Westside Titan (Mythological Paranormal Midlife Women's Fiction Adventure Novel) (Midlife Olympians #3)

Westside Titan MIDLIFE OLYMPIANS T.J. DESCHAMPS Contents Dedication Preface Prologue Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Chapter 32 Chapter 33 Chapter 34 Chapter 35 Chapter 36 Chapter 37 Chapter 38 Epilogue Afterword Also by T.J. Deschamps About the Author Dedication To my kids, When one road is blocked, pivot. There’ll be another. Preface Gentle Reader, Thank you for going on Lydia’s journey with me! If you haven’t checked out my Midlife Supernatural trilogy, you’re in for a treat. If you’ve been with me since Eastside Hedge Witch and have read through to Westside Titan, thank you for following the adventures in the world I’ve created. These characters have become like friends to me. I hope they’ve touched your heart as well. Prologue The bars of the gate slid to the side, giving Carlo an unobstructed view of the exterior of the cell. He remained on his bed, hands cradling the back of his head. His bunkmate above did the same. Prison protocol demanded it. One guard stood a good foot back from the door while another entered. “Macri, you’ve got a visitor.” Carlo went through the protocol, letting the cop handcuff him. He didn’t like the cops using his family name. He hated it more than he hated his rotten father, who’d left him to be raised by two people who only knew how things were done in the old country and bickered constantly. No that his mother was better. She’d dumped him on his father’s doorstep before Carlo cut his first tooth and never looked back. That told him all he ever wanted to know about her. His crappy parents were the only reason he’d stuck around for Lydia and the kid. Sure, she was a good-looking woman in her youth and never gave him too much trouble. But, c’mon. He was handsome, smart, and an earner. Carlo could’ve done way better than a high school dropout. Look what good staying did him! A kid who didn’t appreciate him, and a wife who ratted on him. That one burned. Never in a million years would he think Fran, or whatever she called herself these days, would be the type to snitch. She’d always run her own game—Madame Francine was no psychic. She was fine. Why’d she have to turn on him? The feds knew exactly where he and his buddies were hiding. Once court came around; they knew every damned thing. Things his crew didn’t even know about his family and Carlo’s birth name—now everyone knew. Fran had to have some sort of trace on him. He knew it. How else would he and his crew get caught? The plan he had was foolproof, and none of his crew would snitch. They hung onto his every word, still did, even locked up. “Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.” “What’s that, Macri?” Carlo looked at his feet and shook his head. He didn’t want a visitor. There was no one on the outside he wanted to see. The girlfriend was out the moment the cops slapped handcuffs on her. Ungrateful whore. She’d only been in it for the money. How did he not see she was a gold digger? Didn’t matter. His true family was all here. Maybe his lawyer finally got him a parole hearing, but he doubted it. Instead of the big room where all the convicts met with their families, the two guards led him into a small room with a table and three chairs. Seated at the table was his lawyer, wearing a shit-eating grin on his too pretty face. The other was some chick he didn’t know—a well-dressed, high society type. Dark hair, expertly styled. Makeup, minimal. Sophisticated. Streaks of gray denoted age, but she also must’ve had a hell of a face guy, because her skin was like butter, smooth and flawless. None of it mattered. He was on the inside and unless she could get him out, he didn’t care a lick about who she was. Neither of them greeted him. One guard took off his handcuffs. Carlo gave his lawyer a questioning look. The asshole winked. Then he nodded at the guards. The two left as if they worked for him, not the federal penitentiary. He rubbed his wrists, watching the guards leave. With no small amount of suspicion, he took a seat at the table. Carlo didn’t like this lawyer. Paul had come to him, swore he’d get the crew off, and convinced him to point the finger at Fran. This was all his fault. His ex wouldn’t have snitched otherwise. Fran wouldn’t have betrayed him, but this guy had a way of making you believe whatever he said. Dammit. Fran ended up giving up more about Carlo than any of his crew could ever know to save her skin. He couldn’t blame his ex. Almost. Maybe he should’ve left her some money. That would have kept her quiet. One by one, Carlo’s crew entered the room. Each also had their handcuffs taken off. All except Lucky Joey. Where the hell was Joe? “Joseph took a plea bargain,” his lawyer said by way of greeting. “He got out last week.” Murderous rage flared in his chest. His vision blurred, and his pulse thrummed in his ears. Joey betrayed him. It cut deep. Worse than his wife ratting. They’d ran together before he’d even met Fran. Carlo took a deep breath. It wouldn’t do to let this lawyer or the others see his pain. He’d look weak. “So why are you bothering telling us, Paul?” His crew all made noises of agreement. Good. He hadn’t completely lost them. His lawyer held up his hands,