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The bastard gave me a side-eye, muttering something under his breath that I didn’t catch. He unfolded his arms then, and whether it was instinct or a stray beam of weak sunlight landing on his hand, I noticed the shank snugged tightly against his palm.
He lunged for me, his movements snake-like and lightning quick. My hand curled into a fist, and I struck, ramming my hand into his stomach, doubling him over. Wrenching up his arm, I slammed it against the nearby wall repeatedly until he released the weapon. I shoved him away, scooping up the shank. It was made of three plastic knives taped together with duct tape. One end had been melted and twisted together to form a sharpened edge. It was enough to kill if something vital was hit.
Shifting the weapon around in my hand, I sank the shank into his neck, riding his body down to the ground. Blood pumped from the wound like a geyser, bathing my face. I was smiling as I stabbed him ten, twenty… maybe thirty times. The sound of the brawl behind me was beginning to wane, and I stood, shoving the shank into Styles’s hand as he walked past me, stepping over Rios’s body like he was nothing but trash in his way.
“Get the fuck inside and clean up,” the captain of the guards said under his breath. I disappeared from the yard, pushing through the door and back inside the pod.
Chapter 1
Nick
One week.
That’s how long I had left inside these fucking depressing walls. Seven days. One hundred and sixty-eight hours, and I was counting down each and every goddamned one of them.
“Is your old lady coming today?” I asked Hemi, watching him shuffling the deck of cards in his hands. C-pod was mostly empty because it was visitation day.
Hemi’s grin was instantaneous. He’d married Taylor—his high school sweetheart—the day before he surrendered himself to police. It was fucking fairy-tale shit, and the bastard was so in love with his wife that it was slightly nauseating to be around.
“She’ll be here at midday.”
My gaze flickered to the caged clock above the doorway into the pod. It was just ten in the morning, so we had a couple of hours to play gin while we waited. I never had any visitors. Didn’t want any. There were only a few members of the MC who were clean enough to come in here. All the others were wanted for other crimes and had no interest in coming inside Rookwood for a chat.
“How’s she doing?”
Hemi shrugged and started dealing. The cards glided against the steel table, and I stopped them with my hand. Without taking his eyes off his task, he finally spoke. “She’s getting hassled by the landlord.”
“About what?”
His gaze stayed on the table, his fingers restlessly straightening the deck. “He’s saying she’s not paid the rent on time, but she’s meticulous with all that.”
I frowned. The club would’ve been looking after her while Hemi was inside, so what the fuck was going on? “Did you tell her to take this to Rixon?”
Hemi finally lifted his eyes to mine. “She’s terrified of talking to Prez about something so small.” He shrugged, rearranging his cards.
I clenched my jaw, irritated by the motherfucking landlord even though I’d never met the guy before. I slid my cards closer and looked at what I had. “Tell her to speak to Gunnar if she doesn’t want to take it to the top of the chain. He’ll sort it out.” I picked up the card in the discard pile between us, slotting the two of hearts beside the three of diamonds.
“So, next week is it, huh?” Hemi said, picking up the top card from the stock pile. “Is Dimitri picking you up?”
Dimitri was my twin brother. I’d forbidden him from visiting while I was serving my time. I didn’t want him in this hellhole—even if he was only coming in to see me. “No,” I replied, picking up a card and relinquishing another. “I don’t want him anywhere near here.”
I was the fuck up of the family, not him. He had a future I had no right to dream about. D was different. Smart. So fucking smart. I was looking forward to speaking to him again—properly speaking to him, not just using vague language while talking on the monitored phones. He’d written me a couple of letters at the beginning, but after the first few, I refused to read themanymore and told him to stop sending them, too. He hadn’t asked why. Hadn’t been upset that I wanted him to stop. He simply knew that he was the one weakness I didn’t want anyone else to know about.
“Sobolev, you have a visitor.”
My head jerked up, the hairs on the back of my neck suddenly prickling with awareness. Running a hand over the back of my skull, I stared at CO Hart standing a few feet away. His hands were on his hips, and he was staring at me with a bored expression. Still, I didn’t move, trying to understand the feeling of dread that had suddenly come over me.
“Get your ass moving, Sobolev. I don’t have all fucking day,” Hart barked, glaring at me this time.
Hemi only raised his brows at me as I rose from the table. Hart led me out of the pod and down the hall, pausing at the checkpoints and waiting to be let through. Before we got to the last one, Hart stopped and reached behind him, pulling out a pair of handcuffs.
“You know the rules.”
I held my hands out to him, knowing it was all for show. I had the fucking run of this place. Once the cuffs were secured, he led me through the final checkpoint and into the visitation room. There were a dozen cubicles in front of me. Each one had a phone attached to the wall, mirrored on the other side, and glass between them. Eleven of the seats were already taken. My gaze slid along to the far right, and I prayed it wasn’t my brother coming to visit me as a pre-celebration of my release. Inhaling deeply, I blew out the breath and walked to the end cubicle, immediately stunned by who was sitting on the other side.
Lowering myself into the chair, I picked up the phone and pressed it to my ear.
Gunnar Morgan—my best friend and club brother—stared back at me. He picked up the receiver on his side.
