PROLOGUE
END OF PERSUASION
Nick
Chains rattled against concrete in the long empty corridor as Domenic Jaskulski shuffled the best he could with the shackles around his ankles, two guards in front, two behind.
Nick could just barely make out the occasional, faint buzz of doors being opened and closed, but otherwise, it was relatively quiet in this area of the prison.
Or as quiet as anywhere in a prison could possibly be.
“You know the drill,” one of the obtuse guards grunted in an unrefined, Southern accent that gave all people from this part of the country the reputation of being an inbred hillbilly.
Nick had zero patience for those who had no desire to better themselves. To educate themselves. It made him wild with rage.
But he wouldn’t act on it.
It was important he not draw any attention to himself.
Otherwise, the plan to finally be reunited with his one true love would fall apart.
He couldn’t have that.
“Would you be so kind as to remind me of the drill again, Officer?” Nick asked, his voice exuding superiority and class. “I don’t believe I quite remember, as I’ve only been doing this very thing every week for the past several years.”
“Enough with the snotty remarks, jackass.”
The officer opened the door, practically pushing Nick into the room, causing him to stumble slightly. Grabbing his elbow, he dragged him toward the table where a man dressed in black sat, patiently waiting for their weekly spiritual advisement.
“But I do so enjoy our banter. I find our conversations quite…invigorating. Intellectually stimulating. Why, just last week, I was surprised to learn you knew the proper use of regardless, instead of using irregardless. I’ll be honest. Hearing some of your brethren utter that abomination makes me just…murderous.”
“Shut it, asswipe,” the officer ordered, all but shoving him onto the cold, metal chair. “Or I’ll revoke your visitation privileges for the next month, irregardless of whether it’s a clergy visit.”
The officer retrieved a key from his belt, forcing Nick’s hands on the table. With rough motions, he secured the cuffs to the bar in the center, shot Nick a glare, then retreated from the stark, cold room.
Unlike the other visitation rooms, there were no windows. No cameras. Nothing.
There couldn’t be. It wasn’t allowed when inmates met with their lawyers or spiritual advisors. It was truly the only place one could conduct any conversation in private.
And, for these conversations, privacy was essential.
Once the heavy door slammed shut, the buzz indicating it was locked, Nick slowly lifted his eyes to the young man sitting across the table, a leather-bound bible in front of him.
He pushed it toward Nick, who opened it to a book in The Old Testament. Leviticus, to be precise. When his eyes fell on a photo, his heart skipped a beat, a slow smile curving on his lips at the woman in the image.
Beautiful.
Naked.
Dead.
“Forgive me, Father,” Nick began, slowly raising his gaze to meet a pair of clear, blue eyes, “for I believe you have sinned.”
The visitor’s lips twisted up in the corners, his devious grin nearly identical to Nick’s.
“You know what they say. Like father, like son.”