Record of Wrongs (Redemption County Book 1) Read online

  Record of Wrongs

  Sharon Kay

  This is a work of fiction. Any actual places are used in a fictional context. Other names of places and people are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual places or people is purely coincidental.

  Record of Wrongs

  Cover art by Kim Killion at The Killion Group, Inc

  Editing by Janet Michelson

  Interior design and formatting by

  Cheryl Murphy at Ink Slinger Editorial Services

  Copyright

  Record of Wrongs © 2017 Sharon Kay

  Books By Sharon Kay

  The Solsti Prophecy series

  Wicked Wind

  Wicked Waves

  Wicked Flames

  On Wicked Ground

  Companion to the Solsti Prophecy series

  Kissed By A Demon Spy: A Novella

  The Watcher’s Kiss series

  Tainted Kiss

  Assassin’s Kiss

  Captive’s Kiss

  Awakening Kiss

  A Titan World Novella

  Twisted Desire

  Contents

  Books By Sharon Kay

  Acknowledgements

  Prologue

  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

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Epilogue

  Record of Wrongs Playlist

  Coming Soon

  About Sharon

  Acknowledgements

  First, a huge, sincere thank you to my readers! Without you, these stories would remain untold. Your support, comments, and messages motivate me and mean more to me than I can possibly express.

  Thank you to my amazing husband, for your patience and support of my writing. And my son—I love your bright and curious mind, and your endless questions. Love you both!

  Thank you to my parents and siblings, my in-laws, and my extended family for your love and encouragement of my creativity.

  Thank you to my beta readers: Claudia, Cristin, Jamie A., Jamie S., and to my proofreaders Toshia and Tarina. Your opinions, advice, and nit-pickiness are invaluable, often hilarious, and always spot-on!

  And a big hug and kiss to the many bloggers I have had the joy to work with. The support you give to indie authors is amazing. Many of you have jobs and families and still make time to read and review dozens (if not hundreds) of books each year, providing exposure for us through insightful and witty reviews, blog tours, cover reveals, and contests.

  Thank you!

  Every saint has a past and every sinner has a future.

  ~Oscar Wilde

  Prologue

  Chunk. The sound of the heavy-duty metal lock disengaging echoed like a mortar shell off the concrete walls. Steel slid open, revealing a stern-faced guard who managed to crack a hint of a smile. “It’s a good day, Zaffino.”

  Cruz walked through the open door and into the bleak hall. Every nerve sparked like the wires of the cars he used to boost thirteen years ago. This day was certainly a good one.

  He was free.

  Every step he took was different. Every smack of his standard-issue sneakers on the cement floor felt lighter. His orange uniform brushed against his skin for the last time as the guard escorted him past the endless rows of cells.

  Some of the men inside shouted words of encouragement and congratulations as he passed. Over the years, they had rotated in an endless cycle of the downtrodden and hardened, the lost and angry. Many were repeat offenders. Many would be there for decades to come. Others glared as he strode down that corridor and yelled insults, cursing him and vowing to see him back here.

  One cell’s resident prowled near the bars of his cell, a huge, smoldering presence. The daggers in his eyes followed Cruz with palpable menace. James Fellows, aka Big J, was a high-ranking member of a powerful Chicago gang known as Los Reyes. He maintained control and influence, even from inside this hell hole. A gravelly snarl tore from his throat as Cruz passed. “I’m gonna find out what you did. This ain’t over, pendejo.”

  Visible on his neck was a crown done in black ink, a symbol of his gang. Scarred, tattooed fingers wrapped around the bars as he spat, narrowly missing Cruz. Big J had made it clear they were enemies from the first day he’d arrived. His subordinates had once smuggled in a knife. Rumor was, he intended to kill Cruz—but it had been discovered before he got that far.

  Cruz wasn’t sure what event Big J was referring to today, but he blocked it out and focused on the steel door at the end of the hall. He hadn’t been through that door in years.

  Ten years.

  Somewhere just on the other side, his mother and sister waited. In ten years, he’d only been able to talk to them on a phone and press a palm to cold glass.

  They reached the door. Through a small triple glass window, another guard nodded. Another lock clicked. Cruz’s guard opened the steel door. “Good luck out there, man.”

  “Thanks.” Cruz walked into the next room, which was just a space with more locked doors. More security. He walked through one more similar room and then into a room that looked like an interrogation room. A steel table and one chair were the only furniture. His attorney, Martin O’Neill, stood with a guard.

  Martin crossed the small room to clasp Cruz’s hand. “Congratulations.”

  “Thank you.” Cruz shook his hand. After a string of crappy lawyers, finally, his sister had helped him get in contact with this man. He’d worked Cruz’s case like a pit bull.

  “Let’s get you the hell out of here.” Martin nodded at the guards. “Gentlemen, thank you.”

  One guard opened the door and Cruz found himself in a hallway with white floors and offices. Some were open, some had flimsy wooden doors. Wood, not steel. Martin led him to one closed door, knocked twice, and pushed it open.

  “Christian!” His mom rushed to embrace him, tears in her eyes.

  His sister Jenna flung her arms around both of them. “Oh my god, Cruz. Finally. Finally!”

  He breathed in their warmth, their emotion, their familiar perfume smells that hadn’t changed. This decade hadn’t been easy for them, either. He closed his eyes for a second and just stood, their love as palpable as their arms holding him tightly. His mom’s fuzzy scarf tickled his chin.

  “We brought you new clothes,” Jenna said. “God knows what they would give you to walk out of here.” She handed him a duffel bag.

  “Thanks.” He took it, finding it heavier than he expected. “How much did you pack in here?”

  “I wasn’t exactly sure of your sizes now,” she shrugged.

  “Bathroom’s over there.” Martin gestured to a door at the back of the room.

  Cruz headed for it and changed as quic
kly as he could. Jenna guessed well, choosing jeans that fit perfectly and a navy button down shirt. She’d packed deodorant and new shoes as well. He glanced at himself in the small mirror.

  Not orange. He looked like a regular person. Not someone who’d lost ten years of his life. Not an inmate. He walked back into the room.

  “Much better,” Jenna declared.

  “We got you a new coat. It’s cold out there.” His mom held up a dark gray parka-type thing.

  “Thanks, Mom.” He eased into it and took in the three people who’d never stopped believing in him. “We ready?”

  “We’re good to go,” Martin said. “But there’s a horde of press outside. You’ve been in the headlines all week. Everyone wants to see you and get a sound bite. I’ll guide you to my car. We stick together. You don’t have to answer any questions. In fact, I recommend you don’t. Though if you want to make a statement, let’s get that figured out now.”

  Cruz shook his head. “Nope.”

  “Someone’s probably going to ask you a stupid question, like ‘how does it feel to be cleared of wrongdoing after all this time?’” Jenna frowned. “How do they think it feels?”

  “I’m not interested in answering,” Cruz said. “I don’t owe them anything. Next week they’ll be on to fresh meat.”

  “Okay then,” Martin said. “I’ll go first. You stay right behind me.”

  They made their way to the front doors, bypassing the security ropes that visitors had to walk through upon entrance. From a window high above, bright sun blazed into the entryway. Martin squared his broad shoulders and shoved open the heavy front door.

  For one second, Cruz just breathed. The sharp bite of winter air felt more vibrant than it ever had. He drew it deeply into his lungs, relishing his first breath outside these walls in a decade.

  They walked down three cement steps and onto a concrete walk that stretched fifty feet toward a parking lot. Only a twelve-foot-high chain-link fence topped with barbed wire stood between him and complete freedom. That, and a massive crowd gathered on the other side of the fence.

  “There he is!” A voice shouted from a pack.

  Questions and calls volleyed toward them. Cameras, both photo and video, were raised to better vantage points as they neared.

  “Mr. Zaffino! Will you give a statement?”

  “Can you tell us how you feel about the reversal of your conviction?”

  “Christian! What are you going to do now that you’re free?”

  A guard opened a gate in the fence to let them pass. The crowd pushed in. Cruz held his mom under one arm and Jenna under the other, keeping them close as they followed Martin. God, these reporters were vultures.

  “Do you have any words for the witness who recanted?”

  “Christian, can we get a photo?”

  “Almost there,” Jenna muttered. “The back windows are tinted. You and Mom get in there. I’ll ride in front. If anyone tries to take pictures they’ll only get me.”

  Cruz could care less if anyone took his picture—hell, cameras were snapping away right and left. A half dozen vans emblazoned with local television channel logos were parked outside, and the chop-chop of a helicopter overhead added to the insanity. But he didn’t want to put his mother through any more. If Jenna coordinating their seating made it easier, that was fine.

  They reached a black SUV. Martin unlocked the doors with a beep of his keys and Cruz and his mom hurried in. News hounds pressed against the car, still shouting. Martin got Jenna in front next, and fought through the throng to get into the driver’s seat. He got in, muttering curses, but started the car and laid on the horn. Slowly, they inched forward.

  Reluctantly, the crowd parted. Martin steered the car away from the prison and onto a rural highway. Cruz had no desire for a final look back. He was done.

  Liberated. Exonerated. Ready to take back his life.

  Chapter 1

  Three months later…

  Rosie Marlow finished filling a third pitcher of draft beer from the tap and set it on a tray with the first two, just in time to see Brenda hustling over from the center of the packed dining area.

  “Tables eight, nine, and ten are happy. And I have six more orders for George.” She reached back to adjust her platinum blond ponytail. “Of all the Friday nights for Tina to call in sick.”

  “I can take this.” Rosie nodded at the tray of pitchers. “Which table?”

  “One. Thanks so much. If this keeps up, I’ll—” Cheers erupted around the room as dozens of people watched the Cubs’ star slugger hit a home run.

  Rosie grinned. She didn’t have a preference for baseball teams but she loved happy customers. And the Cubs winning made people happy. She hefted the tray onto her shoulder and rounded the edge of the bar.

  The table was close—actually it was two tables pushed together to accommodate a large group who’d been hanging out since they got out of work. Rosie didn’t know them, like she knew everyone else in Sundown, but they greeted her with smiles as she set the pitchers down. Then again, who wouldn’t smile when you brought them drinks?

  Most folks would. But as if to illustrate her point, not the three men who sat at one end of her bar like over-privileged princes. She guessed they were college age. They’d been ordering top shelf alcohol, scanning the room to check out every female under forty—including her—and throwing off self-righteous attitude all night.

  But whatever. People like them only showed up once in a while. The majority of the patrons at the Sundown Bar and Grille were a pleasure to be around.

  “Thanks, girl.” Brenda zipped past her on her way back out, carrying a full platter of food.

  “No worries.” Rosie picked up some empty red plastic serving baskets, ready to toss the wrappers in the trash behind the bar.

  “Two more beers when you get a chance, Ro,” said one middle-aged man as she passed.

  “Sure thing, Gene.” He and his brother were two of the biggest baseball fans she’d ever met. They watched every game at the Grille, betting against each other every time.

  On cue, the college guys ordered another round of tequila shots as soon as she was back at her post. “You got it.” Rosie pasted on her friendly neutral smile. Hey, the more they drank, the better tips she got. Usually.

  Moving to the tap, she filled one beer glass, then another, glancing up as Brenda approached with a fistful of new orders. “It’s like folks haven’t eaten all week,” she muttered, as her phone trilled from her pocket. The waitresses weren’t supposed to use their personal phones unless they were on break, but Owen didn’t put up a stink if they just did a quick screen check. “Crap, it’s my babysitter. She never calls.” Worried eyes met Rosie’s own. “I gotta take this.”

  “Sure, go. I’ll take these back.” Rosie grabbed the white paper tickets and shoved them in her apron pocket. She brought the drafts to Gene and his brother, then headed to the kitchen to deliver the orders to George.

  “Nice to see you step away and come back here, Ro.” George took the papers and held them at arms’ length. “Thank the Lord for y’all’s good handwritin’. Can’t read Owen’s to save my life.”

  “We’re so busy tonight.” Rosie massaged the back of her neck. “You good?”

  “Always.” George cracked an egg into a pan, starting part one of his famous breading recipes. “I can cook for an army. Oh wait—I already did.” He grinned broadly at the joke he cracked just about every night.

  “All leading to this place.” Rosie swept her arm in a circle. “Holler for me or Brenda when you’re ready. I’m going back up front.”

  She turned to leave, only to see Brenda appear in the doorway, expression worried. “What is it?”

  “My babysitter’s puking. My sister’s out of town. Mom’s working.” Brenda bit her lip. “I gotta go. But we’re slammed here.” She rubbed her temple. “Sh
it. This is so bad.”

  “You go take care of your babies. It’s only an hour until closing time. I can handle it.”

  “Girl, no! It’s nuts tonight.” Brenda pulled out her phone. “I’ll call Livvie and beg her to work the rest of my shift.”

  “Let me know. I’ll be in front.” Rosie patted her friend on the shoulder and hustled back to the bar.

  She was greeted with the sarcastic jeers of the college guys. “Hey. Did you forget our drinks? We’re waiting.”

  Rosie smiled and grabbed three shot glasses. They were being assholes but yeah, they’d had to wait. She poured three shots in rapid succession and set them down on the smooth, weathered wood of the bar. “So sorry about that,” she murmured.

  “Bout fuckin’ time,” one muttered as he grabbed his glass.

  Let it go. Rosie squared her shoulders. “Again, I’m sorry about the wait.” Chances were they wouldn’t be back, and that was fine with her.

  She crossed to the other end of the bar in time to see Brenda signaling her. “I have to go. Liv’s boyfriend said they got wasted and she’s almost passed out. I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s fine. Go. You don’t want to leave your kiddos with a sick sitter. I got this.” It would add crazy to an already crazy night, but what else was she supposed to do? “I’ll be fine.”

  “I owe you, girl. Thank you.” Brenda turned and hurried out the back door.

  Rosie spared a quick glance around the bar. Everyone had a drink, no one was empty. Time for a thirty second check on George. She found him whistling as he coated chicken strips with his famous breading, happy as punch and not fazed by the unrelenting orders. “It’s just me and you, George,” Rosie called.

  “You got it. I’ll yell extra loud.” He winked and transferred the wings to the fryer.

  Rosie headed back to the bar, scanning the room beyond. An hour to go and the dining room was still three quarters full. Most eyes were on the game, as the Cubs duked it out against the Cardinals. Some of the guys from the local road construction company were in, laughing and joking as they drained a pitcher. She knew most of them. Some had lived in Sundown as long as she had and had gone to school with her or her older brother.