“You okay, Cupcake?”
“I’m more nervous than I thought.” She whispers back.
“You have your letter?”
She nods. “Yes.”
Kyra wrote a letter for the parole board detailing her brutal assault, reminding them of the things Brolin is capable of doing. The DA who handled his case utilize court transcripts to help her craft the right words that will hopefully keep him in prison the full twenty.
After that—well, all bets are off.
I’m sitting to her left, Dem is to her right, both of us are holding one of her hands and not giving a fuck what anyone thinks about it. Kerr sits behind her and plays with her long red hair that’s pulled back in a simple, yet elegant braid. He leans forward and rests his forehead against her back.
“Thank you for being here.” Kyra says loud enough for all of us to hear. “I know I tried to talk you out of coming, but now that we’re here, I’m so thankful to have my husbands standing by.”
Oh yeah—we got married almost three months ago, a week after she found out she was pregnant. She’s only now starting to show. None of it was planned, although none of it was exactly a surprise, and we just ran with it. On paper Kyra and Kerr are married, officially making her Kyra Kerrigan, although she never legally changed her last name. Kyra Stewart is our wife, and in six months will be the mother of our child, and then from there—who knows?
Three people enter the room and sit at the table while another couple enter through the same doors we walked through. They are wealthy judging by their clothing, so I assume they are Brolin Mann’s parents. Both of them have enough humility to not look Kyra in the eye.
“Parents?” Dem asks.
“Yeah.” She nods, her eyes glued to them.
Then a couple of correctional officers walk an inmate in wearing the usual garb. He doesn’t look like much, but unfortunately a guy’s size doesn’t always translate to his strength, and it certainly doesn’t effectively measure his crazy.
“Jesus. Prison has not been good to him.” Kyra mutters under her breath.
“Don’t feel sorry for him, Kitten. It’s part of the act.” Kerr growls behind our heads.
“I don’t feel sorry for him.”
Dem sucks in a breath. “No mercy, Angel.”
A court person reads a bunch of announcements on how this hearing will proceed. Then the list of convicted charges are read, and then Kyra is invited to address the board.
It kills me to let her stand up on her own. I exchange a look with Dem and Kerr and know its killing them too.
Kyra stands up, clears her throat, and reads her prepared statement, reminding the parole board and his parents of the heinous and brutal treatment he showed her eight years ago. Hearing the detail from her lips fills me with a rage so tenable, bile rises in my throat. I want to kill this muthafucker. I want to take him somewhere remote, torture him for fun, and then cut him into small, bitesize pieces for the local wildlife to feast upon.
Instead, I tap into my calm reserve, take a deep breath, and let it out slowly, hearing both Kerr and Dem do the same.
Then, unfortunately, Brolin gets an opportunity to speak for himself.
Kyra sits between Dem and myself clutching our hands so hard, she damn near crushes my fingers.
Brolin reads from his own piece of paper, his head down. “I’m sorry for what I did to you, Kyra. It was a horrible act committed by a man intent on taking what wasn’t his to have. I thought I was in love and therefore entitled to you, but after years of therapy, reading, and prayer, I know my actions were nothing more than a product of the privileged life I was born into.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Kerr growls low in his throat.
I have to agree. I can’t believe he’s blaming his actions on his wealth and privilege. Unfuckingbelievable.
“I’ve spent my time incarcerated trying to better myself by letting go of my anger and resentment, preparing to be a useful tool to society. If I’m released, I will use my education and wealth to help others through the church and by spreading His good word.”
Brolin puts the paper down and then looks at Kyra and it takes everything within me not to rise up out of my chair. The fucker doesn’t take his eyes off her, which only infuriates me more.
“I understand you’re married with a child on the way. I wish you all the happiness with your new life. Maybe now you’ll let me find my own joy.”
Kyra pales, her breathing heavy. “You’re a liar, and a bully, and yes, and entitled piece of shit, but you deserve no joy. No happiness. No freedom.”