surely. That would truly mean I’m insane.

After I sneak a look around the first area we enter, I change my mind. All around me are guards, dead, unconscious, or bleeding and tied up. Prisoners surround them, with guns pointed and ready. It’s like a scene from a Bruce Willis movie. I may never watch another one of those again.

“Who do we have here, Gringo?” A heavily laced Spanish accent asks, and I suddenly remember, very vividly, that I was told not to look up. I have no problem with that. In fact, I think I’d love to bury my head in the sand at the moment.

“My lawyer,” Mad Max replies and the way he says it, it sounds like we really know each other.

“Damn, Max you know how to pick ‘em. Send her my way and give me a little taste of that honey.”

I’m keeping my head down, but I can see the man reach for me out of the corner of my vision. I can’t help but stumble back against Max. He feels a lot safer than the other possibility here.

“No way, Hernandez. This is my private pussy. I’m about to go through that tunnel you guys made, get the fuck out of dodge and get my dick wet for the first time in years.”

His words make my body lurch with a sick feeling of dread. Mocking all those stupid girlish fantasies I’ve harbored about Max. Why did I think Max was safe? It dawns on me that there is no safe place. I am probably going to die. The only question will be, what will happen to me beforehand?

“I thought you had no interest in leaving? I believe you told us to fuck off when we asked for help.”

“I’ve changed my mind, and since I didn’t rat your asses out, I figure I did my part.”

“This is where we disagree. I think you owe a little more than that,” the guy says, as he moves his hand to my cheek and wrenches my face up. It hurts and tears sting my eyes. My nails bite into the thick, muscled arm of Max.

That’s when I see the Max who committed the murder. His hands move so fast; it’s a blur. He grabs the other guy by the neck and slams him hard against the wall. The guy’s feet are a good two inches from the ground. Max brings his face in close to the other guy, and his voice is so cold, chills run through my body. It feels as if the air around me has dropped a good twenty degrees. Max is that deadly now.

“In what fucking universe did you think it was okay to touch what is mine, Hernandez?”

“Easy, Gringo. Easy! I was just playing. No harm, no foul.”

“Wrong. You put your hands on my property. The way I look at it, now you owe me, asshole.”

I watch as he wraps one of his hands around the guy’s neck. I remember reading in his files exactly how he killed the other man. My stomach rolls with the knowledge. I can tell by the way the man gasps that Max is applying pressure. I want to tell him to stop. I’m scared. I’m not sure what to do. The other man’s face is starting to turn blue.

“Max…” I whisper, starting to reach out to him and get him to stop.