Hell To Pay Read Online Free PDF Page B

boyfriend. How could he abandon me when I needed him most? What kind of person does that? And. more importantly, what kind of woman would be stupid enough to revolve her life around a creep like that? God help Donna Marie if she got ill or was attacked, she'd get no understanding from Mikey Boy. He'd probably dump her for the girl he was probably already shagging.
    Tears streaked my vision and I hated myself for it. I'd though Michael was a closed book and I had better things to cry over.
    When I detected movement behind me, I jumped thinking they’d come back.
    The breath I’d been holding in was released as the lithe form of Donna Marie’s cat Orpheus, slunk into view. My heart rate returns to normal as I bend down to pet the cat. Orpheus lifted his head and tail in the air and strutted past me. Even cats were turning their backs on me now.
    Getting revenge on Michael and Donna Marie had never been at the top of my list of priorities – when I’d pushed my emotions aside and thought about it, her being lumbered with my neat freak ex was punishment enough for her backstabbing - but now I was there I knew I needed to do something.
    With little time to plan and the trickiness of getting a sheep's head, I’d come up with a prank that was childish but effective. Donning a pair of rubber gloves I’d brought with me, I smeared the pristine white walls and Michael’s coffee table with the jars of Marmite I found in the cupboards – Michael loves the stuff, whilst I’ve always hated it. I didn’t stop until every available white surface was covered in the brown stuff. Then I did the same to the sheets on the bed, making sure to pull the duvet up so they wouldn't notice it when they climbed into bed. By then, it'd be too late.
    Once I was finished, I’d surveyed my handiwork with a satisfied grin, picturing their horrified faces when they came home and thought they’d been victims of a dirty protest. Talking about who could have done this.
    Once I was back in the car, I removed my black wig and hid it under the seat, then I’d drove off with the grin still on my face.
     
     
     
     
     
     

 
    Chapter 8
    "I bet you like touching us up, dyke bitch."
    The speaker was what we call a “half heid” in Glasgow: half of her hair dyed blonde, so the ponytail that came through the baseball cap she’d always wear was that color. It was cheaper to maintain that way. What should have been a pretty face was scrunched up like a discarded candy packet and her baby bump was showcased by a way too small “Baby Mamma” t-shirt that didn’t cover any skin below her belly button.
    The prison guard rolls her woe-begotten eyes and sighs. No doubt, she was wishing she did a more pleasurable job, like being Naomi Campbell’s personal assistant or working as a peace envoy in the Middle East.
    When I spot Shug hunched over the table, I get a shock. Prison food never did agree with him, but this was more than that. He’d gotten skinnier since the last I’d seen him and his prison uniform hung off his skinny frame. He used to have a quick smile, but today it’s barely a flicker as I sit down opposite him; it’s been replaced by a nervous twitch at the side of his mouth. When he places his bony hands on the table, his nails are bitten down to the quick and there's small bits of dried in blood where he’s been worrying the cuticles.
    "Hi, sis. It’s good to see you."
    He’s twitching and gazing past me, looking at the other tables. I can’t decide whether he’s expecting to see someone else or he's worried we're being watched.
    The doors of the visitors’ room are now closed and the woman from earlier is standing guard looking suitably officious. There are another three guards on duty.
    "How are you doing, Shug?"
    He relaxed. "Okay, I guess. You’ve to watch when you bend down for the soap and this guy called Bubba wants me to wear some lipstick and call me Kylie. Apart from that, this place is a hotel. Nae worries. Four square