Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 68400 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 342(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68400 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 342(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
When I’d gone to visit and talk with the man, he’d had another flashback, and had tried to take me out like he’d once taken his enemies out.
I’d left that day with a bruised ego and a bruised tailbone from throwing myself backward.
Tomas had gone out of his way to make sure to vet the guys I saw beforehand and make sure they were restrained if need be.
“I do what I want,” I told my brother. “You know that.”
“I do,” he grumbled. “Just promise that you’ll let me talk to him, feel him out, before you go about trying to meet him, okay? It’s gonna take me a few days.”
I rolled my eyes. “You have one.”
He sighed and left with my letter in his hand.
I felt the nervous butterflies that felt more like a swarming flock of birds take flight in my stomach.
Would he freak out and tell someone? Or would he keep my secret?
Well, soon I’d know the answer.
I just wasn’t sure I was ready for it.
CHAPTER 3
I suffer from ‘CHS.’ Can’t hear shit.
-Wake to Davis
WAKE
“You’re what?” I asked as I leaned back in my bunk, my overly long hair partially hiding my eyes as I tried to sleep despite the lights still being on.
“I’m getting out soon,” the man on my left, Kyle Davis, better known by his last name only, said. “They told me last week that I was getting a court date.”
I grinned. “That’s good news, man. You sure you’re ready for that?”
Davis said a few choice words and then, “I’m ready for some pussy. I’ll figure the rest out after.”
I snorted out a laugh.
Weren’t we all?
It’d been nearly eight long years of nothing but my fist—sometimes I spiced shit up by switching from my left fist to my right—and I was more than ready for a warm, willing pussy myself.
Later in the week, I had my own parole hearing.
What were the odds that six of the men I was closest to in this place were getting out at nearly the same time?
Was this a setup?
I didn’t do coincidences.
I did facts. Cold, hard facts.
And something in my gut was telling me that shit wasn’t right here.
They didn’t just let men go from prison without having a reason.
I mean, Davis still had four years left of his sentence. Aodhan, our resident Irishman, still had six. Then there was Bain, who had three. Cassius, who had two. Then there was Etienne, who had three years left on his sentence, without the possibility of parole.
So what the fuck was going on?
I wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth or anything, but shit wasn’t right.
Good things didn’t happen to men like us.
We made things happen.
There was a huge difference.
“Mail!” a guard, the redheaded one who had a permanent scowl on his face, growled. “Westfield.”
I got up and took the letter from him.
He narrowed his eyes at me and said, “I have something to talk to you about later.”
I looked at the letter and frowned.
It wasn’t opened.
Usually, if I had mail either from my brother or sister, it was opened. The contents already perused to make sure they weren’t conspiring with us to break us out.
“You got mail?” Davis asked. “It’s not even Wednesday.”
Shit was definitely getting weird lately.
“Is it from your sister?”
I looked up to find Etienne awake and staring at me from his own cell across the walkway in front of me.
“No,” I admitted. “Actually, I’m not too sure who it’s from.”
“Your sister coming to visit soon?” Davis asked.
I narrowed my eyes. “My sister will not marry you, motherfucker.”
I’d met Davis, Aodhan, Bain, Cassius, and Etienne in prison. Though, I’d known Aodhan because he’d once been married to my sister.
Of all the places for us to meet up again, this place hadn’t been the one I’d expected.
I liked them all, and they’d all proved more than once that they would have my back if shit hit the fan—and inside of a maximum-security prison that housed all of the baddies of the region, that happened more often than not.
“You never know,” Davis grumbled.
I knew.
My sister, Danyetta, was likely to never marry anyone ever again.
Hopefully, that was something she just said and never followed through with. But my sister was as stubborn as they came.
“Well, if it’s not from your sister,” Etienne asked. “Then who’s it from?”
Etienne’s Cajun accent was thick with sleep, letting me know that I hadn’t been the only one taking a nap.
There wasn’t much we could do on lockdown days—days where shit hit the fan in the prison and they locked us in our cells until shit calmed down—but sleep, do bodyweight exercises, or talk to your cell neighbors.
Etienne had decided that a nap was for him.
Much like I’d tried to do, yet Davis had all but forced me to stay awake.
“I already said I don’t know,” I grumbled as I tore into the envelope.