Dirty Desires (Devil Kings MC #3) - Nicole James Page 0,1

up at the building. The blouse with the tiny rosebuds was the only one I could find that looked halfway decent and wasn’t too revealing. Mom had warned me there were a lot of rules about what you can wear when visiting a prisoner. We both had dressed appropriately. Her outfit was just a ruse, apparently.

I see a woman carrying a baby and follow her to the entrance. I hear mom backing out, and when I step up on the sidewalk and look back, she’s already heading down the long drive off the prison grounds. If she doesn’t return for me, it’s going to be a long walk to the nearest bus stop. I head inside through one small building, then outside again through a walkway surrounded by fencing and barbed wire. It’s like walking down a tunnel to my doom.

I’m out of the hot sun and humidity, but inside the next larger building is hardly what I’d call cool.

There’s a desk, and I just do what the others ahead of me do. I sign in and wait until my name is called.

I take the chair next to the woman with the baby that I followed in.

“She’s adorable,” I tell her, smiling at the infant in the pink onesie.

“Thank you. Lord knows she’s a blessing.”

“I’m Tess,” I say.

“Nessa,” she returns, studying me. “I haven’t seen you here before. First time?”

I nod.

She pats my knee. “Don’t let the guards frighten you. They can be mean and snappy, but they’re just doin’ their job. Don’t take it personal. Just do what they say.”

“Thanks.”

“You bring any money for the vending machines?” she asks.

“Yes. My mother gave me some ones before she dropped me off.”

“When you get to the visitation room, get what you want out of the machines straight off, ‘cause they run out quick.”

“Thanks. Who are you here to see?”

“My man. He’s been in here six months. Missed the birth of little Riana, here.”

“How often do you come visit?”

“I try to come at least every other week, but it’s hard. I can’t always get the time off in my work schedule. Then I’ve got to have gas money to drive up here. It’s rough.”

“I’ll bet.”

“This is the second place they’ve moved him to, and it’s farther away.”

“Do they do that often? Move them around to different prisons?”

“Sometimes.”

A guard calls my name. I stand and move to him. He asks to see my driver’s license and tells me I have to fill out a form since I’ve never visited before.

There’s an officer in the front lobby that verifies I’m on the inmate’s approved visitor list in his computer. He has trouble finding it, and it takes a while.

Once that’s done, I’m taken into a room and searched by a female guard. She asks me to take my hair down from the messy bun and shake it loose. She feels my scalp to make sure I’m not smuggling in anything, then frisks me and makes me pull my bra off and hand it to her. She checks it to make sure there’s no contraband hidden inside. Finally, she gives it back to me to slip on. The whole process is degrading and humiliating.

She leads me over to another desk.

“Hold your hand out, palm down,” the guard says.

I do, and he puts a stamp on my hand.

Then I’m led through the locked doors by a different guard. The sound of the heavy metal doors locking with a loud clank jars me and reminds me that I’m now locked inside the prison. I follow the guard down a long hallway. It’s drab with institutional green walls.

The visiting room officers are waiting for me.

“Put your hand there,” one snaps out in a gruff voice, pointing to an ultraviolet light. He seems impatient with the fact that I don’t know what to do without having to be told. Somebody woke up on the wrong side of the bed, although, I’d be a grump too if I had to work in this depressing place.

I do as he says, and my stamp is illuminated. He verifies my identity again before I’m allowed to enter the room.

When I do, I find that the visitation room reminds me of a high school cafeteria without windows. There are only four other visitors so far, but I know more are coming.

I take a seat at a table off to the side near the vending machines.

I get a couple bags of chips and some Cokes, remembering what Nessa said about the machines emptying out quickly