Love Revolution (Black Cat Records Shakespeare Inspired trilogy) by Michelle Mankin

the in crowd that orbited and revered him.
    Meanwhile Danny had to duck and dodge through the asteroid belt of adolescence. Years of orthodontics and speech therapy had corrected his overbite and stuttering, but of course that wasn’t nearly enough to earn him a spot in JR’s universe.
    When it came to Danny’s real passion, playing the drums, JR outshone him the most. While hours of daily practice had earned him a coveted drum corps spot, Richie Rich Raymond won first chair going away, all on innate talent. Still, Danny was good and he knew it. That’s why he thought he had a gambler’s chance when the Anthony brothers had held an open audition for their band. He’d been so confident that day. He’d nailed it, too. But then, JR showed up, and once again, Danny was eclipsed.
    And while JR and Brutal Strength rocketed into the stratosphere, Danny remained earthbound. He clawed and scraped his way up in the music industry, always on the road and never with enough money or recognition. That ten grand bet had been trivial to Raymond, but it wasn’t chump change to Danny.
    Even now that he was in Chris Alex’s band he still felt like he was getting the crumbs while arrogant assholes like Raymond dined on the caviar. His visage darkened. Well, if there was anything…anything at all that he could do to screw with that prick, he’d consider it cosmic karma, medicine for his soul.

    “Duty time,” the uniformed cell block supervisor barked from his position on the floor. He slapped his side handle baton against a muscled thigh. “Hop to it, Daniels, Jiminez, Smith, Reynolds.”
    Hearing the command, Pace Daniels swore under his breath as he left his six by eight foot cell. It was so small he sometimes felt like the walls were closing in on him. He dutifully fell in line behind the other inmates. His fists clenched involuntarily as they made their way past the long row of cages identical to his. He was sick to death of this hell hole.
    The atrocities that he’d seen taking place behind these walls…well, there’d been a time or two he’d longed for the freedom death would bring. Dark and demented souls ruled with iron hard fists and contraband weapons. Demons in orange jump suits, they wouldn’t hesitate to take you out if you had the misfortune to get on their bad side. A favorite pastime was inflicting pain on one another. Every day was a struggle to survive, never knowing when the next attack would come. The Texas State Penitentiary at Huntsville was a godforsaken Gehenna.
    He took the basket of cleaning supplies from the storage closet, studying his hands as he went about his daily janitorial chores. They were calloused from time and toil, as hard and strong as the rest of him. Manual labor and exercise were all he had to fill the wasted days of the last seventeen years. It had been a monotonous existence. The bastards had given him the maximum, twenty years in this pit, for what he’d done. Only the crime of passion defense had spared him a life sentence. Unlike his hands, though, his prison record had been virtually spotless. So far he’d been denied parole, but he was coming up for consideration again in two more days, and given his behavior and time served, he felt really good about his chances.
    Back in his cell later that evening, he gazed at the newspaper clippings and magazine articles that he’d collected over the years. He scowled at the latest picture. There she was in all her glory. The same sassy smile and grey eyes. The same whoring way. She was exactly like her momma.
    Just two more days. Come hell or high water, he was getting out this time. His lip curled and his eyes narrowed to slits. He ran a finger across her face. He barely suppressed a gleeful laugh. He was so close. Gonzalo assured him everything was in place, everything he needed. He’d have his pound of flesh. The day of reckoning was coming. Just two more fucking days.

Unplugging her cell from the charger the next morning, Sara saw