The Parolee: A Taboo Dark Romance, page 1
The Parolee
A TABOO DARK ROMANCE
KATE RIVENHALL
Contents
Author’s Note:
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Epilogue
Coming Soon:
Next Project:
Author’s Note:
This is a taboo dark horror romance, and there are a lot of triggers including a violent man with a dangerous obsession. To view a full list of triggers, please check my Instagram @katerivenhall. This book has not been approved by the Surgeon General.
Chapter One
“Miss Reilly, we wanted to inform you that in two days your brother Torin will be let out on parole. And we have some reason to believe that after he leaves San Augustin’s maximum-security prison, he may try to contact you.”
I felt numb, like I must not have heard the parole officer correctly.
My fiancé Andrew stiffened beside me. “Why would he try to contact Laoise?” he asked. “They weren’t close.”
The parole officer’s name was Vick, and he was a tough-looking man in his 50s with a set mouth and buzzed haircut. He slid a sideways glance over at me. “We don’t know that he will,” he said. “But it’s a reasonable guess, and better safe than sorry. She’s the only family he’s ever mentioned in prison.”
Yes, I would be, I thought.
I felt Andrew take my hand in his.
Andrew was a therapist in our northern California town. He was a friendly man and his encouraging firmness usually got results. He was around 6 feet tall. Lean, outdoorsy, with neat honey blonde hair and a kind face with green eyes that crinkled up when he smiled. Everyone but his mother called him Drew.
“I’d almost forgotten you have a brother, Laoise,” he said.
I nodded along, which was stupid because I hadn’t forgotten.
As if I ever could.
“I haven’t seen him since I was 16 years old,” I added, feeling like I needed to say something. My lips felt strangely frozen, like they couldn’t move properly.
“And you never visited him in prison, right?” Drew asked.
“He told me not to,” I replied.
Vick cocked his head, looking at me, considering me. Was he thinking it was strange that I had never visited my brother?
“Why?” Drew pressed gently.
“He didn’t say,” I replied, looking down at my hands, and twirling my engagement ring around my finger. It was a light peacock blue sapphire ring, unique and vintage. At first I hadn’t like it, thinking it was too big and gaudy, but it was totally me. Drew had done a phenomenal job picking it out and had been very generous.
Vick waited patiently.
“Torin didn’t say,” I repeated myself. “He just told me not to visit him. So I didn’t.”
I still felt Vick’s eyes on me. “You didn’t ask him why?”
I forced myself to meet the parole officer’s eyes. “No. He just said not to.”
Vick’s face looked confused. He clearly didn’t understand. I remembered belatedly that probably other sisters didn’t unquestionably obey their brothers and I tried to look normal, even though I suddenly felt sick to my stomach.
I remembered the last day of Torin’s trial vividly, the memories flashing back like sharp shards of glass. My brother had looked down at me before they dragged him away, his hands cuffed in front of him.
“Do not come visit me, Lele,” he said, his voice low and urgent. “I’ll come find you when I’m out.”
So I hadn’t. Because I had always done what my brother said.
Vick the parole officer hesitated as he looked at me.
“What are you not telling us?” Drew asked, his voice authoritative. “If Laoise is in danger, I need to know.”
“I’m not in danger,” I said sharply. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Your brother is a violent murderer,” Drew replied, raising his eyebrows. “I need to know why he might come looking for you.”
I said nothing.
“Why do you think he might come looking for her?” he asked Vick again.
Vick took a slow, reflective sip of the coffee I had made him. His mug had a cat eating a piece of pizza on it and it seemed utterly incongruous with what he was saying.
“I consider Torin Reilly to be a rehabilitative failure,” Vick said. “I voted against his release, personally.”
Once again, Vick’s eyes slid over to me. I said nothing, forcing myself to breathe normally.
I didn’t talk about my brother to people.
“Why?” asked Drew.
“He wasn’t overly violent in prison,” Vick said. “For a murderer. Of course it helps when you’re almost 6 and a half feet tall. But when he did commit violence, he was cold and ruthless. He killed at least one man in prison. And got away with it, too. Asshole.”
“What happened?” I asked, my heart in my throat.
“Stabbed him with a homemade shiv,” Vick said. “At the breakfast table. In front of dozens of other prisoners. But not one of them would testify against him. What kind of psycho fucker has got a bunch of maximum-security prisoners that afraid?”
“What does that have to do with Laoise?” put in Drew. “Torin stabbed their father. I think we’ve established that he’s a psycho.”
“It was his reason for doing it,” Vick said. “He had exchanged words earlier with the other prisoner. From the best we can tell, the guy said something about his sister.”
I felt my heart pounding so hard in my chest that there was a ringing in my ears.
Drew was looking at me, his kind hands warm and comforting on mine.
“Are you telling me her brother might have killed a fellow prisoner just because he insulted Laoise?” Drew asked.
“Yes,” said Vick. “That’s one reason we wanted to warn you that he may try to contact your fiancée after he’s released. We don’t know anyone else he might want to contact.”
“Can’t you deny his parole?” Drew asked. “Can someone file a last-minute appeal?”
“It’s already been voted on,” said Vick. “I lost. There’s been a push to let the guys who committed murders at 16 and 17 out. And your brother was just shy of his 18th birthday. There’s nothing I can do about it now but warn you.”
I looked down at my hands, running the peacock blue ring around and around my finger.
I had worked so hard to put all the shit from my childhood behind me. From a dirt-poor kid living in a leaky trailer, with an absent mother and murdered father, I had still managed to go to college and start my own cupcake business. I met Drew through a book club a few years ago and moved into his big spacious home in a nice part of town last year after we had gotten engaged. He asked me to marry him on a trip to Hawaii and we had a wedding planned for next spring. I was working hard to get my bakery off the ground.
“Do you think there’s any possibility for rehabilitation?” Drew asked, in his calm, quiet way.
Vick slid another sideways glance at me, and said bluntly, “No.”
Drew blinked. “You answered very quickly. How come?”
“I think Torin Reilly is violent, unpredictable, and unstable,” said Vick. “I consider him to be extremely dangerous. That’s why I wanted to come and warn Miss Reilly here to be cautious.”
“I’m not afraid of my brother,” I said, and my hands on the table were surprisingly still. Almost like I wasn’t quaking inside.
“Take my advice in place of the father Torin took from you,” Vick said. “Try to avoid contact with your brother. If you insist on meeting him, do it in a public location.”
I saw Drew nodding vigorously beside me. “Of course,” he said. “But he may not even try to contact her.”
I didn’t say anything.
Torin Reilly had killed our father and paid 10 years for it.
And now he would be out to collect what he had left behind.
Me.
“After he gets out of jail he will be required to stay at a halfway house for felons for a week, to make sure he can acclimate to the world outside jail. And it’s my opinion,” said Vick, getting up to go, “that you should leave town for a few days if you can. It’s safer.”
“I’m not afraid of Torin,” I said again.
“Don’t let your childhood affection cloud your mind,” Vick advised me sharply.
I felt the cold sweat break out over my skin as I held the parole officer’s eyes, willing my face to look composed. I was lying through my teeth to him. My childhood affection wasn’t clouding my mind at all.
I knew Torin was dangerous.
“He may screw up during that first week,” Vick added, pulling out his pack of cigarettes as he walked to the front door.
He opened the pack, then turned back to look at me. “If he screws up at all, I’ll be sure his psycho ass is clapped back in prison. It wouldn’t surprise me if he can’t handle life outside prison and fucks up big time. He’s that kind of violent unpredictable asshole. And I don’t want a nice girl like you, Miss Reilly, to ge
“You don’t have to worry, honey,” Andrew said as I nodded, rubbing his chin on my dark hair affectionately. “I’m here. I’m going to cancel my work trip so you don’t have to be alone.”
I didn’t say anything, but I felt a desperate need for another cup of coffee as Vick pulled his county-issued car out of our driveway. I stood looking out over the front yard of our peaceful suburban neighborhood, the gracious streets tree-lined and calm, hearing the happy neighborhood sounds of barbecue grills, kids in their yards playing, afternoon tea brewing.
When I was 16 years old and my brother was almost 18 years old, Torin had killed our father. He had driven me to school, then come home and stabbed Dad with a hunting knife. By the time I came back on the bus, the trailer we lived in was surrounded with yellow police tape and Torin had already been arrested.
It was the worst day of my life and I had no desire to revisit it.
Chapter Two
Afew days later, I pulled out my laptop to look up Torin, but I couldn’t make myself type in the name of his prison. I already knew his release date. Midnight on September 23rd. Today.
I tried to calm down, running to the grocery store to pick up more supplies for my bakery.
He didn’t know where I was now.
He didn’t know where I lived.
I had no reason to believe the first thing he’d do when he got out of prison was hunt me down.
No reason? Was that really true?
In fact, wasn’t that a goddamn lie?
Didn’t I know exactly what my brother was like?
I felt flickers of nervous fear.
But maybe he was different now. It had been almost 10 years.
When I got home, Drew was already there, sitting on the couch and watching a pre-game show.
I noticed that the sink was still full of dishes from yesterday and I repressed an urge to complain that he never did them. I was just on edge, that was all. Drew did a lot of things around the house.
“Has anyone come to see me?” I asked, trying to be casual as I moved to the sink. If I didn’t do the dishes now, I wouldn’t have any space to make dinner.
“No, were you expecting someone?” my fiancé asked.
“No,” I said, dropping my keys in the little basket on the counter.
“Laoise, is that your brother?” Drew asked suddenly, pointing at the television screen.
I jerked my head around and there was Torin’s most recent prison ID. I felt an angry heat rush into my chest. Midnight-black hair, midnight-blue eyes, dark beard. Stark harsh line of a mouth.
“Yes,” I said.
“Damn, he looks like an unhinged kind of motherfucker,” Drew said. “How are you doing with all this, Laoise? Do you want to talk about it? Can I help you carve out some time for self-care?”
“I’m fine,” I said through my tightened lips.
“Do you think he might be a sociopath?” Drew asked curiously. “Was he ever violent as a child?”
“I don’t know how to answer the question,” I said, feeling frozen, my eyes still glued to the screen.
Did beating the shit out of Bobby Pratchett my freshman year in high school because he asked me out for a date count?
What about throttling the gas station attendant who had looked at my tits a little too long?
The news anchor was explaining that this violent felon was going to be released into the community, and she was interviewing two people about his release. One guest, a pompous-looking bald man in a suit, was strongly against it, and the other guest, another even more pompous-looking and balder man in a suit, was also against it and said, in his opinion, prison was “too soft these days.”
“When you were kids, was your brother ever violent?” Drew asked again.
“Yes,” I replied.
“It’s OK to be scared,” he said, getting up from the couch and putting an arm around me. His sweater was soft against my skin. “You shouldn’t suppress your feelings. Let yourself feel them.”
I knew he meant well, but I didn’t want to feel my feelings. I wanted to bury them deep so I didn’t have to think about them.
I couldn’t take the kindly look in his green eyes, so I shook his arm off and turned to the sink and began filling it with hot water.
“I’m really sad about your dad,” Drew continued after a moment. “I would’ve loved to meet him.”
I said nothing, squirting the dishwashing liquid into the sink so I wouldn’t have to answer him.
“Cripes, it’s a mess in here,” my fiancé said.
Chapter Three
The next morning, I tried to calm myself as I got back in my car, my eyes darting all around me as if my brother would pop up behind a bush.
It was 6 am and I was on my way to my bakery. It was located downtown in a prime spot to catch everybody on their way to work. I loved baking but I did not love these early hours. I wished there was more flexibility, but since I rented a physical location, there was no option other than getting here at this ungodly hour.
I scanned the faces of all the people on the streets as I drove by, not sure what or who I wanted to see. But I didn’t see him.
Maybe he’s forgotten, I tried to reassure myself.
It didn’t work.
Maybe Torin wouldn’t come looking for me.
Did I believe that?
No.
Somehow, someway, Torin Reilly was going to come collect.
I parked in front of the bakery, grabbing all my supplies, and shutting the truck door with my ass. I was so distracted that I almost didn’t notice as I juggled everything in my arms to open the front door.
It was unlocked.
Had I locked it yesterday?
I tried to think, my heart racing.
Maybe I had just forgotten.
But then I remembered how the lock had stuck, like it often did, and how I’d had to shove the door shut to lock it.
Well, shit.
But that didn’t necessarily have anything to do with my brother.
Why did I assume it did?
My heart was hammering now, and I stood there, my arms full, just staring at the door. I looked up into my bakery, fearful of what I’d see there.
Nothing.
Everything looked exactly the same as it had yesterday. This was a bustling, mid-sized city but the downtown business owners were very close-knit and looked out for each other. I would have heard if someone had broken into my shop. There was no reason whatsoever to be nervous.
Except that I was.
I turned the doorknob and flicked the light on, as if it would protect me.
Still nothing.
I saw the little pale yellow tables, the long white counter, the gleaming rows of empty trays just waiting for my baked goods, the cheerful red checkered curtains. Everything looked the same.
My eyes darted to the dark kitchen behind the counter.
Don’t be a chicken, I told myself. There is no goddamn reason to connect an unlocked door with my brother.
I took my bags in the kitchen before I could talk myself out of it and set them down on a table. My breathing sounded loud and ragged in my ears, and I forced myself to go flick on the light. Then I turned around.
And my brother was there, leaning against the counter.
Waiting for me.
I would have known him anywhere, even though I hadn’t seen him since he was 18 years old. He had always been tall, but his height was even more startling now that he was a grown man. He was big, broad shouldered with big arms, but still lean enough to move like a predator. His hair had always been the exact same shade as mine—a distinctive deep blue-black. He had a dark beard and those unusual dark blue eyes. The same exact shade as mine.
I gasped and let out a little shriek, staring at him, the blood rushing to my face.
He was wearing a worn-looking long-sleeved flannel shirt, prison-issue jeans, and heavy work boots.
“Laoise,” he said, and I would have known that voice anywhere.
My mouth wouldn’t move, my mind flying to the last time I had seen him without handcuffs. That was the morning he killed our father. He had driven me to school like any other day, and, when I got out of the old beat-up sedan, he rolled down the window and tapped on the door to bring me back as I was hurrying into class. And I obeyed, like I always did.
