Free Hard Time (Hard as Nails #1) by Hope Conrad Page B

epidemic,” I joke and cross my arms as I rest against the doorframe of my bedroom.
    Bastard’s eyes do a quick scan of the room, and my own eyes begin to wander. He steps to my dresser and begins pulling each drawer out, searching quickly through each of them.
    And this is why he’s a bastard. Again, I understand he has to do what he has to do, and I was used to sacrificing privacy given I’d spent the last three years in prison. Even so, I have the illusion of freedom now that I’m on the outside, and no matter what, I don’t like random men poking around my underwear drawer.
    I shift my attention away from him and my stomach sinks. Laying right under the shadow of my bed is a marijuana bowl. It’s not mine, but if he spots it, he’ll never believe me. I shift my eyes back to him and think about my next move.
    I should kick it under the bed when he’s not looking.
    I should do nothing and hope he doesn’t see it.
    He’s going to fucking see it.
    I’ll never see Katie again.
    Quick, Street. Think of something.
    “What are you looking at, Street?” Bastard questions me with a crooked look across his face, breaking me out of the daze I’ve found myself in.
    “Noth—Nothing,” I stutter.
    I’m a deer stuck in the headlights, and for whatever fucking reason, I can’t take my eyes off the bowl. It was like staring directly into an eclipse; you did it even though you knew it could make you blind. In my case, it’s the smallest thing in the world with the biggest of consequences. It’ll send me back to prison.
    Bastard’s eyes follow my line of sight, and soon he’s crouching on his knees to peek under the bed. My mind races, trying to figure out a way out of this mess—Trevor’s mess. I’m going to fucking kill him. Trevor, not Bastard, although it’s become increasingly clear that Bastard is a label I should start attributing to Trevor.
    Bastard swipes the bowl off the floor. It’s game over. There’s no way I can convince him it’s not mine. Trevor has ruined my life twice now, three times if you count that time he conned me into dating his gross girlfriend’s gross cousin for an entire summer back in our teen years.
    Bastard rises to his feet with an expected look of judgment. His eyes lock with mine once more, and it’s not romantic, as locked eyes normally are. “Care to explain?”
    “I… Uh. That’s not mine.”
    “It never is.” He shakes his head in disappointment and reaches for a pair of handcuffs on his hips.
    I’m torn between fighting and running. I need to see Katie just once more. I need to feel her flesh with my hands one last time, but running will only make it worse. It’ll only make me appear guiltier than I really am, which is not guilty at all, but it’s hard for people to see the best in you when you’ve given them every reason not to.
    It’s like The Boy Who Cried Wolf . When you’ve given nobody in the world a reason to believe in you, it’s an impossible task to make them think any differently.
    Bastard bows his head and begins to approach me. “I’m sorry that I have to do this.”
    Just then, there’s a knock on the door.
    “Who’s at the door, Street?”
    I shrug, but pray under my breath that it’s Trevor and we can wrap this up really quick. Of course, that would require that Trevor tell the damn truth and own his shit, so I’m not holding my fucking breath. Plus, I’d still be fucked because this is the reason I’m not supposed to hang out with other ex-cons in the first place—so they won’t be a goddamn bad influence on me.
    Bastard passes me as he heads into the living room and I take particular notice of the frown etched across his face. There’s a clear shift in his demeanor from a minute ago to now, and he’s finished pretending to be my friend instead of who he really is—the man holding my tight leash, and with every millisecond that passes, the collar around my throat tightens.
    Bastard peeks through the front door peep hole and