Finally Free: Book 1 Locked Up Lovers Series

Finally Free: Book 1 Locked Up Lovers Series

By:  Amelie Mercury & Shad McCarty  Ongoing
Language: English
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The last thing Miranda thought when she responded to a prison pen pal request was to find true love. Joel, well, he was only hoping to pass time and maybe if he was lucky, he'd find someone to have a little fun with after doing ten years of hard time in the state penitentiary for a crime he committed when he had just barely turned eighteen years old. He had been hardened by the things he'd seen and the experiences of imprisonment and no longer believed in lovey dovey fairy tales or happily ever after. So hardened in fact, that he knew women only led to one thing-trouble. Not even a good girl like Miranda would break him ever again. Not with her long dark hair, those hypnotizing amber-eyes, and definitely not those full lips that would look so good…nope, nope, nope. What neither one expected was to find the perfect balance of emotional and physical attraction. Can Miranda's persistence and commitment soften and heal Joel's untrusting heart or will Joel break Miranda in ways she has never experienced before? This is the first book of three in the Locked-Up Lovers series. Enjoy!

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50 Chapters
1
Miranda POV I threw my thick down winter coat onto the chair and flopped face down onto my bed. I didn't even bother to take my boots off, which will be to my demise later when I have to walk through the wetness of the melted snow on my carpet, but I just couldn't deal with the world for even one more minute. Of course, I’m never truly alone and my dog jumps up behind me to prove my point. She is eager to see me after a long day at work and starts to lick my neck and face with her coarse, wet tongue, and as gross as it actually is, I still find it comforting. It's not her fault I'm in such a crabby mood, and all she wants is to be let outside for a good run and to empty her bladder. It only takes about two more minutes of licking (and whining) before I can't stand the guilt, so I get up and take her outside, not bothering to put my coat back on this time. The wind is absolutely freezing and you’d think I’d expect the sudden chill to my core, afterall, I do live in Alaska; but,
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2
Joel POV “Johnson, you got mail.” I hear the CO (correction officer) say as he shoves an envelope through my cell bars. The envelope hits the concrete floor face up and I turn my head on my pillow enough to notice what appears to be female hand writing on a standard white envelope. “I’m surprised anyone gives a shit about the likes of you.” He’s such a dick. Why can't he just keep his fucking mouth shut. If I was anywhere else, I’d shut it for him. I glance back at the letter. Who the fuck would be writing me? My cellie grabs it off the floor before I can get to it. “From Miranda Harris. Joel, you have a woman or what?” I wish. But, I’ve never even heard of this person. “Shut-up, Shotgun.” Yeah, we call my cellie, Shotgun. Apparently, he got the nickname because he shot his father and two of his uncles, all in the head with a shotgun when he was nineteen, but no one really knows for sure why he did it. We get along pretty good since we both got sentenced young and have b
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3
Joel POV Shotgun moved over to sit on my bed and I draped a blanket like a curtain from the top bunk. I then stretched a sheet across the front of the cell, blocking most of the view from the cell door window in case a female CO walked by. I stripped off my clothes, soaped up my washcloth, and started to wash off starting with my upper body. My arms and chest were sore from today's work out and the veins in my forearms protruded as I glided over them with the washcloth. At least that is one benefit to this life, years of prison workouts have resulted in my body being covered in thick muscles, matching my height of six foot two. I am no longer the scrawny, uncoordinated adolescent I was when I was first sentenced to this hell hole. I also have a shit ton of tattoos and while some are truly exquisite works done by some amazing artists I've met along the way, others are just scrawls with prison ink completed out of boredom or as a favor for other inmates to practice on blank skin.
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4
Miranda POV “What are you doing here? I thought you had the week off, “ I tell my boss, Nancy, as she walks into my office. I was really looking forward to having a week without anyone bothering me. I can get so much more done without the constant distraction of small talk and meetings that take forever when a simple conversation would suffice. It's just like the coffee mug Amanda got me last year for Christmas says, “This meeting could have been an email.” Nancy is in her late forties and she's the type of woman who is fighting aging hard. She has her hair dyed an entirely too blonde color that doesn't match her features, and is always talking about which facial creams are reducing her wrinkles by adding collagen or Retin A or whatever new wonder chemical removes crows feet. Last year she swore by a cream that boasted they used human sperm in their secret anti-aging solution. Damn, Nancy, if you want sperm on your face I can think of a few easier ways to achieve that without
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5
Miranda POV My mind keeps wandering back to the letter I received even after I completed my nightly routine of taking care of my dog’s needs and chatting up Amanda so she doesnt run off and do something crazy, like call over some stranger she met on social media. Ever since her break up with her long term boyfriend, David, she has started meeting men through different social media apps and even some dating or hook-up apps. It doesn't really bother me. I mean, to each is his own and her sexual business is just that-her business. I’m a strong believer that no one should be shamed for who they are attracted to and/or if they have any kinks or fetishes as long as everyone involved is a consenting adult. As long as it does not include any vulnerable populations or animals, then their preferences are their own to manage. I've got enough of my own life to manage, to worry about judging others. The only worry I have about Amanda is that sometimes her actions seem unsafe. Just last week
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6
Joel POV “You dicks ready to get out of lockdown?” the CO barks as he walks by finishing count. “Really?” Shotgun asks hopefully. Me, I never get too hopeful. When it comes to the COs in my pod, I’ll believe it when I see it. I’ve been disappointed more than once and have learned the hard way not to be too optimistic when it comes to promises from the ones in charge around here. Once the CO has passed, I flop back onto the bottom bunk and turn on a television show. Not so much for me, but Shotgun doesn't have a television and I know he will want to kill some time watching something before they hopefully let us out for breakfast. The entire prison is sectioned into pods that hold around eighty men. There are two floors of cells that circle an open area in the center. On the bottom floor, the center circle holds two phones, two televisions, and two kiosks where we can plug in a tablet and download games, music, and emails from a secure email site. The showers are also on the botto
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7
It almost feels like freedom, to be out of lockdown, to be walking around again, even if it's just in our own pod and around campus. It's dinner time now, Shotgun and I are standing in line for chow, talking while waiting for the doors to the cafeteria to open, when the COs escort in a large-built, light skinned cat. We both recognized him from other pods as it's pretty common to be moved around a lot. He goes by the name of Richmond. Shotgun and I both look at each other knowingly. The word is they moved him because someone in his pod set up his younger cousin, but we’re pretty sure the narc he’s looking for is in fact, in our pod. We know something is about to go down by the way he’s carrying himself and looking around. Richmond carries his property into the cell that is empty, continuing to look around. Shotgun and I shift ever so slightly to keep whatever is about to happen in front of us. We know he is part of a group of friends, or what the COs refer to as a ‘gang’ and a hand
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8
Miranda POV I’m happy to report I was able to make it through Thanksgiving without being further traumatized by scarecrows or anything with the words pumpkin-spiced attached. Thanksgiving turned out to be a nice lunch with my mom, step-dad, and brother. It was practically painless and really, who can complain when my mother’s blueberry pie is involved. I just got off work and ran to the grocery store and of course I am assaulted by the holiday regalia the second I walk through the sliding doors. I maneuver as fast as I can around a gray haired man wearing scraggly jeans, ringing a bell over his empty money bucket for a corporation that claims to be religious and non-profit, but I know better. They make the public believe they use the donated money to help poor children and recovering alcoholics when what they really use it for is to pay their executives fat Christmas bonuses. Shame on them pretending to be santa. ‘They should rename their whole corporation Satan's-Army’ I think
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9
Miranda POV Its true, I do feel comfortable writing to Joel; more so than I have ever felt with anyone else in person or via mail or rather email since I haven't actually written a hand letter since I was in second grade and Mrs. Sendrick wanted us to learn about the history of the United States Postal Service. I should be thankful to her now that I have the skills to properly write and letter and address an envelope, but I can't forget how she mocked me, calling me “poor baby Miranda who lost her new crayons.” Those crayons were the one thing I wanted for Christmas back then and she laughed when they went missing. I’m pretty sure mean Bobby White stole them as he had the whole sixty-four color pack mysteriously show up in his desk the next day and I seriously doubt that his parents bought him those crayons when he never even had a lunch. Even after he stole my crayons and called me “poor baby Miranda” for the entire year, I still snuck granola bars into his desk when he wasn't loo
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10
Joel POV We stopped and I looked up at the house from the front seat of the car. It was a traditional two-story colonial style home with a well manicured yard. I remember it was yellow because I wondered who on earth would purposely choose to paint their house yellow. My heart started to beat faster as we quietly opened the car door and stepped into the sidewalk. It's almost as if I could feel that something terrible was about to happen, yet I was powerless in stopping it. "His house is the second one up there." she said as she pointed to the house on the right. "What we are going to do is go up there and I will ring the doorbell. You stand off to the side where the bushes are so he can't see you. When he opens the door, I will ask if I can come in so we can talk. As I step in, I will turn him around, his back facing the open door and give him a hug. That is when you will come up behind him with the gun." The closer we got to his house, the more my heart raced and I started
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