Home > Pride (The Elite Seven #2)(2)

Pride (The Elite Seven #2)(2)
Author: J.D. Hollyfield

“What the fuck you talkin’ about?” I growl.

“Oh, like you don’t know. Your slut of a sister has been trying to seduce my husband! I caught her luring him into her room tonight.” My eyes flash wide in shock. “Yeah, that’s right. Slut!”

I pull my eyes away from Lillian to stare in confusion at my sister. “Mason, I didn’t. It’s not…he—”

I throw my hand up, silently telling her not to finish that sentence. My sister is sweet and kind. She would never fucking think about doing anything Lillian is accusing her of. But it also means…

That motherfucker!

Anger erupts up my spine, and my head threatens to explode. “Where is he?”


“That motherfucker! Where the fuck is he? He’s dead—”

“Mason, please, no!” my sister cries. She attempts to come for me, but the officer throws his hand out to stop her.

I bring my focus back on Lillian. “She would never do that.”

Lillian scoffs and brushes her sleek black hair behind her dainty shoulders. “Well, she did. We just try to give you poor children a home and you take advantage of us. Not to mention the money she stole.”

I take a step forward, infringing her space. “She didn’t take shit from you,” I growl. We both know damn well I was the one who stole from her. She saw me take the money out of her purse. Lillian gazes back at me, her eyes pleading for me to dare challenge her. If we weren’t surrounded, I would take her by the hair and bash her head through the glass coffee table.

“Mason, son, I’m sorry, but due to the allegations, we have to remove you both from the home.” My chest rises and falls in quick succession. I need to calm down for Evie. I need to pull it together for us both and get us the fuck out of here. Once we’re somewhere safe, we’ll figure out how to press charges. Get her a rape test. Fuck, will she need one?

“Fuck it. This bitch is fucking crazy, and so is her pervert ass husband. Evie, let’s go.” Evelyn attempts to get up, but Valery steps in.

“Mason, just for tonight, we’re going to place you in separate homes.”

“What? Fuck no. We’re staying together.” I reach for my sister, but two officers stand in our way, pulling her from the couch. Evelyn screams, and I go ballistic against the hands restraining me from going after the cops as they drag her out. I swear, and kick, and fight to get to my sister with no luck. My eyes connect with the devil herself, and the sliver of a smile on her lips causes my stomach to drop.

“You bitch!” I yell, jerking to break free.

“Please remove him from my home before my step-daughter returns. I don’t want to upset her with this. We will send his things to avoid the worry of whether he might steal anything while packing his minimal belongings.”

Like a crazed animal, I throw punches until an officer knocks my legs out with a stick. I howl and lose my balance, falling forward, giving them the opportunity to cuff me. I’m carried outside. Twice, a baton is slammed into my gut. From my peripheral, I see Micah being retained by a cop. He’s yelling. I vaguely hear my name and my sister’s when I’m shoved into the backseat of a cop car.

My world falters, and the reality of what’s happening comes crashing down as I watch the gleam in Lillian’s eyes shine alongside her malicious smile. She set us up. Is this because I stole from her? Is what she said about her husband in my sister’s room true? Tears sting my eyes, and I squeeze them shut. This isn’t happening. This can’t be happening. It all comes full fruition at the sounds of Evelyn’s sobbing voice as she’s guided out of the Griffins’ home. I throw my shoulders into the secured door, my voice burning as I scream my sister’s name, needing to free myself from this car and this nightmare and get to her. The shackles around my wrists shred into my skin as the warmth of my blood drips into my palms and my cries turn into frantic sobs.

But no one comes to my rescue.

My hoarse cries go unheard as they guide her into another car and speed away. The vehicle disappears out of sight, and my wild eyes manage to lock back on Lillian’s. Just before she slips back into her house, I watch in disgust as her lips purse and blow me a kiss.

Two weeks later.

New Orleans State Detention Center

Twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three…

My muscles burn, threatening to give out on me, but I don’t stop. I keep pushing myself until my fingers go numb.

Twenty-four, twenty-five, twenty—

“Blackwell, you’ve got a visitor.”

At the sound of my name, I drop the heavy weights on their latch and lean forward, wiping the sweat off my brow. My biceps are on fire as I stare off at the correctional guard. “You sure it’s for me?” I ask. I haven’t had a visitor since I arrived at this hellhole two weeks ago. I was given one call after spending the first night in an eight by eight dirty cell with no water or pissing privileges. I spent most of that night yelling to speak to my counselor, a lawyer—anyone who would tell me where the fuck they took my sister. My one call was to Micah. When I finished typing in the last digit, a recorded voice on the other line informed me it was disconnected.

“Wouldn’t waste my time walking all the way down here if it wasn’t. Let’s go,” the guard says, jiggling his master keys. He holds the door while I stand up and grab my towel. I wipe the excess sweat from my face and toss it into the dirty laundry bin before following him down the long, dimly lit hallway. The place is like a death warrant. It may be labeled a juvenile center, but it ain’t no different than a prison. The limitations, the restrictions, the corruption—it’s all the same. We make it to the visiting area, and I look around to see who it could be. My heart begins to race in hopes it’s Evelyn, but I don’t spot her. “Who’d you say it was?” I ask, as if he would even do me the kind gesture of telling me. He’s had the pleasure of taking his fist to my stomach twice already this week just for looking at him in a way he disapproved of.

“Fuck if I know, boy. Your momma?”

“I don’t have a fucking mother, asshole,” I snap.

He walks up passed the rows of tables filled with other fucked-up kids visiting with relatives who look just as pleased to be here as they do. Once we hit the last row, I see her.


Dressed in a crisp navy-blue dress, her sleek black hair perfectly set and lips, as always, shaded a bold red. My first reaction is to attack. Wrap my fingers around her dainty throat and choke the life out of her. My hands begin to shake as I fight them to stay by my side. I slide into the seat across from her. The sadistic simper playing on her lips causes my stomach to recoil.

“Where the fuck’s my sister?”

“Now, now, is that any way to talk to your counselor?”

A low growl rumbles up my throat as I lean forward. “You ain’t my counselor, bitch. Where the fuck is my sister?” My crude wording doesn’t faze her. Her vicious smile only widens.

“See, that’s where it’s your lucky day. I am your counselor. Being a high ranked social services counselor in one of New Orleans’ top schools, I was able to pull a few strings to get your case. Called in a favor.”

She’s lying to me. There’s no way the system is that cruel. “I’m a legal adult now. You have no hold over me.” Which is true. While sitting in this prison, I hit my eighteenth birthday.

Her sardonic grin unnerves me. “That’s where you’re wrong. It’s a good thing I paid attention to your birthday. Just before you turned eighteen, I signed the papers to take legal guardianship of you.”

“You can’t do that.”

“Oh, but I can. And I did. Told them I had a soft spot for the troubled boy who stole from my family and sadly raised his hand to me, but I was forgiving and wanted to help you reform yourself. My name is the only contact in your file. That means your freedom is in my hands.”

My fingers clench into white fists. She doesn’t and will never own me. “Good luck with that. One call to the foster care center and I’ll be out of here.”

She laughs, and it turns my stomach. “Oh yeah? And let me ask you, Mason, how many phone calls have you been allowed since you’ve been in here?”


Only one.

She continues. “Exactly. I have something you want. And you have something I want.”

“Fuck you. I don’t want shit from you,” I spit, slamming my fists on the table. I prepare to stand when she says the one word that can trap me.


My eyes find hers shining with victory. My heart begins to beat faster, my lungs fighting for air. I sit back down.

“Ah, good. I see I have your attention. I want you to know, Mason, all of this…it won’t be for nothing.”

“Fuck you. Where is she?”

“That mouth of yours. Such passion and determination. If you pan out, you can do such great things for you and I.” The smug look she gives me turns my stomach once again. She licks her puckered lips and continues. “I want you, Mason. I want to mold you into something great. But that can only happen if you give yourself to me.”

“Are you fucking sick?”

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