Inmate of the Month Read online

  Table of Contents

  Inmate of the Month

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Other titles by Lani Lynn Vale

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Epilogue

  Epilogue II

  What's Next?

  Inmate of the Month

  Lani Lynn Vale®

  Copyright © 2021

  All Rights Reserved

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  To my honey bunches of love. The man that makes my heart all aquiver. I love you.

  Acknowledgments

  Golden Czermak - Photographer

  My Brother’s Editor & Ink It Out Editing- My editors

  Cover Me Darling - Cover Artist

  My mom - Thank you for reading this book eight million two hundred times.

  Kendra, Lisa, Laura, Penney, Brandi, Jen, Kathy, Mindy, Barbara & Amanda—I don’t know what I would do without y’all. Thank you, my lovely betas, for loving my books as much as I do.

  Other titles by Lani Lynn Vale

  The Freebirds

  Boomtown

  Highway Don’t Care

  Another One Bites the Dust

  Last Day of My Life

  Texas Tornado

  I Don’t Dance

  The Heroes of The Dixie Wardens MC

  Lights To My Siren

  Halligan To My Axe

  Kevlar To My Vest

  Keys To My Cuffs

  Life To My Flight

  Charge To My Line

  Counter To My Intelligence

  Right To My Wrong

  Code 11- KPD SWAT

  Center Mass

  Double Tap

  Bang Switch

  Execution Style

  Charlie Foxtrot

  Kill Shot

  Coup De Grace

  The Uncertain Saints

  Whiskey Neat

  Jack & Coke

  Vodka On The Rocks

  Bad Apple

  Dirty Mother

  Rusty Nail

  The Kilgore Fire Series

  Shock Advised

  Flash Point

  Oxygen Deprived

  Controlled Burn

  Put Out

  I Like Big Dragons Series

  I Like Big Dragons and I Cannot Lie

  Dragons Need Love, Too

  Oh, My Dragon

  The Dixie Warden Rejects

  Beard Mode

  Fear the Beard

  Son of a Beard

  I’m Only Here for the Beard

  The Beard Made Me Do It

  Beard Up

  For the Love of Beard

  Law & Beard

  There’s No Crying in Baseball

  Pitch Please

  Quit Your Pitchin’

  Listen, Pitch

  The Hail Raisers

  Hail No

  Go to Hail

  Burn in Hail

  What the Hail

  The Hail You Say

  Hail Mary

  The Simple Man Series

  Kinda Don’t Care

  Maybe Don’t Wanna

  Get You Some

  Ain’t Doin’ It

  Too Bad So Sad

  Bear Bottom Guardians MC

  Mess Me Up

  Talkin’ Trash

  How About No

  My Bad

  One Chance, Fancy

  It Happens

  Keep It Classy

  Snitches Get Stitches

  F-Bomb

  The Southern Gentleman Series

  Hissy Fit

  Lord Have Mercy

  KPD Motorcycle Patrol

  Hide Your Crazy

  It Wasn’t Me

  I’d Rather Not

  Make Me

  Sinners are Winners

  If You Say So

  SWAT 2.0

  Just Kidding

  Fries Before Guys

  Maybe Swearing Will Help

  Ask Me If I Care

  May Contain Wine

  Joke’s on You

  Join the Club

  Any Day Now

  Say it Ain’t So

  Officially Over It

  Nobody Knows

  Depends Who’s Asking

  Valentine Boys

  Herd That

  Crazy Heifer

  Chute Yeah

  Get Bucked

  Souls Chapel Revenants

  Repeat Offender

  Conjugal Visits

  Jailbait

  Doin’ A Dime

  Kitty, Kitty

  Gen Pop

  Inmate of the Month

  Madd CrossFit Series

  No Rep

  Jerk It

  Chalk Dirty to Me

  CHAPTER 1

  The worst thing ever is when someone new doesn’t understand your brand of humor, so you have to say ‘I’m kidding’ after every sentence so they don’t report you to the police.

  -Catori’s secret thoughts

  CATORI

  “Please, please, please,” Harlow, my best friend, begged.

  I groaned. “Why do I have to do it?”

  Harlow’s eyes narrowed. “Do you think that I want to possibly see my brother having sex?”

  Well, when she put it like that…

  “I’m watching it on your computer,” I grumbled. “And I’m not doing it here. It’s weird to do it here. With you. There are a lot of things that we’ve done together, but I’m drawing the line at this.”

  Harlow sighed. “You’ll have to have the computer back to me before work tomorrow. I leave around seven. I can swing by your house and get it before I have to be there at eight.”

  Harlow worked as a computer tech at a large accounting firm in Longview, about a twenty-minute or so drive from Kilgore where she lived. I, on the other hand, lived in the middle of nowhere, Texas.

  The closest town to me was Kilgore, but there was a smaller town called Souls Chapel, Texas that was almost as close. Though, they didn’t have anywhere near the number of things to do or eat as Kilgore did.

  Which inevitably made my decision on where to go when I needed supplies.

  “That works for me.” I paused. “But I have to be out of there by seven tomorrow myself. I have to run by the office and switch my car out with a new one, then I have to be at the motorcycle club guy’s house.”

  She knew exactly who I was talking about, too.

  Everybody did at this point. I complained enough.

  “I…” A look crossed her face and she jumped up and squeaked. “I’ll be right back.”

  I sighed, used to this from her, the abruptness of her needing to use the bathroom.

  About a year ago, Harlow started to work out. Then she started to take protein. That protein made her fart and poop like a man.

  Let me just say, there are things that I’ve learned about
my best friend over the last year that I just never wanted to know.

  She got up and picked the computer up before handing it to me.

  “Watch it. Save me a thirty-minute trip in the morning.” She handed me the computer. “Let me know. I have to go use the bathroom. It might be a while.”

  I snorted at her lack of filter, then looked worriedly at the computer.

  Or, more specifically, the porn video that she had up on her computer.

  I looked at the thumbnail of the video and was surprised by the room.

  It was gothic Victorian. Like everything in the video was everything that I loved about an older house.

  The man was sitting in the chair with a high back, velvet cushions under his butt and behind his back, and beautiful scrollwork in the wood.

  Wow. I wanted that chair.

  That was my dream chair.

  I was really into the gothic Victorian era, and I wanted one of those old houses on the hill like the Munsters had. Once upon a time, I wanted to be Wednesday Addams.

  Now, I’d graduated from wearing only black to adding purple and dark blue to my wardrobe when it was me choosing the color options—sadly, I worked for a new up-and-coming home health agency that specialized in children. Meaning they wanted us to look upbeat and happy. Which meant bright colors like hot pink, green, and cerulean blue.

  Green like the man’s eyes.

  Before I could stop myself, I clicked on the video and froze.

  Because, as soon as I did, there was a woman’s face in the camera.

  She was tall, willowy, and had blonde hair that was mostly covering her face. Likely, she’d done it on purpose so that nobody would know who she was.

  If I was doing porn, I wouldn’t want anyone to know that I was doing it either, making the need for secrecy necessary.

  Once she had the camera in place, she backed away, giving me a clear view of her outfit.

  She was wearing a flowy boho-style dress that hit her at the ankles, showing off some gladiator sandals that were absolutely to die for.

  She disappeared off screen, and it stayed like that for a good forty-five seconds.

  Right when I was about to fast forward, the front door of the house opened, causing my breath to hitch.

  My mouth all but fell open when I saw the man in black enter, one hand holding a case of beer, and the other hand holding an opened beer that looked to have been ripped from the package he was holding.

  He slammed the door closed with his foot and then walked off the screen again toward what I assumed was the kitchen.

  He came back moments later, bootless, and sat down on the dark velvet love seat.

  The back of the love seat was so tall that even though the man was sitting on it, it still towered over the top of his head.

  God, I loved that seat.

  I’d bet my life that it was super comfortable, too.

  And soft.

  The man shifted, bending to place his beer on the floor before getting rid of his socks and his shirt.

  He lifted a remote from the floor that was next to his beer, and then pointed it right at the camera.

  Or, likely, a television that was underneath the camera.

  I started to squirm in my seat as I saw him reach forward and pop the button of his jeans.

  But not because he was about to get started on anything—at least that wasn’t what it appeared—but because he wanted to be comfortable.

  There must’ve been a knock at the door, because he looked at something over his shoulder, and I could see a frown on the side of his face.

  Getting up, he walked around the back of the couch, and just over his head, I could see him opening his front door.

  The boho dress girl appeared in the doorway, a smile on her face.

  The man didn’t look happy to see her.

  He also didn’t look considerably excited when the woman threw herself into his arms and kissed him.

  I swallowed hard, thinking this was about to get crazy, because I had the distinct impression that this man really didn’t have any idea that he was being recorded.

  I mean, if I knew that I was being recorded, I would look at the camera, at least casually. Then I’d casually look away. The man’s eyes didn’t once stray above where he was watching the television. Nor did he casually turn back to look over his shoulder.

  Nope. He was solely focused.

  On the screen, the man’s head tilted, his sandy brown hair falling to one side, partially covering his face, making it to where I couldn’t see his expression.

  The woman, though? Her chest was thrust out as if she was anticipating his reaction to whatever she was saying. And she was dragging her hand lazily along the length of her lace bra that was just barely exposed by her dress.

  She bit her lip, and I could tell that she expected the man to take her up on whatever she’d offered him.

  He shook his head, his shoulders tensing, then jerked his chin in such a way that the hair moved out of the way, once again revealing his face.

  The woman’s face went from anticipatory to pissed in the blink of an eye. She crossed her arms over her chest, said something to make him shake his head, and then she left.

  It wasn’t until he closed the door and walked back that I realized that there was no sound.

  Like none.

  Why wasn’t there sound?

  I think I would’ve liked hearing his voice.

  I would’ve…

  “Hey there, Kitty Cat.”

  I felt my stomach sour when Harlow’s boyfriend walked into the room, his eyes solely on me. I slammed the computer closed, not wanting him to see what I was watching. Nor did I want him to have something to talk to me about. The more I gave him, the more he took.

  See, here’s the thing. I didn’t, under any circumstances, like Harlow’s boyfriend. He was brash, oily, and he made me feel like a lowly piece of trash when he settled his gaze on me.

  I hated him. I hated that Harlow was with him. And mostly I hated that I couldn’t avoid him because he was Harlow’s man, and they were semi-living together.

  “‘Sup,” I murmured, hoping that if I didn’t engage, didn’t look at him or talk to him any more than necessary, he wouldn’t hang around.

  Sadly, that was not something that ever happened when it came to Trent Thames.

  Trent Thames was tall, very good-looking, wealthy, and let everyone know that he does—and is good—at CrossFit.

  The sad thing was, he was probably really good at CrossFit. Hell, he’d inspired Harlow to become healthier and to live a fitter life. So there was some good that came out of him being with her, I guess.

  But there was also the hard truth of him being a slime ball.

  He could be good-looking all he wanted, but when it came to his personality, I didn’t think there was a woman alive that would find him attractive.

  The thing was, he wasn’t that way with Harlow.

  He was actually a completely different person, and it was weird to see.

  That was why I’d never brought it up to my best friend. Why, despite him grossing me out and giving me the heebie-jeebies whenever he was around, I allowed him to be with my best friend.

  Trent was tall, six-foot, which was about seven inches over my five-foot-five inches. And boy, did he use that height advantage when Harlow wasn’t around.

  “How was your day?” he asked, setting his shaker cup, his ever-present goddamn shaker cup, down onto the counter before giving me his full attention.

  I clicked on an ad on Harlow’s Facebook page, following the leopard print duck boots to a boutique’s website before seeing if they had my size.

  They did.

  “Kitty Cat, are you going to talk to me, or ignore me?” Trent asked smoothly.

  Luckily, before I could answer, Harlow came back into the room.

  “Probably ignore you if you’re talking about Thor,” Harlow chirped as she walked up to Trent’s side, pressed a kiss to his cheek, and walked to h
er protein shaker cup. She picked it up and shook it at him. “This was mine.”

  “I know.” He beamed at her. “But I couldn’t find any of mine this morning when I was leaving, so I borrowed yours.”

  “Well, you borrowing mine meant that I couldn’t take any protein with me to the gym today,” she scolded him. A normal argument between the two.

  See, Trent was also a selfish asshole.

  He knew damn well that Harlow only had one protein shaker. Meaning, when he left his eighteen in his car—still coated with protein powder—he’d just use hers, even if it put her in a bind. And, when he finally took the time to gather up his shaker bottles, he didn’t take them to his own house. He took them to Harlow’s, threw them in the sink, and expected her to wash them.

  Which was disgusting, I might add.

  Because nine times out of ten, that shaker cup was sitting in the heat, in Trent’s car, for at least three days. And let me tell you something, folks. Fermented protein powder was disgusting.

  It smelled god awful, and I had no clue why Harlow allowed it.

  “Sorry, doll.” Trent grinned. “And I still don’t see why she won’t give Thor a chance to explain.”

  Thor was Trent’s brother. Thor was, sadly, not taking the hint, either.

  “Give him a chance to explain why he was fucking that girl in Cat’s ride?” Harlow asked, fuming now.

  There wasn’t much that made Harlow mad, but Trent’s ambivalence to Thor’s actions made her hot.

  And set her off each and every time.

  Trent, seeing this, started to hold his hands up in a placating gesture. “Listen, I’m just seeing how sad he is. I know that he didn’t mean anything by it. He doesn’t love her like he loves Kitty Cat.”

  Harlow rolled her eyes. Hard.

  “Seriously?” she asked. “Thor knew exactly what he was doing. He was just hoping that he wouldn’t be caught. And you know how much she hates that nickname, so stop using it.”

  It wasn’t that I hated the nickname as much as who was using it.

  Thor and Trent used it in a degrading way.

  I wanted to junk punch them each time they used it.

  “It’s just in good fun,” Trent tried.

  Harlow angrily spun the top off of her shaker cup, spilling gross protein all over the counter and herself.