Page 1 of Ruthless Heir

Chapter One

Harper

I’m not drunk anymore.But I wish I were.

Being drunk transported my mind away from this absolute disaster.

It’s nearly 4 a.m. and here I am sitting in a cell in the county jail.

Kudos to those who said I’d end up locked up one day for that temper of mine.Congratulations, you were right.

Sitting on a metal slab that’s supposed to be a seat for several hours within the restraints of my jail cell has taught me a life lesson I’ll never forget.

Apart from being numb from the waist down, the only thing I’ve been able to do is stare at the damning concrete wall before me.

The wall is no bigger than that of the walk-in closet I had when I was a little girl. But to me it feels just as foreboding as the Great Wall of China.

The only difference is my cell wall isn’t centuries-old famous, and it has remnants of scratch marks and lewd graffiti scattered across it. Like silent testimonies left behind by desperate inmates confined within this small, sparse space.

“What’s your name, sweet thing?” comes the rusty voice of the guy in the cell to my right.

The man stinks of alcohol and is covered in so much filth I can’t even tell how old he is. With his matted hair, bloodshot eyes, and missing teeth, he nails the homicidal maniac look big time.

I probably don’t look, or smell, much different.

My honey-blonde hair is now dirty blonde. My tank top and jeans are stained with beer and greasy bar food. I look and feel like hell from drinking too much. And honestly, that rank smell could be coming off me.

“I promise I can make all your dreams come true,hot stuff.” He makes a smacking sound with his mouth as if he’s calling a dog.

The crazy to my left has the same demented vibe as missing-teeth guy, but he doesn’t say anything. All he does is watch me.

Watch me the way a stalker would when they’ve found a fresh victim, a college-aged girl like me.

Cursing my life for the millionth time, I ignore both of them the way I have for the last four mind-sucking hours.

Is this kick-my-ass karma?

This…

Me, being thrown in the county jail when I was trying to get my things back from my thieving landlord.

Okay. I’ll be reasonable. I’ll admit the jail part of my conundrum ismyfault.

Yes, I was drunk, and no, there was no way I was going to get away with setting fire to my landlord’s car. But even though I was plastered off my face, it washisfault.

That asshole kicked me out of my apartment without notice.

After a twelve-hour shift at the bar, and the stupid drinking contest I got suckered into, I went home only to find my things had been tossed outside.

I’d already let my landlord know I’d catch up with rent at the end of the month. But still the few belongings I’d brought with me from UCLA, including my violin, were in a heap on the curb like a pile of useless crap.

That was mean-spirited and terrible enough, but when I discovered he’d kept my laptop and my mother’s wedding ring I saw blazing red.

My mom’s ring may only be worth five grand but it’s as priceless to me as a Ming vase.

I never sold it when I hit rock bottom and ate ramen for a couple of months.

I never sold it when I was in danger from the loan shark I’d never be able to repay.

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