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Revenge (Reckless Renegades MC, #1) by Jessica Gadziala is LIVE!
He took everything from me.
I planned to get it all back.
I didn't need any distractions.
Yet there she was anyway...
He took the only thing that mattered to me.
I would do just about anything to get it back.
Even if that meant relying on some outlaw biker fresh
out of prison with slim to no hope of succeeding in
It was supposed to be a simple arrangement.
Quid pro quo.
But there was no denying it, things were quickly
getting very personal…
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There's a reason pimps and drug dealers wear gold chains.
Aside from maybe thinking they look good or that others see it as a status symbol.
See, when you're arrested, cops can take your cash if they claim it's connected to illegal activity.
Civil asset forfeiture.
A fucking crime in and of itself if you ask me.
And while they can take your hard-earned cash, they have to give you back your personal items.
This was what was on my mind as I stood in front of a desk manned by a middle-aged guy with a beer belly and jowls that jiggled when he talked - likely stuck at a desk job when they realized he'd likely have a major cardiac incident if he even tried to subdue an out of control prisoner.
It was lucky I was raised up to know the finer points of a criminal lifestyle. Otherwise, the bag Mr. MyWifeHasn'tSuckedMyDisckSinceTheNineties was going through would only have consisted of my wallet with cards that had likely expired, a cell that was long dead, and an old condom.
Not the Submariner Date Rolex 40mm Oystersteel and yellow gold watch he was currently fondling with sausage fingers.
Even used, it would clear me a cool ten grand.
More than enough to get me home.
From there, I could access the cash stores I had stashed so deep that no one even knew they existed.
Not even the backstabbing motherfucker who took everything else from me.
"Now, don't come back, y'hear?" he asked as I signed the paperwork in front of me, accepting the gate money - cash from my commissary prison grind accounts - and tucking it into my pocket.
"If I'll be inside bars again, it will be at a supermax," I told him, shooting him a smirk when his mouth fell open slightly. He was likely used to everyone telling him that they had no intentions of going to prison again, that they were innocent in the first place, yadda fucking yadda.
I wasn't the most moral of men.
But I wasn't a liar.
I did what got me inside in the first place.
And, with what I had planned now that I was free, there was a good chance I was going back.
It would be worth it.
But I wasn't necessarily naive enough to think I would get away with it.
There was a good chance I would end up in San Quentin on death row waiting for that fateful day they'd strap me to a table and inject liquid fire into my veins.
Again, it would be fucking worth it.
I was just realistic about my future.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Jessica Gadziala is a full-time author, coffee drinker, parrot enthusiast, and sad song aficionado who enjoys cold weather and short rides to the bookstore. She has developed an unhealthy obsession with acquiring houseplants. She lives in New Jersey with her seven parrots and six dogs.
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