A predator. She looked like a predator that night.
And all her mugshots are sexy as fuck. I’m talking… why the hell all the tabloids haven’t run these yet is beyond me. These mugshots could be on the cover of every grocery-store magazine.
It’s so wrong to be thinking that. Because if these pictures were on the cover of magazines they’d also be in every man’s bathroom.
And thinking about guys jerking off to her face just pisses me off.
She doesn’t look like her mugshots so much anymore. She looks like a damn teenager now. And not the wild kind, either. She looks like… you know. Typical Daddy’s girl princess.
OK. So the charges all pretty much make sense until I get up to number ten. Then things get weird.
Because she gets arrested for prostitution.
Just… what?
Lyssa? Prostitution?
I can’t see it. I mean, I’ve seen her in action. Hell, I’ve been on the receiving end of her animal instincts. But selling her body for money?
Then again, she did tell me she was broke. Maybe she did?
There’s two of those, then shit really goes off the rails. Because the last few weren’t for prostitution, they were for pimping and pandering.
What the what?
I literally had to read that four times to make it sink in.
Lyssa Baylor is a madam?
Get the fuck out of here.
But there it was. All in black and white. Her sexy-as-fuck face front and center in each of those mugshots.
And she was found guilty too.
I shuffled through every file and realized she was found guilty every single time. And each time, her stepfather got her off with community service and a steep fine. Some of the more recent fines were in the millions.
Must be nice to be rich. That fucker bought judges.
But I thought about that all damn afternoon as I cooked comfort food for Lyssa as she sat up in her princess tower and scribbled away in her journal.
If he could buy off her sentences… why didn’t he just buy off her crimes?
Why leave her with this long record?
So I went through it all again and at the end of every single file was a single piece of paper, signed by the same judge, which had a big red stamp on it that said RESTRICTED DISCLOSURE.
I didn’t even know what that meant. I had to look it up and apparently people can like… hide criminal records from the public using this restricted disclosure thing.
Then I got lost on the internet looking up legal terms. Like what is the difference between a sealed file and a restricted disclosure file?
Because it’s all kinda weird.
If Baylor has the power to buy off a judge at the sentencing stage and get her entire criminal history marked with this restricted disclosure thing, why not just do it from the start and get her off with charges dismissed?
Was he trying to teach her a lesson?
Maybe.
God, the guy is kind of a dick.
Not that she’s an innocent victim here. Jesus Christ. Her rap sheet is worse than a lot of the scumbags I know in the bounty-hunting business.
But… I don’t know. I’d want to protect my daughter from all this. I’d definitely have done something drastic before it got to this point.
Or at least, I tell myself that.
Maybe that’s why her stepfather is doing this to her now? This is an intervention. Not a typical one, from what I understand of interventions. But rich people. They’re not typical.
On the morning of day six I’m sick of oatmeal, I’m sick of grilled cheese, and if I have to make another meatball I might lose my mind. Plus, I only have four days to get her ready for the wedding planners and her stepfather, and she hasn’t even tried on the dress yet.
So that’s my plan for today. Enough moping. She’s coming out of that room.
I open the double doors and yell, “Come down here, Lyssa.”
She huffs back at me from above.
“Now,” I say.
When she appears at the top of the stairs she’s wearing a new combination of clothes. Things I brought to her over the past several days, but not an outfit I chose.
Red athletic shorts that are so short and tight, if she were to turn around I’m pretty sure her ass cheeks would be hanging out. I brought those up the other day but she didn’t put them on. Just lounged around in her underwear that day. Teasing me and tempting me by opening her legs each time I brought her food.
Her top is a stretchy white t-shirt that hugs her curves and I can tell, even from down here, that she has no bra on because her nipples are hard. She didn’t wear that the day I brought it up either, opting instead to wear a pink zip-up hoodie with nothing underneath, the zipper down far enough that I caught a glimpse of her tits when she made a point to bend over and pick something up off the floor.