Children of Vice (Children of Vice 1)

The name IVY O’DAVOREN appeared first.

Flipping onto the next page, the very first thing I saw was a mug shot, what looked to be a pale skinned mop with wild blond hair all over the place. I could hardly see anything her chart described.

Name: Ivy O’Davoren

Charges: Aggravated Assault. Assault with a deadly weapon.

Sentence: Twelve years

Age: Twenty-Seven

Eyes: Blue

Hair: Blond

Height: 5’11

Tattoos: None

None of that was as important as the next section. Her next of kin.

Stepmother: Shay O’Davoren

Stepsister: Rory Donoghue

Cousin(s): Cillian Finnegan, Elroy Finnegan

They say every great plan only needs 50 percent of thought, and the rest is a combination of skill, will, and luck.

Of all the places for the Finnegan brothers to have family, how lucky was I that it would be in my very own backyard? How lucky was I that it was her…

IVY

“Rise and shine—”

Sitting up off my bed, I backed up quickly as he walked towards my cell door.

His blue eyes sent chills up my spine. They weren’t like mine. Or even my father’s. They were dead eyes, like the color of fish eyes just after being caught. Shiny, slimy, unblinking, and unfeeling.

“Can I help you with something?” I sneered as he looked through the small window of the door.

“Everything all right, forty-four?” A voice came over his radio.

“All clear. Walking through—”

“Forty-four. Bring her up. She has 32-14.”

32-14?

“Body down now!” he yelled at me, and I did what he said. Placing my hands on my head, I heard the keys jingle before the heavy slab slid open. He patted me down, grabbing my breast tightly and then moving down my back. I bit my lip to try and stop from lashing out at him when he squeezed my ass…after all, us girls in solitary didn’t have the right to request for female guards.

“Clear,” he called out and zip ties were on my hands. Chains cuffed to my feet.

Ignoring as they pulled and pitched and fucking shoved me, I followed them out of my cell, hobbling because of the weight of the chains on me. The walk was the same as always, long, dark, boring, and smelly. Finally, we got to a room. Two guards opened the door, and there standing in a gray suit, was an older black man.

“Please unchain my client.”

“No can do, she’s in solitary. How she even managed to—”