Touched by a Thief

By: Jana Mercy


Monty Sinclair pushed against the cold concrete prison floor, lifting her body in repetitious presses. Sweat drenched her thin tank, causing the cheap gray material to cling to her body. A loud clang echoed, but she didn’t glance up to see who approached. Probably just another guard. They came by the dozens, and she’d learned to tune out intruders to her solitary existence on her first day behind bars.

Tuning out the curious eyes was the only way she could stay sane in this hell hole.



Damn her stupidity for trusting Ian.



She worked alone. Always. Then Ian came along and…and now she lived twenty-four-seven in this rotten maximum security cell.



Damn him for what he’d done to her.



“Get over here, bitch,” she heard the warden call.



Monty ignored him and continued with her push-ups. Ninety-eight. Ninety-nine. One-hundred.



Clang. Her cell door opened.



Footsteps. Not the warden’s, but male. Close to two-hundred pounds. Cologne, deep and musky, expensive. He came alone.



One-hundred-and-one. One-hundred-and-two.



She fought the urge to look, but didn’t give in. If nothing else inside this hell hole, her pride remained intact.



That and her anger at Ian’s betrayal, her thirst for vengeance.



A pair of fancy leather shoes came into her line of sight. Above the shoe rode the perfectly cut cuff of dark designer slacks.

One-hundred-and-three.

“I’d like to talk to you,” an unfamiliar voice said. Smooth and upper crust. Slick like that of a politician. A voice who wanted something from her.

“Talk.” One-hundred-and-four. She had no reason to make pleasantries with this man or any other. Never again. Not after the number Ian pulled on her. Why had she fallen for his cocky grin and bad boy charm? Why?

“Perhaps you could stand?” He sounded uncomfortable, a little irritated, unaccustomed to anyone not jumping to attention. Based on his expensive aura, he probably wasn’t. Money talked. Always had.

“Seems you have some reputation. The warden says I’m a fool for coming in here alone,” he continued, no doubt checking her out, wondering what all the fuss was about. She wasn’t a big woman, but at five eight she couldn’t be called petite either. After a few months of confinement, she undoubtedly looked wiry—she’d not seen a mirror in weeks--but certainly nothing about her physical appearance would intimidate a man of his obvious stature.

“Since I’m risking your badass reputation, the least you could do is stand so we can have a decent conversation.” He sounded annoyed. And leery.

Her reputation? Did he have her confused with someone else? She was a jewel thief, not a serial killer. Was the warden afraid she was going to take off with the cheap golden band he wore around his left fourth finger? The shiny metal didn’t faze her jewelry thief instincts, just as it didn’t faze the warden’s roving eyes and hands. She wasn’t the only person with a reputation around the women’s penitentiary and after being forced to watch the sick bastard have his way with two of the inmates—pretty young things with large breasts and tight asses who were probably working off a pack of cigarettes or a few bars of chocolate, she’d vowed not to give in to her own body’s tremendous sexual needs until she was free. She wouldn’t give the warden the thrill. No way. Although she had a ferocious sexual appetite she’d always been picky in her lovers. Always.

If one discounted Ian.

But then, one couldn’t discount Ian even if they tried. He’d been the king cock in the hen house and she’d fallen for him. Hard.

Just remembering how he’d felt stretching her, licking her, melting her with his heated touches, made the dampness between her legs rival the exercise-induced droplets trickling over her skin and soaking into her tank.

No, she would not think of Ian that way. The only way that back-stabbing bastard deserved to be thought of was with a knife slashing his throat and him begging for her mercy.

Hmmm, maybe she was more violent than she thought.

Definitely she’d never hesitated to kill during her military stints, but that had been different. As a civilian, even one who played on the wrong side of the law, she’d never entertained thoughts of harming anyone.