CONVICT

by Callahan, Kelli

  CONVICT

  KELLI CALLAHAN

  Copyright © 2021 by KELLI CALLAHAN

  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 written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Contents

  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

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Epilogue

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  Kelli’s Voracious Vixens

  About the Author

  Also by KELLI CALLAHAN

  Cruel Temptations

  Chapter One

  Charlie

  Harry is the most infuriating man alive. I like to think that I'm a kind person, a patient one. But this greasy man in front of me really pushes me to the limit. I swear to God, I can't do anything right. He wants me to wait tables faster but then he's mad that I'm not taking enough time with the customers. He wants me to wear more makeup so that way more customers come in but then I look too slutty. No matter what I do, he is impossible to please but he’s making me stay in here and listen to him go on and on about all the ways that I am failing and dragging Denton’s Place to the ground.

  I don't know why I work here. Sometimes I consider quitting but I really want to finish college without any student loan debt. I don't know if it's possible to be completely debt-free at graduation but at this point, I've paid three-fourths of my tuition rate by working my ass off every summer here and then part-time during the school year. Honestly, I work more than any other waitress here! Still, he always finds something to complain about.

  Today, he's angry that the tip jar seems lower than usual.

  “Have you been taking tips from the tip jar?” he demands, his face flush with color.

  “No, of course not!” I frown, doing my best to maintain a level head. “My dad's a cop for heaven's sake! You’d think that I would know better than to steal from my employer.”

  “If you aren't taking money from the jar, then you aren't reporting all the tips that you have received.”

  “That's not true either!” I gasp. “Every tip I get, I put in the tip jar and leave it equally. I know how this goes. I've been working here for years, Harry, you should know by now that you can trust me.” I feel the anger rising inside of me, my voice threatening to break.

  I don't do well with confrontation. I don't like to fight or to argue. God, debate class in high school was tragic. Lucy and Abbie would take me aside after class and hug me in the girls bathroom just so I could calm down. I'm not saying I'm weak or anything. Contention just makes me anxious and then I can't focus. I could never do what my dad does every day.

  “I don't believe you. How do I know that you're not taking tips from the tip jar and then just blaming me because you want something to fight about?” I snap without thinking before speaking.

  “What?” he roars, his big face trembling with rage. “What did you just say to me, girl?”

  “I didn't do it, and I don't appreciate being accused of stealing! I'm not a thief! I'm sorry tips were short, but I don't think it's my fault.” I don't even know why he's so mad. It's not like tips go into his salary. Harry just likes something to complain about. I think about quitting more and more these days, especially now that Abbie isn't working here.

  “Typical college student,” he mutters under his breath, turning away from me. “All these entitled little pricks thinking they can do whatever they want, whenever they want. Bad for business.”

  I can feel the anger boiling up within me now as I inhale deeply, trying to remain calm. I need this job. “Again, I am not stealing the tips,” I say, and I feel my calm exterior breaking.

  “Well, I think that's bullshit. Don’t forget to clean and lock up,” he snaps, turning away from me and storming out of the building.

  “Fine, good riddance.” There's no point in arguing with him or chasing after him. Anything I say or do will make the situation worse. I might as well just go back into the dining area and close up for the night.

  Rubbing my hands over my face, I try to remain optimistic. There's no point in walking around angry or letting a man like him ruin the rest of my night. I'll just wipe off a couple more surfaces, lock up, and see if Abbie is free. I know that Lucy is out of town with my dad right now. I was going to go to my mom's tonight, but she canceled at the last minute.

  Walking over to the sign on the front door, I flip it from ‘open’ to ‘closed’ as the metal swings from side to side, making a squeaking sound against the glass. It's been a long day, and I'm glad it's over. Hands deep in soapy water, I hear the front door open and the little bell signal that someone has entered.

  That's strange. The restaurant is closed. Did I forget to lock the door? I frown, glancing up from the dishes. “Sorry, sir. We're closed,” I say, barely giving him my attention as I continue washing, hearing nothing, not even the door closing again. I look up once more and standing before me is a hooded figure. I feel my body tense. This is weird.

  “Sir, I don't know if you heard me, but we're closed. You'll have to come back tomorrow. We open at six and close at seven.”

  The man only stands there staring at me with cold, unfeeling eyes, his hands in his sweatshirt pocket. Swallowing hard, I feel my hands tremble as he turns away from me and walks back toward the door.

  “Oh, thank God,” I mutter under my breath. For a moment there, I was afraid he was going to rob the place. Harry would kill me if I let someone take all of the money in the register. I hear the latch of a deadbolt. I watch, my heart beating faster as he stands motionless with his back to me.

  I try to speak, and as my mouth and my lips part, the stranger turns and looks at me again and pulls out a knife from his sweatshirt pocket.

  “Wait,” I say holding up my hands and stepping back. “What do you want?”

  He says nothing and continues walking toward me, his sneakers squeaking across the cheap linoleum floor.

  “What do you want?” I repeat, my voice high with anxiety. Why isn't he telling me? “What do you want?” Does he want money? The silent man continues to walk over to the counter as I back up further until I hit the wall behind me.

  What am I doing? I need to run. My Converse squeak as I turn on my heel and race through the kitchen.

  The man jumps over the counter in a quick, agile move as I race around, knocking dishes from the bar. They fall to the ground and echo shattering sounds throughout the diner. The kind of sounds that would normally draw instant curses and howls of anger from Harry.

  “Oh no you don't,” his low voice growls, gripping the blue hem of my dress and yanking me back as we fall to the floor together.

  “No!” I cry out, holding up my hands as the knife comes down in a quick slice. And then I see blood― my own blood spilling down one of my arms. No, not like this. It can't happen like this.

  He raises the knife high again. His face is full of surprise as he realizes that I won't go down without a fight. He thrusts the knife down with full force towards my chest, I hold up my arms in a blocking motion― taught to me by my father. The man is stronger than me, but still, I slow him down. As the knife cuts my forearm, I cry out in pain and sob. I need to distract him. I can't die like this. />
  I jerk my knee up in a quick move and his body goes rigid, then he fumbles on top of me. Rolling to the side before his body lands on mine, I don’t waste a moment. Shaking, my blood now flowing to the floor, I run full speed clutching my injured hand to my chest.

  I begin screaming for Harry, who is probably already gone. All of a sudden I feel him grab me from behind. I fall to the floor, hitting my head on the corner of a booth, and see stars.

  “Oh no you don't,” he growls, gripping my forearms as I scream in pain. Sliding one slippery arm free, I reach up and claw him from his forehead to his jaw, leaving a thin trail of blood where my fingernails collided with his skin.

  Howling, he swings his left arm. His hand collides with my face in a quick slap that sends my ears ringing. What is happening right now? I don’t understand why this is happening. Where's the knife? I feel his hands struggle to restrain me. His head is just low enough and I jerk up, sinking my teeth into the soft skin of his ear.

  He jerks his head back and I bite even harder, tasting blood. He roars like a wounded animal. Shoving him away from me and spitting out something from my mouth, I dash behind the counter and dart down the hall. I can’t see him anymore, and I need to hide.

  Standing in the dark while searching, my eyes lock onto the old utility closet. I swing it open, climb in and close the door quietly. My heart beats painfully against my chest as I stand and wait. Holding my hands over my mouth to fight back a whimper, I watch as he stalks down the hall with a silver blade in his hand, smeared with my blood.

  Holding my breath, I look down at the red lines slashed into my arm. How many times did he strike me? I can’t quite remember everything. It feels like a blur. My hands tremble as I reach down for my white apron and press it lightly to my forearm, gasping at the sting.

  I need to know how much damage there is. Stifling a moan, I inspect the wound. I’m going to need stitches or glue; hell, maybe even staples or something. I hold my breath, trying to keep my composure. I need to be calm. I hold my arm to the thin light that comes in through the slats on the door.

  I only see two cuts. One quite long from when I held my hand up to block myself. It runs from my palm to the inside of my right forearm. And then another on the outside of my forearm from when the knife came down hard and across my arm while I was defending myself. I just grateful that it wasn't my wrist, and he didn’t sever an artery.

  Why hasn't he said anything?

  I feel my hands trembling now. Is he gone? I’m too scared to look.

  What if he's out there waiting for me? I mentally kick myself for running to the closet instead of towards the back exit. Then I remember Harry tends to lock it from the outside. If he did that on his way out the door it’s locked from the outside, and there is no way to open it from the inside.

  Maybe I can sneak out and go back to the front door and run for help.

  I feel frozen in fear. I thought I was struggling earlier while confronting Harry. Now I feel paralyzed and unable to make a decision. A painful moment passes, and I can hear the blood drip to the floor below me. Why is this happening? I don’t understand. Is he gone?

  The thoughts race in my mind as I consider opening the closet door. Just as I think to reach for the handle I hear footsteps and the stranger stops in front of the closet. I watch in horror as he turns towards the wooden slats and smiles.

  “Hello, Charlie,” he whispers, reaching for the handle and slowly pulling open the door.

  I feel my heart pound painfully against my chest. I only have a moment. Looking around the dimly lit closet, I see a large flashlight and a can of paint. Grasping the flashlight tightly, I raise it high above me as the door opens. My hand swings down hard and fast, smashing into his skull. I can feel the vibrations from the impact reverberating into my arm.

  “Fuck!” he yells and stumbles forward while holding his head. He collides into my hips and knocks me back a step or two. I can't afford to fall, so I need to keep moving.

  Stepping over him, I run down the hall while slipping and falling into my own trail of blood that I left behind on the floor. I can feel the hot tears flowing down my cheeks. I have to get out. I have to live.

  Pushing myself up onto all fours, I stumble again, feeling dizzy and weak. All I can think is that the people in the movies make this look way easier than it actually is. I finally reach the glass door and press my bloody palm against it with my clumsy fingers slipping on the deadbolt.

  Why won't the damn thing open?

  I hear him coming.

  He's getting closer.

  His heavy breaths echo in my mind. There is no escape. Turning to face him, my fingers on the jam bolt, I cry as I feel his hand close tightly around my throat.

  All the sounds surrounding me dull as my body is pressed harder against the glass. The lights around me seemed to dim as I slide bloody fingers around his firm grip.

  I can feel my eyes begin to roll back as I gasp with a prayer.

  In a desperate move, I thrust with my palms up and against his nose, and I feel it crack. We collapsed to the floor together, and I hear the agony from the man who is now clutching his face.

  Crawling across the floor, I spin around so my back isn’t to him.

  I'm not sure if it’s the blood loss or the oxygen deprivation, but I can feel myself slipping. I am going to die.

  Chapter Two

  Noah

  I drive down the street, enjoying the cool night air. The streetlights are flickering on the pavement with every one I pass. The silence is nice, but it makes me miss my girls. Lucy and Abbie are both out of town right now, and it feels strange to be without them. Lucy and Kenton have been together since last summer, and while I try to be okay with their relationship, it feels… weird.

  Since they got together, I see less and less of her. I'm getting more used to the idea of them together but initially, it was a real shock for me. It took everything I had in me not to kick the guy to the curb. Kenton and I have never seen eye to eye, and I am not fully convinced that he is good enough for my daughter. She seems happy though and I guess that's what matters most of all.

  God knows Lucy deserves happiness. I've put her through so much in the last several years. I don't feel it's really my place to complain about the person she loves anymore. Though I do wonder if her affection for him speaks more of her daddy issues than anything else. And since I am her father, well, maybe that says a lot more about my parenting.

  There isn't much use in thinking back on what I did wrong, I guess. I can't change anything. All I can do is try to be better for them from here on out. Slowing down at a red light and turning up the radio, I try to put it out of my mind.

  Looking over at Denton’s place, I frown. The lights are out, but Charlie's car is still in the parking lot. Charlie is the daughter of Chief Kenton Travers and the best friend of my two favorite girls: Lucy and Abbie. She's a good kid. She’s sweet, smart, bubbly but still a little shy, and she has grown into quite an attractive young woman. While I try to keep my distance from younger women, I can't help but notice the way she’s matured over the years. She looks a lot like her mother Charlotte Traverse, ex-wife of Kenton Traverse. I always thought Charlotte was too good for Kenton, and I can't say that I was sorry the day she realized that too. She left his arrogant ass behind and unfortunately her daughter too. Sure, there was visitation, but Charlie spent most of her time with her dad.

  I have a feeling Kenton will be my son son-in-law here soon. They are engaged but they still haven’t tied the knot. The idea of it sets my teeth on edge. Then again, if he’s my son-in-law, then I can call him irritating nicknames like, “son” and, “boy.” I like the sound of that. Imagining the look on his usually smug face, I chuckle, still sitting at the ridiculously long light.

  Glancing back at the dark parking lot, my smile fades. What is Charlie doing there still? I hope Harry isn't making her work too hard again. He's a miserable bastard and likes to take his misery out on others. I know he enjoys pi
cking on Charlie. She is an easy target and won't stand up for herself, which is exactly what a bully like Harry needs.

  I don't see Harry's car and a waitress shouldn't be out this long after closing time. I wonder if her car is having issues. I can go over and ask, but I'm not sure she will accept my offer of help. Charlie has kept her distance from me as best she could, thanks to the influence of her father. No Chief of Police wants his daughter fraternizing with an ex-con. I can't really blame him, though. I admit it caused some issues for Lucy and Abbie. It's hard to explain to children why their best friend can't come over and play because their dad may or may not be a drug lord.

  Drumming my fingers on the steering wheel while nodding my head to AC/DC, I sigh. Well, it doesn't hurt to offer her help. The worst thing she can do is tell me no. At least I will be able to rest easy knowing that she isn't stranded in the middle of the night.

  Turning the steering wheel and parking my car in the Denton’s Place parking lot, I walk up to the entrance. My heart stops in my chest as my brain processes the bloody handprints on the glass.

  “Jesus Christ, fuck,” I mutter, jogging to the door now and yanking on the handle. It's locked. Peeking in, I see broken dishes around the room.

  What the hell happened here? I yank on the door handle. It doesn't budge.

  Maybe I should shatter it? At the same time, if I shatter the window, then I'm going to have Denton all over me. He’ll demand I pay to replace it, then charge me with breaking and entering

  Standing for a second, I feel conflicted. Screw it. Sliding my hand into my pocket, I pull out my check card; a little trick I learned on the streets. I jimmy the lock, swing it open, and step into the diner. My stomach tightens as I see the blood on the floor. There are dripping trails and odd smears that tell me that there has been a struggle.