Edge Of Retaliation : Books 1-3, Page 4

“If I’m being honest, I don’t think we’re going to get off all that lightly. There is no evidence to support Callie’s claims that Celia stepped in front of the car. Her family is saying she wasn’t depressed and wasn’t suffering in any sort of way. Nobody else saw it. I’m able to drop the charges against driving underage, but as for the manslaughter charge? I’ll do my best, of course, to get Callie out of this.”

  I stare numbly at the table.

  The last month of my life has been constant talk about what’s coming next. Lawyers and media. The family of Celia on the news, saying they’ll get justice for their daughter. It has been a never-ending hell. I cried so much I couldn’t cry anymore. Now I’m just numb. Beneath the numb, though, I’m terrified. I’m so scared of what’s to come. So scared of where I’m going to end up.

  Involuntary manslaughter is the charge they’re trying to get me on, instead of murder.

  Murder.

  As if I meant to kill her.

  My friends, well, Joanne, said of course I didn’t mean to hit the girl. She told the same story I told—that we were looking for the can. Only none of them actually saw her step out. So, as far as the law is concerned, I wasn’t watching where I was going, and she was crossing the road. I hit her. They’re so incredibly wrong, but my words, no matter how many times I say them, mean little to anyone.

  Because it wasn’t intentional, manslaughter is my charge. It can hold a maximum sentence of eight years. Eight. Years. My lawyer, Gregory, is trying to get me a lesser sentence because I’m underage. Either way, the chances of me going to juvie are probably a hundred percent. I’m not getting out of this. Honestly, why should I anyway? If I didn’t do what I did, Celia would still be alive today.

  The first time I heard her name, Celia Yates, my whole world stopped. I stalked everything from her Facebook to her Instagram. Her family is right; it doesn’t look like she was unhappy. All her photos show her laughing with friends, or her boyfriend, Grant. She looked like she had a good life, full and enjoyable. I took that from her.

  When I started reading the comments on her memorial pages, on what kind of monster I must be, my mother took my phone. She said I don’t need anything else to distract me. I need to be on my best behavior. I don’t think she realizes this isn’t third grade. Good behavior isn’t going to get me anywhere. I won’t get rewarded and let off.

  No.

  Nothing will change my sentence. Nothing at all.

  At least, that’s how I see it.

  “I’ve gone through the case a number of times,” Gregory goes on. “If there was something to indicate that Celia wanted to end her life, we’d have a stronger case to work with, but there is absolutely nothing to back up Callie’s story. However, I’m going to tell it as it is, play on the jury’s soft side. Surely they wouldn’t believe you deserve to go away.”

  “So people don’t believe her?” my mother asks, scrunching up her nose.

  Gregory shakes his head. “No, I’m sorry. They don’t.”

  I’m done trying to tell the truth. For weeks, I pleaded and told everyone what really happened. My mother got the best lawyer she could, but honestly, I don’t even think she believes it. She’s asked me so many times why I won’t just tell the truth, and says that if I’m lying, it’ll only get worse for me. They’ve even offered me a plea deal where if I admit I wasn’t watching and say I hit Celia crossing the road, then I’ll get a lesser sentence.

  I wanted to take it.

  I want to take it.

  My mother refuses.

  She seems to think Gregory can get me off with just a slap on the wrist and community service, or even a lesser sentence, such as two years. The plea deal is three years. Even though she isn’t on my side, she thinks he’s good enough to get me off all the same. She’s wrong, but she refuses to move on it.

  “The only recommendation I can make to you, is to accept the plea deal,” Gregory tells me. “It’ll be a lesser sentence.”

  “I’m not comfortable with her accepting a lesser sentence when you’re supposed to get her off with even less than the plea deal,” my mother snaps.

  “With all due respect, I’m doing my best. I’ve told you I’m not confident on the outcome of this case. If I were to make a choice, I’d say accept the deal.”

  “I want to take it,” I say, frustrated. I want to take it. I don’t want to go away for longer if they decide that I’m deserving of it. Gregory told me it could be up to eight years. Eight. Three seems far less, in the scheme of things. I’ll only be nineteen; that’s not so bad.

  “That’s not your choice to make. You’re a minor,” my mother growls. “What am I paying you for, if not to win?”

  Gregory exhales. “I’m not god, ma’am. I’m doing the best I can; I’ll fight the best fight possible. I’ll do everything in my power to let the jury see that Callie is just a kid who was having fun with her friends when something bad happened. I’ll do the best I can. I cannot, however, make promises.”

  My mother mutters something, and then looks to me. “We’re not taking that plea deal!”

  “How come I don’t get a choice in this?” I snap, standing up. “I could get so much longer if you don’t take the deal! Wake up to yourself! This isn’t about you.”

  “Callie!” my mother calls as I turn and storm out of the room.

  I don’t look back. I have nothing more to say to her or to anyone else. I’ve already lost myself, my reputation, and everything I hold dear.

  Now, I’m likely going to lose a good portion of my life.

  All because my mother won’t listen to me.

  Just like everyone else.

  Nobody hears what I have to say.

  Nobody.

  “CALLIE ANDERSON, THE jury has settled on a decision. Your sentence is as follows: for reckless driving, they find you guilty. For theft of personal property, they find you not guilty. For the involuntary manslaughter of Celia Yates, they find you guilty on all counts. You’ll be sentenced to six years in a correctional facility. You’ll serve in Juvenile detention center until you’re eighteen, you’ll then be moved to a prison. It is so ordered.”

  There are moments in your life when your whole world comes to a complete stop.

  Everything around you fades out.

  Everything except the loud pounding of your heart in your chest. It radiates through your head until it is all you can hear.

  Noises, people, the surroundings—they all become nothing.

  That’s exactly what happens the moment my sentence is called out. I can’t feel. I can’t think. I can’t focus. Not on the wailing of my mother, or the way Celia’s family hug each other. Not on the slamming of the judge’s hammer on her desk. Nothing. It all fades into nothing. I can’t move. I can’t think. I can’t feel.

  Not even when Joanne comes over and her hand curls over mine.

  The only friend I have left in this world. The only one who forgives me.

  When the guard orders me to stand, I’m snapped back into reality like a brutal slap to the face. The noise and surroundings come back into my conscious, and tears burst forth and roll down my cheeks..

  “No!” I cry, as handcuffs are snapped on my wrists. “No, please. I didn’t do it. I didn’t mean it. I didn’t . . .”

  My mother is sobbing. My father is trying to make his way over to me, but is being stopped by officers. Max is emotionless, staring at me with a look of horror on his face. Joanne is crying.

  Celia’s family, they’re all watching as I get pulled away. I don’t focus on any of them. I couldn’t tell you how many there are. I sob as I’m removed from the room.

  Six years.

  I’m going away for six years.

  If the judge said anything else, I didn’t hear it.

  I can’t breathe as they take me out back.

  Someone, please, make it stop. Wake me up from this nightmare. Please, I’m begging you.

  Please.

  6

  NOW – CALLIE

&nb
sp; “You’ve got to be shitting me!” I snap, glaring at the flat tire on my car. Well, Joanne’s spare car that she’s letting me use.

  As a part of some of the youth programs in the prison, we were able to get our license, which was beneficial for us when we entered the outside world again. We were also made to finish school. At the time, I didn’t care for any of these things, but I’m suddenly very grateful now.

  I’m a nervous driver, and every time I’m behind the wheel, I feel a strong anxiety building in my chest, but I have to get back out there. I have to find a job. I have to get back into life. I can’t rely on Joanne forever.

  Now I’m staring at her car, wondering what the hell happened. Somehow, in the time since I’ve gotten out of it and walked the entire main street looking for a job, it has gotten itself a flat.

  I don’t know how to change a damn tire.

  Hell, I don’t even know what the ever-loving hell I need to do so.

  “Need some help?”

  I flinch and stand upright way too fast. I stumble backwards and a big hand curls around my arm before I hit the pavement and hauls me back up to my feet.

  I look up, fumbling. “Shit. I’m so clumsy. Thank . . .”

  I trail off when I get a look at the man who pulled me up. He’s probably the most terrifyingly beautiful creature I’ve ever had the pleasure of laying my eyes on. Of course, I haven’t had a great deal of men to look at, but this one . . . wow.

  He’s tall, like, easily six foot. His muscles practically make up the entirety of him. He’s ripped, probably from head to toe. He’s huge in build, with broad shoulders, big biceps and the strongest-looking forearms I’ve ever seen. He has tattoos running all the way up them, disappearing under his shirt and popping out again at his neck, reaching right up to his ear.

  Holy crap.

  Then there is that face. He’s the very meaning of tall, dark, and handsome. Add a little danger, and you’ve got the perfect man. His dark hair is messy atop his head. His face is shadowed with a light beard that only makes him look more rugged. He has the most incredible deep brown eyes I’ve ever seen. He’s got a chiseled jaw, full lips, and a scar through his eyebrow.

  He’s incredible.

  “Don’t mention it.”

  He releases me and I steady myself, feeling my cheeks burn. Am I blushing? Good lord, someone make it stop.

  “Need a hand?” he asks again.

  “Oh, ah, yes please. My tire is flat. I’ve never had to change one before.”

  He looks at me, like he’s surprised by that. “That so.”

  I give him a sheepish smile. “That’s so.”

  “Let me take a look for you. Name is Tanner. What’s yours?”

  “Oh, ah, Callie.”

  Tanner.

  Holy hot.

  He walks to the trunk of my car when I pop it open, and pulls out everything he needs. He gets to work undoing my flat and replacing it with the spare.

  “How come you’ve never changed a tire?”

  Because I’ve been in prison since I was sixteen.

  “I’ve just not been in a situation where someone has had a flat, I suppose.”

  His eyes flicker up in my direction, and then he focuses back on the car. “You new to town? Haven’t seen you around this area before.”

  “No, I mean, well . . . I suppose. I used to live here when I was younger. I went away for a while.”

  “Oh yeah? Where’d you go?”

  Shit.

  Shit.

  “To, ah, California . . .” I hate lying. Despise it.

  “Nice,” he murmurs, tightening the bolts before standing and putting the flat into the back of my trunk and closing it. “All done. You live around here?”

  I nod. “Yeah, about ten minutes away. I’m just out today looking for a job.”

  His brows go up, and he crosses those big arms. “Yeah, what do you do?”

  “Anything. Literally, anything. I just want to work.”

  He nods, and then says, “My sister owns a cafe. She’s looking for new staff. It’s over the road about two blocks down. It’s called ‘Cece’s Place’. Tell her Tanner sent you; she’ll no doubt be willing to talk to you.”

  “Really?” I say, my voice going higher with my happiness. “Thank you so much.”

  He shrugs. “Know how hard it can be to get a job around here.”

  I smile and tuck the card into my pocket. “What do you do?”

  “Mechanic. Ex-military. Few friends and I got a garage just around the corner. Keeps me busy.”

  “That’s super cool.” I smile.

  “Yeah,” he murmurs, studying my lips.

  I’m suddenly very conscious of myself. Do I look good? Am I what men find attractive? I don’t even know what the style is these days.

  The horrible truth is . . . I’m still a virgin.

  I mean, I was when I went away, and obviously, I wasn’t going to sacrifice the V-card in prison. I don’t even know what a date feels like, let alone how it feels to be a with a man.

  I do know that my body is very aware of the man standing in front of me. A dull ache is forming between my legs that is not going to leave me until I go home and make it disappear.

  Yes, my body is ready for sex.

  I just have no idea where to start.

  “We’re havin’ a party this week, celebrating our first anniversary bein’ open. It’s for everyone. You want to get out, see the town and meet people, you’re welcome to come.”

  Oh God. He’s inviting me out. I swallow, and say, “That sounds good.”

  “Give me your number; I’ll text you the address.”

  I give him my number. Jo got me a phone as soon as I got out, too. She said I’d never get a job if I didn’t have a way for people to contact me.

  “Thanks, I’ll send you the address and then you’ll have my number, too.”

  Oh boy.

  “Great, thank you for all your help. I really appreciate it.”

  He nods and says, “Catch you around, Callie.”

  I watch him walk to his . . . motorbike! How did I miss that? It’s parked right in front of Jo’s car. I try not to eye him as he throws on a helmet and gets on the massive green machine and starts it. A loud rumble fills the street.

  I keep my eyes on him as he disappears. Only when he has do I turn to the car.

  Well, that was unexpected.

  Maybe this isn’t going to be so scary after all.

  “YOU ALREADY GOT A NUMBER?” Joanne cries, staring down at the card I’ve handed her. “How is this even possible?”

  “I got a flat tire,” I tell her. “He fixed it.”

  “You mean I got a flat tire.” She grins.

  “Shit, yeah. I’ll get you another tire.”

  She waves a hand. “Do not even worry about it. It wasn’t your fault. Now, tell me more about this mysterious guy. Was he hot? Rugged? Rich? Talk to me.”

  “He was hot.” I nod. “Rugged. Rode a motorbike.”

  “No shit!” she cries. “How awesome. Did he have tattoos?”

  “All. Over. Him.”

  “Oh God,” she squeals. “My poor vagina!”

  I laugh. “Calm down over there. He invited me to some anniversary party for his garage, if you’re up to join in?”

  “When?”

  “On the weekend.”

  “Do you think he has hot friends?”

  “Honey, you’re married.”

  She huffs. “Doesn’t mean I can’t look. I’m totally in, anyway. I’ll check Patrick doesn’t have a date lined up, but I’m sure he doesn’t. I’m all over this.”

  I grin.

  “Tell me you’re going to climb that man like a damned tree?”

  I snort. “Not . . . not likely.”

  “Come on, you’ve been in prison for so long. You must be desperate for a man.”

  I purse my lips. “I wouldn’t know. I’ve never had one.”

  Joanne doesn’t know this about me. She has no idea
I’ve not been with anyone. To tell the truth, we all told tales when we were young, about having sex and being with men, but it was just that for me...a tale. The conversation hasn’t come up again since, obviously we had better things to talk about when she visited me in prison.

  “Wait a second,” she gasps, putting her hands over her mouth and muttering through home. “You’re a virgin? But when we were sixteen you told me you and-”

  I roll my eyes and cut her off. “I said what everyone was saying, that I’d done it. I haven’t. It’s no big deal.”

  “Honey, I cannot believe you kept this from me. You need to do something about this, asap. You’re missing out.”

  “I was planning on dealing with it soon . . .”

  “Dealing with it.” She rolls her eyes now. “It’s not a naughty child; it’s something pretty important. Don’t just throw it at anyone, but honey, you need to throw it at someone. Say, like, a hot guy at a party on the weekend . . .”

  “I’m certain he probably has girls every damned week of his life. It would be awkward. I don’t know . . . anything.”

  Her eyes go wide. “Nothing?”

  “Well, I’m not stupid. I know how everything works; I’ve read enough books to know what romance is, but when it comes to experience, I don’t have any.”

  “What about that guy you were seeing before the accident . . . what was his name?”

  “Joshua.”

  She claps. “Yeah, him. You two made out all the time. Surely you went further than that?”

  “I gave him a blow job.” I shrug. “He very clumsily fingered me. That was it.”

  “Oh boy. This is just . . . oh boy.”

  “Shocking, I know,” I mutter. “But I didn’t exactly have many opportunities in the last six years.”

  Jo’s face falls. “Honey, I’m sorry. That was insensitive. Of course you didn’t.”

  I smile at her. “Don’t sweat it. It’ll happen . . .”

  “Well, if you want to know anything, I’m your girl. I mean, I’ve only been with Patrick, but I’d say I know enough to answer your questions. Besides we’re not in high school anymore. It’ll all come fairly naturally to you when you’re in the heat of the moment. My only advice? Let the man lead, and make sure he really, really, really gets you worked up before he throws it in.”