Turning in the mirror, I check every angle of my body before my gaze rakes over the clock on my nightstand. “Oh fuck,” I mutter to myself, prancing past the mirror and into my small bathroom to start taming my wild hair before I miss the interview entirely.
For the most part, my hair is generally a mess. I have wild auburn curls, but they’ve had so much abuse from my blow-dryer and straightener that my curls are now somewhat awkward waves, but with just the right amount of product and a good wide-tooth comb, they can still look pretty amazing.
After getting my hair under control, I wipe the smudged mascara from beneath my eyes and start fresh on my makeup routine. Then, I’m back in my walk-in closet, slipping into a pair of white sneakers to complete my outfit. I’m not typically a fan of sneakers. I’m a stiletto heel girl all the way, even when my day consists of being on my feet for hours at a time. Who can blame me? I know what I like, and there’s no resisting a good heel. But for today, I have to resist.
The prison has a strict footwear policy, and unfortunately, a pair of stiletto heels in the wrong hands could be a deadly weapon. While I’m all about people expressing themselves in new, creative ways, turning my heels into a bloody mess is where I have to draw the line.
Being as ready as I’ll ever be, I grab a yogurt from the fridge and hustle my ass out the door, my bag hanging from my elbow and a huge stack of notes shoved under my arm. Nothing but Mother Nature can fuck with me today. I’m too ready. Every little variable has been accounted for. I’ve studied the layout of the prison, and trust me, a copy of those blueprints was hard to come by. I know the names and faces of most of the guards. I’ve studied the cases of the men Stone is surrounded by every day. I know the goddamn menu for the next two weeks. Like I said, I’m prepared, though for the most part, I’m hoping that I won’thave to use any of that information, because today needs to stay on track with my one goal of getting to the bottom of what really happened that night, seven long years ago.
It’s almost a two-hour drive out to Hartley Creek from the city, but I’m here for it. I’ve got snacks, water, and I’ve prepared a prison playlist for the ride—songs like “Locked Up” by Akon and “Smooth Criminal” by Michael Jackson.
Not wanting to get behind on schedule, I put everything on the front passenger’s seat and hit the road. But despite the abundance of snacks and my killer playlist, with every passing mile, the nerves begin eating me alive.
This is it. I’m on my way to meet Stone Blackthorne, the one and only man who has ever held my attention, and I’ve never been so terrified. If the threat of a lifetime behind bars couldn’t get him to talk, then who the hell do I think I am attempting to demand answers?
This is going to be a shitshow.
The two hours out to Hartley Creek Maximum Security Penitentiary for Men feels like a lifetime, and despite having the air blasting right in my face, can somebody tell me why the fuck I’m sweating like this? Is that smell coming from me?
Oh God! What am I doing here?
The panic surges, making my stomach roll, and just as I cut the engine and go to step out of my car, every last snack I consumed comes racing back up, splattering against the sidewalk like a crime scene Lucy Chen and Tim Bradford wouldn’t even touch.
Holy fucking shit. Did that just happen?
Humiliation burns through me as I hastily look around, hoping like fuck that some guard watching over the parking lot didn’t just witness me projectile vomit out of my car door. Grabbing my water, I quickly clean myself up, and just as I notice Jedd’s car pulling into the lot, I panic once again and put my car back into gear, leaving all my dignity behind as Ihit the gas and hurry to a brand-new parking space that hasn’t been destroyed by regurgitated Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups and Flamin’ Hot Cheetos. Though I can’t lie, it certainly made for an interesting color that just came shooting out of me.
Stepping out of my car, I straighten my outfit and double-check that no evidence of my unfortunate snack regurgitation landed on my clothes, and just as I reach for my bag and grab the massive stack of notes I’d prepared, Jedd is pulling up beside me.
“Ready for this?” he asks, stepping out of his shiny Audi that puts my car to shame.
“Born ready,” I say, hoping he can’t see the way my hands shake as I grip my handbag and look ahead at the facility before me. It’s huge. One of the largest maximum security prisons in the country, housing hundreds of convicted felons, all of whom have committed heinous crimes.
The prison is divided into four quadrants—quadrants A, B, C, and D—and is shaped somewhat like a baseball field. Those four quadrants are then split again into four smaller, more manageable sections which are where the prisoners are housed. A1, A2, A3, A4, right up to D4. Each full quadrant shares a section of conference rooms, a canteen, a visitation hall, and a first aid bay.
Stone resides in section C3, possibly the furthest location from the main entrance, but that’s no problem. It will just be a long hallway that my small team will have to navigate through. Odds are, we won’t see any of the other prisoners. We’ll be escorted by armed guards at all times and then set up in one of the larger conference rooms far away from anybody else.
Jedd and I make our way toward the main entrance of the prison, where multiple armed guards stand waiting at the first security checkpoint. I can see the rest of my team further upahead, already having gotten through the first set of heavy metal gates and trying to get through the next.
We reach the guards, and I immediately hand them my driver’s license. “Aria Ashford. I’m here to interview Stone Blackthorne. It was arranged through his lawyer at Wentworth Lawyers and Associates.”
“Yes, I have your name right here,” the security guard murmurs, waving me to the right as he hands my license to another guard who puts it through some kind of digital scanner. “Please stand aside so our K9 unit can search for any illicit materials or substances.”
I nod and step to the right, watching as another guard steps forward with a German Shepherd that looks as though it could tear me to shreds in three seconds flat. The dog approaches me, looking bored as he sniffs me all over, and I hold my breath as though one wrong move could see my whole damn arm torn off. I don’t dare take another breath until the dog walks away.
“All clear,” the guard says before leading the German Shepherd toward Jedd.
My license is returned to me, and the moment the sniffer dog clears Jedd, we’re buzzed through the first set of gates. Only a billion more to go.
The next checkpoint consists of body scanners like those at the airport, and then we’re asked to remove our shoes and jackets before being thoroughly frisked. While I find it mildly uncomfortable, Jedd looks as though the rare human touch is going to make him come in his pants.
After slipping my shoes and blazer back on, I abandon my handbag in a secure locker. Another guard flips through all my notes, thoroughly searching for hidden contraband, then we’re finally buzzed through to meet with the warden.
He’s older than I anticipated from his photo on the website. It’s probably more than twenty years old, though I get it. If Iwere the warden at a place like this, I couldn’t say that I would have much time to sit for a photoshoot.
He shakes Jedd’s hand before doing the same with the cameraman, Doug, and the sound and lighting technician, Andy, but it doesn’t go unnoticed how I’m only offered a curious glance. Despite the millions of emails that have gone back and forth between us regarding this very interview, he still acts like he doesn’t know why the hell I am here. It immediately puts me on edge, and within the blink of an eye, I already don’t like this guy.
“I’m Warden Marcus Brick, Chief Custodian here at Hartley Creek Maximum Security Penitentiary for Men. I believe we have a big day ahead of ourselves,” he says, already waving us through to the next checkpoint, not wanting to waste time hovering in the foyer. “We’ll get you set up with your visitor badges and give a quick introduction to the guards who will accompany you throughout your time here at Hartley. Are there any questions before we get started on your induction?”
