Fury of Seduction (Dragonfury Series #3) (4 page)

Call it killing two birds with one stone.

By capturing her, he would honor his friend—finish what Lothair started—all while playing mind games with the enemy. Another missing female for the Nightfuries to chase. Add that gem to the fact Denzeil had discovered Solares was BFFs with the Nightfury commander’s mate
and...you guessed it. Instant torture to a pack of males more interested in protecting humans than their own kind. The double whammy would distract Bastian, drive him and his band of bastards insane as they tried to find her.

All the better for him.

The frenzy would be entertaining to watch. From a distance, of course. He’d be too busy breaking in his new captive: playing cat to her mouse, tossing her in a cage, toying with her until she screamed for mercy, all in the name of payback. And once he had his fill? He’d put her on the end of a hook. Dangle her as bait for the Nightfuries, then close the trap around them when they came to her rescue.

Annihilation inevitable.

Ivar’s mouth curved. Time to stop living in the past indeed. He smelled Kentucky Fried Nightfury in his future. So, yeah...

Rodin, and his pissant Archguard problems, would have to wait.

Good news traveled fast, bad news even faster. Fortunately for J.J., her news hadn’t traveled anywhere at all. Just the way she liked it—everything buttoned up, information on the down-low. The last thing she needed was for word to leak out. At least not until she was ready to share, and that wouldn’t be anytime soon.

Not if she wanted to stay under the radar.

And she did. With all her heart.

Strategize for the coming battle first. Celebrate the victory later.

The plan was a good one. But only if she could pull it off in a place full of nosey parkers and prison yard bullies. Drawing the attention of the hard-core element inside the cellblock wasn’t advisable. Not if she wanted to stay healthy. So she needed to move fast, and getting her sister on board was a definite must. Secrets, like raw meat, didn’t keep inside a prison for very long.

Taking a calming breath, J.J. played it cool, her attitude all about ordinary as she waited outside the last checkpoint.
Steels bars in front of her, a series of locked doors behind her, she stood in limbo as the guard checked the logbook. With a nod in her direction, he unhooked a clipboard from the wall, slid a pen from beneath the metal clip at the top, and wrote her name on the list.

Different day. Identical story.

Check in. Check out. Same old, same old as the guards followed each security measure to a T. Head counts at lights-out every night. Regular cell sweeps designed to crack down on the contraband problem on the inside. Three squares a day. Nothing but routine day after day, month after month.

Right now, though, J.J. didn’t mind the watch-and-wait from inside the cage. Wasn’t annoyed by the double check or the time it took. Today was visiting day, and for the first time ever, she had something other than doom and gloom to share with her sister.

J.J.’s mouth curved.
Good news.
Secret, incredible, fantastic news. An ache bloomed in the center of her chest. The sensation was unfamiliar...long forgotten. And no wonder. After four and a half years inside, she’d forgotten what hope felt like.

“Jamison Jordan.” The raspy voice, flavored with a down-home hint of Georgia, came from the other side of the bars. “You gonna be a problem today?”

Startled from her thoughts, J.J. blinked and glanced up. Dark brown eyes met hers. Round face decorated by dark skin, the guard gave her a stern look. Anyone worth their salt would’ve taken the warning seriously. Not her. J.J. smiled instead. Sometimes a hard shell protected a soft center or, in Officer Rally’s case, a big heart.

“Nah, not today, Reggie,” she said, her tone edged by the amusement he always brought out in her. “I’m in a good mood.”

Dark eyes twinkling, he snorted. Keys jangled, bumping against his utility belt as he approached the steel door. “Good to know, missy. Let’s keep it that way, shall we?”

“Don’t I always?”

“Ha! Trouble wrapped up in a small package, that’s what you are,” he murmured, teasing her.

God love him. Reggie was a real gem, the only guard who’d ever truly given a damn about her. Like the father figure she’d never had, he encouraged her every step of the way. Pushed to her to work harder, think faster...be better. And thanks to him, she
was
better. Smarter too. Without him, she never would’ve finished her college degree. J.J. shook her head, marveling at the irony. Go figure. She’d gone to prison to get an education.

Totally off-the-wall crazy.

Reggie unclipped the key ring from his belt. The collection jingled in his hand as he unlocked the door and swung it wide, inviting her to step through. Brushing by him, she came out clean on the other side, one right turn and sixty-three paces from her entrance into the visitor center. She knew because she always counted out the steps. Call it habit. Call it boredom with a slaphappy helping of the mundane. But those sixty-three strides mattered. Each one brought her closer to Tania when she visited.

And on those Saturdays, her sister became the center of her universe.

The urge to get a move on poked at her. J.J. ignored her itchy feet and waited, following protocol as the steel door clanged shut behind her and Reggie locked up. Seconds
away from being unleashed, J.J. leaned forward, chancing a quick peek around the blind corner and down the double-wide corridor.

Yup. Nothing but ordinary in a sea of normal.

The two guards flanking the solitary door—backs facing the wall of frosted glass, arms crossed, and expressions set—weren’t paying attention. Not to her. Not to Reggie, either. Excellent. Just the chance she needed. She was dying for an update.

Reclipping his keys, Reggie stopped alongside her.

“How’s Helen?” she asked, keeping her voice low.

“Better,” he whispered back. No one, least of all Reggie, wanted their friendship broadcast. The father–daughter thing wouldn’t go over well. Trouble started that way. Inmates would squawk. Accusations of favoritism would fly—even though it wasn’t true. If anything, Reggie pushed her harder, expected more from her than anyone else. “Doctor says she’ll make a full recovery.”

J.J. smiled her relief. Thank God for excellent doctors. The last thing Reggie needed was to bury his beloved wife. “Good news.”

“Almost as good as yours.”

J.J. froze. Her gaze snapped back to his as she ping-ponged, her happiness for him turning an ugly corner into fear for herself. Struggling to breathe, she swallowed the sudden swell of panic. “Who else knows?”

“Just the warden,” he said, his tone soft with understanding. “Don’t go getting all twisted up about it. I’m not telling, and the warden’s got better things to do than piss on your parade.”

“Hey, Rally,” one of the guards in the adjacent corridor called. “What’s the holdup? She coming or what?”

Playing the game, Reggie gripped her arm, curling his big hand around her biceps, and walked her around the corner. Giving her a stern look, he gave her a gentle push, urging her along the corridor. “Get moving now...visiting time’s almost over.”

With a nod, J.J. did as she was told. As she walked the length of the hallway, her shoes didn’t make a peep on the newly waxed floor. No surprise there. She hardly ever made a sound. Silence was her thing...the weapon of choice in a place where flamboyance and mouthing off got you all the wrong attention.

All the more reason to keep her secret undercover.

Inmates were like vultures: constantly circling, waiting for the right time to strike. And when they found a weakness? A shakedown almost always followed, so...yeah, fading into the background—helping people forget you existed—was always the best survival strategy.

A prison guard pulled the door to the visiting center open for her. Murmuring her thanks, J.J. slipped over the threshold into organized chaos. She stood unmoving a moment, scanning the crowd, listening to female voices mixed with deeper male ones. The symphonic hum collected against the high ceiling before rebounding, bouncing off white cinder-block walls stenciled with
NO SMOKING
and
NO PROFANITY
warnings. Heavy-duty furniture dotted the landscape: table legs bolted to the concrete floor, uncomfortable seats welded to steel frames, nothing but utilitarian, old, and ugly.

Funny thing, though. No one ever complained about the lack of comfort. No one cared. All that mattered was the contact, the sit-chat-and-catch-up as inmates reunited with families, lovers, and friends. J.J. watched
the animation a moment—absorbing the comfort of smiling faces, fluttering hand gestures, and bright eyes—then scanned the tables, looking for her sister in the crowd.

She spotted Tania near the back of the room. Her mouth curved, happiness lighting her up from the inside out. It never failed. Loyal to a fault, her sister always showed up, and J.J. was so grateful she fought a flood of tears every time she saw her sitting there. Waiting patiently. Facing the reality of her situation without flinching. So much love and acceptance in her eyes it made J.J. wonder what she’d done to deserve it.

Nothing, she knew. In fact, quite the opposite.

She’d shot and killed a man with a stolen .22 caliber.

Did it matter that she’d had little choice? That his threats to kill her hadn’t been idle, but imminent? No. Not even a little. To protect herself and Tania, she’d lured her abusive boyfriend into a trap, provoked him into attacking, then pumped him full of lead. So, no, she didn’t deserve her sister’s understanding or the biweekly visits. But the manslaughter charge along with a fifteen-year sentence were worth the loss of her freedom. Thanks to her, Tania was still alive, and so was she.

As she approached, Tania smiled in greeting but didn’t get up. It was safer that way. J.J. needed a hug so badly she could taste it—and her sister wanted to give her one—but physical contact wasn’t allowed. The one time they’d broken that all-important rule and embraced, the guards had gone one hundred shades of badass on her, revoking her privileges for a month.

“Hey, Baby J.” Planting her forearms on the pitted tabletop, Tania leaned toward her. “How goes the war?”

“Better than yours, I think,” J.J. said, getting a load of the anger in her sister’s eyes as she slid onto the bench seat opposite her. Yikes. That didn’t bode well. Whenever Tania got upset, tornado-like chaos followed, taking out everything in its path.

Tania grimaced. “My pissed off is showing, isn’t it?”

“Thundercloud times ten.” Rubbing the inside of her wrist, J.J. traced the corner of the letter she’d tucked beneath the material of her long-sleeved shirt. She breathed out in relief. It was still there. Still folded end over end, safe and sound, right where she needed it to be. “What’s the matter? Griggs get in your face again?”

“The little weasel made me take off my boots,” she said, her tone a shade shy of murderous. “Again!”

“Jag-off.”

“No kidding. What does he think I’m smuggling in them...a switchblade? It’s not like he doesn’t put me through a metal detector or anything.”

“Probably just has a thing for your toes.”

Tania huffed. “Foot fetish scuzball. One swift kick—”

“And good aim.”

“—that’s all I need.”

“Forget the riding boots, then,” J.J. said, grinning like an idiot. She couldn’t help it. Tania always made her laugh. “Invest in some solid steel-toes. Better crunch factor.”

They both laughed, enjoying the fantasy. The guard patrolling their side of the room glanced their way. Nothing unusual about that. Tania always got a lot of attention. Men loved to look at her. And with her sable hair pulled off her face and burgundy-flecked eyes full of laughter? Tania’s gorgeous factor doubled.

Not that her sister knew it. Heck, she didn’t know she was pretty at all.

Sure, Tania dressed to kill—always wore the latest and greatest—but that was just a defense mechanism. More about their upbringing, about never having enough and going hungry every day. But most of all? Her sister never wanted to hear anyone call her poor white trash ever again. J.J. could relate, although not on the same level. After their mom’s death, Tania had shielded her: giving J.J. her share to eat, working two jobs to keep a roof over their heads and shoes on her feet.

At eighteen, Tania had been smarter—and more responsible—than most people twice her age.

Swallowing past the lump in her throat, J.J. shrugged off the pain. The past was the past. She couldn’t change it or her mistakes. But here...right now? Today held the promise of tomorrow and maybe...just maybe...the second chance she needed to make things right.

“So...” One eye on the guard, J.J. waited until he pivoted and strode in the other direction. When he reached the midpoint in the room, she slipped the folded letter from her shirtsleeve. Trapping the paper between her palm and the table, she met Tania’s gaze. “I’ve got some news, but you have to promise me something.”

“What?”

“No freaking out.” Stacking her forearms in front of her, she leaned in and whispered, “And keep your voice down. No one else can know, okay?”