Nobody Cares Unless You're Pretty (Gator Bait MC Book 1) Page 2

  Weren’t we all?

  It’d been nearly eight long years of nothing but my fist—sometimes I spiced shit up by switching from my left fist to my right—and I was more than ready for a warm, willing pussy myself.

  Later in the week, I had my own parole hearing.

  What were the odds that six of the men I was closest to in this place were getting out at nearly the same time?

  Was this a setup?

  I didn’t do coincidences.

  I did facts. Cold, hard facts.

  And something in my gut was telling me that shit wasn’t right here.

  They didn’t just let men go from prison without having a reason.

  I mean, Davis still had four years left of his sentence. Aodhan, our resident Irishman, still had six. Then there was Bain, who had three. Cassius, who had two. Then there was Etienne, who had three years left on his sentence, without the possibility of parole.

  So what the fuck was going on?

  I wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth or anything, but shit wasn’t right.

  Good things didn’t happen to men like us.

  We made things happen.

  There was a huge difference.

  “Mail!” a guard, the redheaded one who had a permanent scowl on his face, growled. “Westfield.”

  I got up and took the letter from him.

  He narrowed his eyes at me and said, “I have something to talk to you about later.”

  I looked at the letter and frowned.

  It wasn’t opened.

  Usually, if I had mail either from my brother or sister, it was opened. The contents already perused to make sure they weren’t conspiring with us to break us out.

  “You got mail?” Davis asked. “It’s not even Wednesday.”

  Shit was definitely getting weird lately.

  “Is it from your sister?”

  I looked up to find Etienne awake and staring at me from his own cell across the walkway in front of me.

  “No,” I admitted. “Actually, I’m not too sure who it’s from.”

  “Your sister coming to visit soon?” Davis asked.

  I narrowed my eyes. “My sister will not marry you, motherfucker.”

  I’d met Davis, Aodhan, Bain, Cassius, and Etienne in prison. Though, I’d known Aodhan because he’d once been married to my sister.

  Of all the places for us to meet up again, this place hadn’t been the one I’d expected.

  I liked them all, and they’d all proved more than once that they would have my back if shit hit the fan—and inside of a maximum-security prison that housed all of the baddies of the region, that happened more often than not.

  “You never know,” Davis grumbled.

  I knew.

  My sister, Danyetta, was likely to never marry anyone ever again.

  Hopefully, that was something she just said and never followed through with. But my sister was as stubborn as they came.

  “Well, if it’s not from your sister,” Etienne asked. “Then who’s it from?”

  Etienne’s Cajun accent was thick with sleep, letting me know that I hadn’t been the only one taking a nap.

  There wasn’t much we could do on lockdown days—days where shit hit the fan in the prison and they locked us in our cells until shit calmed down—but sleep, do bodyweight exercises, or talk to your cell neighbors.

  Etienne had decided that a nap was for him.

  Much like I’d tried to do, yet Davis had all but forced me to stay awake.

  “I already said I don’t know,” I grumbled as I tore into the envelope.

  My eyes scanned the contents of the letter, and my stomach sank.

  It was the last words on the paper that did me in, though.

  I want you to help me get away with murder.

  Sincerely, Dutch Panchek.

  Dutch Panchek.

  What kind of name was that?

  I could tell she was female, however, just by the way her writing looked so bubbly and upbeat.

  “Well?” Davis asked.

  I folded the letter, then stashed it away in the hidden compartment of the bed that no guard had found yet, and then allowed my mind to wander.

  “Some girl. She wants to meet,” I answered.

  Etienne and Davis started to talk to each other, but my mind went to that long-ago night when my life had changed.

  “Girl?” Davis said.

  But my mind had already taken me to where my nightmares loved to take hold of me and hold me down, keeping me there as I relived the worst moment of my life.

  I’d gotten home early from work.

  Even after being early, I’d walked inside, and knew without a doubt that everyone inside of it was asleep.

  Or at least should be.

  Tex, our eight-month-old Golden Retriever, met me at the door with a wiggly butt.

  I bent down to scratch him around the ears, cursing when he yelped as I did.

  My wife, Amber, had allowed him to go for a few days without any ear infection medication, and it would obviously be up to me to deal with it tomorrow on my only day off.

  “Sorry, buddy,” I said to Tex. “I’ll get you fixed up tomorrow. In the meantime, we’ll put what’s left of the medication in your ear from last time.”

  I did that, then went in search of my wife.

  I found her sleeping in our bed, her phone in one hand, and the television remote in the other.

  I stared at her for a long time, hating that I felt nothing for her any longer.

  Years ago, when we’d married, I’d fancied myself in love. But over time, that love had morphed into something more like friendship. The little things that I used to think were cute, were nothing but annoying now.

  Such as her penchant for jacking the TV up so loud that she couldn’t hear me entering our house, let alone if our daughter Lauren, or Lolo for short, cried out for her in the middle of the night.

  After turning the TV off, I put the remote on the nightstand then went next door to my daughter’s room.

  I opened the door, and at first, couldn’t quite comprehend what I was seeing.

  Then, when the reality of what I was seeing was finally known, somehow my mind disassociated with my body.

  I moved before I could really think, yanking my wife’s brother, Braxton, off of my eight-year-old and throwing him so hard into the wall beside her bed that there was an audible wheeze as the breath left his body.

  When he didn’t immediately get up, I turned my gaze to my daughter, who was looking at me with tears streaming down her face.

  “He wouldn’t get off of me, Daddy,” Lolo whispered.

  I felt something akin to a rock lodge itself in my throat.

  “Come here,” I said softly, picking her up.

  Her nightgown was torn, and I had no clue how far he’d gotten in his assault of my daughter.

  “I’m so happy you came home, Daddy,” Lolo whispered into my neck, clutching me so hard that I was finding it difficult to breathe.

  That night was forever ingrained in my brain.

  Seeing the man that was supposed to protect my daughter hurting her instead.

  As far as the counselors knew, and what Lolo had told us, Braxton hadn’t gotten very far in his assault.

  But him even having the sick thought to try anything with her was enough for me to go nuclear.

  Braxton had been killed by my own bare hands.

  Then, all the other child molesters in the area, ones that the system hadn’t taken care of, met the same death.

  I hadn’t been careful. I’d been pissed as hell.

  So getting caught by the police hadn’t come as that much of a surprise.

  After killing her brother, Amber had decided that we were better off not being married.

  Which worked for me, because I didn’t think I could ever forgive her for what she’d allowed to happen. Even if it hadn’t technically been Amber’s fault.

  I’d been telling Amber for years that her brother was bad news.

  That had been the beginning of the end for us—her inability to see her brother in a clear light.

  Her assurance that he was a good man had been her downfall. And our daughter had been the one to suffer because of it.

  Needless to say, our marriage hadn’t been meant to survive, and after receiving the divorce papers in prison, I’d happily signed them.

  “Yo,” Etienne said as he looked at me across the walkway. “What’s wrong?”

  What was wrong?

  I hated child abuse in any form. I hated it more when the motherfuckers got away with it.

  I didn’t know this Dutch Panchek, but if she turned out to be legit, well then I’d tell her exactly what she needed to do to get away with murder.

  CHAPTER 4

  I accept apologies in the form of cash.

  -Dutch’s secret thoughts

  DUTCH

  “I feel violated,” I admitted to my brother as I made my way through the security area of the penitentiary that he worked for.

  “At least you don’t have to go through it every time you go to work like I do.” Tomas grinned.

  That was true.

  If I had to go through that every day I worked, I would be a hell of a lot less dressed up. Having to take off every single piece of jewelry I owned was a giant pain in the ass. Had I known, I wouldn’t have worn any jewelry at all.

  “Why are you so dressed up, anyway?” Tomas asked.

  Because I’m about to meet a really hot inmate, and I want to make a good impression.

  What I said instead was, “Because I have a meeting with the district attorney after this.”

  “The one that has a giant crush on you, yet refuses to admit it?” he asked.

  I rolled my eyes.

  Darriel was thirty-five years old, had never been married, and was a knockout. The only problem with him was that he was married to his job, and rarely gave anyone enough time of day to let them in.

  I wasn’t sure why I’d been allowed in, to be honest, but it was one of those things that I decided not to question.

  But, had Darriel Mackson decided that I was actually worth the time of day, and he wanted to pursue me, I knew what I’d say. No.

  Why?

  Because Darriel was too ‘good.’

  He was too black and white. He refused to see the gray of the world, and God forbid he admit that he was wrong about something. Such as putting a man in prison for doing the job he should’ve fucking done himself.

  Cough, cough, Wake Westfield, cough, cough.

  Speaking of Wake Westfield… I was nervous as fuck to meet him.

  I’d only ever heard about him through the grapevine.

  Moving to Accident, Florida had been very enlightening. All the way up until everyone told me his entire life story, such as his ex-wife, Amber.

  Amber, however, had zero love for him.

  Not that I knew why, because apparently everything wrong in their marriage had been his fault, but I definitely wasn’t short on information about the man.

  Obviously, being a licensed therapist meant that people talked to you about their troubles, whether you wanted them to or not.

  I mean, Jesus Christ. Today I went to grab a latte from the local coffee shop, Ground Me, and the owner of the shop, Morrigan St. Pete, had given me her every complaint about every single customer that’d shown that day.

  I loved Morrigan and all, and even though I’d only known her a very short time, I knew that one day she would be a very good friend. However, it would be nice to go in and get coffee without hearing who pissed who off that day.

  “When they get you Westfield,” Tomas said, “for the love of God, don’t tell him anything about me. How or why you were able to get a meeting with him. Okay?”

  I rolled my eyes. “I already told you in the parking lot that I wouldn’t say anything! Okay?”

  Tomas covertly flipped me off, then he pointed to another guard that was standing beside a door that likely led farther into the prison.

  “Go see him. And don’t come cryin’ to me when he doesn’t give you shit for your book, okay?” Tomas grumbled.

  I gave him a thumbs up, then said, “Bye, Tomas.”

  I didn’t wait for his reply, instead, heading straight to the man that I’d seen a time or two in town.

  He never spoke to anyone, but I had seen him with his wife at the grocery store following behind her patiently.

  I smiled at him when I arrived in front of him.

  “Mick?” I asked curiously as I held out my hand. “I’m Dutch.”

  “Dutch,” he said as he took my hand. “That’s a weird name for a girl.”

  “It is,” I confirmed. “But my mother knew two things about my father. One, that he was an asshole, and two, that he was Dutch.”

  “So she named you after someone she didn’t like?” Mick asked curiously.

  “Tomas got the Dutchman’s first name. I got the Dutchman’s nationality. I don’t think she liked either one of us all that much and wanted to give us a name to prove it,” I told him bluntly.

  Which was true.

  If there was anyone in this world that deserved to never have children, it was Mary Lou Carpenter. Even the ones that she’d had were practically taken away from her.

  Though, Mary Lou had done one good thing for me. She’d instilled a drive in me that encouraged me to get a very good job and get the hell away from her while doing that job.

  The moment that I graduated from Texas Tech, I’d moved away, and hadn’t looked back since.

  And hell, had college not been practically free due to my mother’s working at said college, I certainly wouldn’t have gone there. I’d have been gone the day I turned eighteen and could legally move out of her house.

  “We got you a room set up where lawyers usually meet with the inmates. Once I have you there, I’ll go get Westfield. Okay?” Mick asked.

  I gave him a thumbs up, then he was gone, leaving me alone in a stark room that had all the furniture bolted down to the floor.

  I sat, then studied my outfit.

  I’d gone with a pencil skirt that left very little to the imagination, and a sleeveless white top that hugged every single curve and fat roll.

  After situating myself, and making sure that my stomach was hidden by my bag—even though I’d lost weight, years and years of covering up the extra girth around my belly never quite went away—I waited patiently with my eyes on the door.

  I heard the murmuring and the thudding steps before I saw anyone.

  “I’m not interested in giving anyone an interview,” Wake snapped from the hallway.

  “Dutch has done a lot for this community. You will talk to her, even if it is to give her the bare minimum,” Mick growled.

  That was a stretch.

  I’d donated a lot of time to the community, sure. Right when I’d moved here, they’d had a hurricane. I’d been a “big help” according to the mayor with children and adults that were traumatized by the storm. I’m sure my brother made it out to be bigger than it actually was. Only someone that was heartless would not lend that listening shoulder out when needed.

  There was a long moment of silence and then, “Did you say her name was Dutch?”

  My heart started to beat a thousand miles an hour, then my breath left me when the man first appeared.

  Holy.

  Shit.

  Wake Westfield’s mugshots and photos that were plastered in the newspaper didn’t do him any justice.

  In fact, if I had to admit to anything ever being wrong with Wake’s appearance, it was that he was too hot.

  Holy hell, was he sexy.

  He was tall, about six foot three or four, and had the broadest shoulders I’d ever seen.

  Those shoulders were muscular, too.

  As in, I could curl my fingers around the tops of both shoulder caps, and only get my fingers partially around them.

  His traps were excellent, too.

  If he were to come to my gym, he would be the one everyone watched.

  He prowled toward me, and even in chains, it was evident that he owned the room he was walking into.

  “You Dutch?” he asked as he sat down.

  A shiver danced down my spine at how intimate him saying my name felt.

  “Yes,” I answered, amazed that I hadn’t stuttered.

  Thank God for speech classes that forced me out of my comfort zones.

  He gestured toward Mick with a flick of his hand and said, “Give us the room. I’m not saying shit to her with you hovering over my shoulder.”

  While his face was turned toward Mick, I was studying all the tattoos on his body. The way his jawline looked like it was carved from granite.

  He had a nice, close-cropped brownish-red beard, bordering a set of fantastic lips.

  “Be good,” Mick said. “I was supposed to handcuff you to the table.”

  Supposed to? And he didn’t?

  That was a surprise.

  Not that I minded.

  But still.

  When or if my brother walked in, he’d have a shit fit to end all shit fits.

  Those beautiful brown eyes rolled my way as he processed Mick’s words, and I felt my stomach drop at the sight of all his attention solely focused on me.

  His brown hair that was shaved on the sides and longer on top fell into those eyes, momentarily breaking our stare off, and I felt relief flow through me.

  He waited until Mick’s footsteps could no longer be heard before he said, “How the hell did you make this happen?”

  He was wondering how the hell I’d managed to get in here and talk to him. How I’d managed to get a letter to him without getting it read first.

  I could really get him in trouble, sure.

  But… I was banking on the fact that he was willing to risk it.

  CHAPTER 5

  Finally realized that I wasn’t asking too much. I was just asking the wrong person.

  -Wake to Dutch

  WAKE

  A redhead.

  I didn’t know what I expected of her when it came from a single letter, but this woman definitely wasn’t it.

  She was tall, not nearly my height, no. But she was definitely taller than the average female. Five-seven or eight, if I had to guess. And those lips.