Conveniently Convicted (Paranormal Prison) - Ivy Asher Page 0,64

agreeing to his claim of ownership over me. So there.

I quickly make up the bed, and then I test out all my new stuff. I collapse into my beanbag throne, letting the bright colors wrap around me. My mini-fridge is stocked full of soda, water, sandwiches, yogurt, and candy bars. My TV has a stack of brand new DVDs beside it, and my eyes run over the titles.

Pride and Prejudice. 10 Things I Hate About You. The Proposal. How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days. Overboard. The Ugly Truth.

There’s a shit ton more, and every single one of them is an Enemies-to-Lovers romance.

I grit my teeth. Alpha Bowen thinks he’s so fucking funny and clever. I’d like to let my cockatrice peck his ass. If he thinks he’s gonna go from enemy to lover status, he’s sorely mistaken.

I’m still gonna watch all of those, though. Not because I’m falling for his shit, but because I have serious TV withdrawals, and I’ve always been a sucker for Mr. Darcy.

“Right there, Joe, that’s perfect,” I tell my troll BFF as he drops down another chunk of broken concrete.

It’s very handy to have a dude around with so many muscles. He shoves the block up against the others that he’s gathered so that I have a broken hodgepodge surface that somewhat functions as a table. I needed something to display what I’m selling today.

I walk around the surface laid out on the ground of the rec yard, eyeing the patchwork concrete. “Hmm,” I say, going to the left where I see one of the clumps has a sharp edge poking out. “Can you take care of that, big guy?” I ask, pointing at the piece of concrete that’s jutting out.

Joe clomps over, grabs the heavy slab, and takes a bite right out of it. Now that he’s chewed off the jagged part, he sets it back down, and I have a much smoother edge for my “table.”

I beam at him. “Perfect. You did such a good job!” I say, giving him my best encouraging voice as I pat him on the side.

With a table to work with, I’m ready now. Let’s hope everyone likes these more than the shanks.

I put my fingers in my mouth and let out an ear splitting whistle, calling attention to everyone in the rec yard. The forty or so inmates around look over, and I know it’s go-time.

“Hey!” I wave excitedly.

No one waves back.

“Tough crowd,” I mumble to Joe. He picks up another piece of concrete and starts eating it.

The inmates go back to doing whatever they were doing, and the guards continue to stand around the perimeter, talking shit and doing their best to look intimidating.

Alright, guess I’m gonna need more than just my shining personality to draw people in. Time to pull out the merchandise.

Since we aren’t allowed to actually bring anything outside with us, I had to stuff everything into my pockets. I start pulling the pieces of fabric out one by one and laying them on my concrete table, smoothing the wrinkles out.

The moment I start laying the pieces out, people start to take notice. By the time I put down the last one, I have an audience. Bingo.

“What’s this?” Zen asks, coming to the front of the gathering crowd.

“My new store,” I tell her proudly.

Everyone’s eyes are riveted on the fifteen pairs of underwear I’ve displayed like a Victoria’s Secret employee putting out the BOGO sale on V-day.

Zen picks one up by the corner. “How the hell did you make these?” she asks, staring at what once was a pair of standard, prison-issued, white granny panties and is now a super fun thong, complete with pink rhinestones in the shape of an ice cream cone on the front. “Lick me until ice cream,” she reads, and I beam at my ingenuity of stitching that on.

I nod and pluck them from her fingers to hold up for everyone to see. “I’m tackling an injustice here, people,” I tell my fellow lawbreakers. “We are self-respecting females, and we deserve better underwear than the bleached butt bloomers we’ve been forced to endure,” I say with complete seriousness. “No more,” I declare, passionate enough to be giving a women’s rights speech. “Our asses deserve better than these,” I say, holding up one of the plain pairs of underwear that we’re all issued to prove my point. “These are sad, and I’m here to make sure no one has to go through panty shame ever again.”

The females

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