by Sophia Gray
This was the first time she'd ever really worked hard to achieve anything, and now that she had, it felt exhilarating.
She reported for duty at Bluebonnet a week later, just a few days before Hank was scheduled to go there. Captain Butler was polite but curt as he showed her around, asking most of the questions she'd already answered during her interviews and nodding tightly at her responses. He told her she'd be assigned to cell block G, and said that if she had any questions or concerns, she should come directly to him for the first week or two.
Beth's first day was largely uneventful. There were plenty of lewd comments and invitations from the prisoners, but she ignored them, and they soon lost interest. Two inmates got into a shouting match over a game of checkers, but she was able to break it up before it got violent. She saw a pair of Sinners making a drug handoff and enlisted the aid of two other guards to search them, which earned her a tight-lipped “Good work, rookie” from Butler.
When she saw Speed Bump, she felt a brief flutter of anxiety. He hadn't seen her in over ten years, but would he still recognize her somehow? She walked past him and he looked up, but he didn't seem to know who she was.
He would soon, though. Once she'd had a chance to settle in and see how things worked at Bluebonnet, she'd be able to tell the Warriors that she was here to help them.
Especially Hank.
Toward the end of the day, Beth saw Butler speaking in hushed tones with Bull Packard, the leader of the Aryans. As they talked, Butler handed a cell phone to Bull, even though phones were considered contraband. She was surprised, and quickly walked away before either of them noticed her.
So Butler was in with the Aryans. So what? She was here to help the Warriors, and she figured other guards were probably bought off by other gangs. At least now she knew she wasn't the only one there with an agenda.
After her shift, Beth drove to Tucker's Garage to celebrate with her uncle and the other Warriors. They toasted her over a dozen times that night, and every time, her heart glowed in her chest. She knew that Bib loved her and always would, but this was the first time she felt like she'd actually done something to make him proud of her.
When the night was over and Beth returned to her apartment complex, she found Butler waiting for her.
“So you run with the Carnage Warriors, huh?” he sneered. “That's funny, because on your employment forms, you stated that you'd never been affiliated with any gang or criminal organization. By signing a legal document which you knew to be false or misleading, you committed perjury. The punishment is up to five years imprisonment.”
The blood in Beth's veins turned to ice. She felt her hands start to tremble, but she tried to keep her voice calm. “Captain Butler, I don't know what you think you saw, but I can explain—”
“Save it. You think you're the only one who's ever tried to become a guard so she could bend the rules for the gang she rolls with?” Butler turned his head and spat on the pavement contemptuously. “A word to the wise, lady—just because your shift ends doesn't mean I disappear. What goes around on the inside can easily come around on the outside.”
“But sir...I mean, with all due respect, I saw you and Packard earlier today...”
Butler slammed his fist on the hood of Beth's car, silencing her.
“We've got a special way of doing things at Bluebonnet, and it doesn't include doing favors for bikers. Only Aryans get special treatment in my prison. They decide to let those favors trickle down to the Warriors, that's their business. I catch you doing an end run around them again, you're going to be out on your butt and facing criminal charges.”
Beth cleared her throat nervously, summoning all of her courage. “If you report me, what's to stop me from reporting you?”
Butler barked out a harsh laugh. “Try it. I've been through over a dozen disciplinary hearings, and each time, I've come out smelling like a rose. I've run Bluebonnet for going on twelve years now. You're a nobody. Remember that.” He started to walk away, then turned back. “And don't go running to your Warriors with any of this, thinking you can hide behind them. One word from me and you'll find yourself in a dark and lonely part of Bluebonnet, surrounded by a dozen rapers and killers with no backup on the way. Think about it.”
As soon as Butler was out of eyesight, Beth ran up to her apartment and locked the door. Then she curled up into a ball against it, shivering uncontrollably.
What had she gotten herself into?
10.
“Since then, they've basically been treating me like a waitress,” Beth finished. “Ordering me around, having me bring in food, alcohol, cell phones, anything they want. Bull's even mentioned having me fuck some of the guys, but I'm pretty sure he was just joking since Butler already lets them have 'conjugal visits' with hookers whenever they want.”
“He'd goddamn well better be joking about that,” Hank growled.
Hearing the gruff, protective edge in Hank's voice made Beth feel better than she had in days. Even though he was a prisoner and she was a guard, she still safer somehow, knowing that he was here with her now.
“But Jesus, Beth, now that you know this is how it is here, why the fuck are you still here?” he demanded. “Why didn't you just quit?”
“If I quit, I've got no guarantee that Butler won't use my paperwork against me. Or that Bull won't somehow take it out on the Warriors in here. It seems like I'm as trapped here as you are.”
There was another reason too, one Beth couldn't bring herself to say out loud—she hadn't quit because she'd wanted to see Hank again. Now that she knew how the Warriors were getting leaned on by the Aryans, she felt like she had to stick around for his sake, if only so he wouldn't feel so alone. It seemed silly to care about him so much, since they'd still only had one rushed encounter in a bathroom with no time to process it before Hank was hauled off in handcuffs. But she couldn't help it.
Hank sighed angrily. “Well, I guess we'd better think of something—either a way to get you out of here, or a way to let Bib know what the hell is going on, or both. The good news is, I've got plenty of time on my hands to come up with an idea. Come on, you should probably take me back to the block before people start to get suspicious.”
Beth knew he was right, but after the days she'd spent waiting to see him, she couldn't bear the thought of ending their private time together so soon. “Hank? I know things are awful here, and it's not what either of us expected, but...aren't you glad to see me? Just a little? I'm glad to see you. I've missed you.”
He scowled at her. “I still can't believe you thought it was a good idea to become a guard here. Even without the bullshit with the Aryans, how the fuck did you think this whole thing was going to play out when I got here? Some kind of big, tearful, romantic reunion? It was one night, Beth. Hell, it was barely twenty minutes. I was depressed and drunk off my ass. When I got arrested, you should have done the smart thing and stayed the fuck away from me. Instead you follow me all the way to prison, and now you're one more goddamn thing I need to worry about while I'm in here. It's not enough that I have to watch my back—now I need to watch yours too. This was a shitty thing to do to both of us.”
Beth tried to keep her expression neutral, but tears stung her eyes. She knew he was right, and she hated him for it. His words had made her feel like some stupid schoolgirl with a crush.
“I just thought I could make things easier for you while you were here,” she whispered. “That's all. Bib thought so too.”
“Yeah, and I'll be having that discussion with Bib if I ever get out of here. Meanwhile, you need to keep your head down and do your job. No more pulling me aside on flimsy excuses, no more secret stairwell rendezvous. They'll see through that shit real quick, and then we'll both be screwed. Understand?”
Beth nodded briskly. “Fine. Let's get you back, then.” She hoped her words would sound cold when they came out, but instead they just sounded petulant.
She led Hank back to cell block G, her heart sinking lower with every ste
p. Even after Butler had showed up at her apartment complex to scare her, she'd still spent almost every waking moment thinking about how good it would feel to be reunited with Hank.
Now she didn't even have that.
Chapter 11
Hank
Hank spent the next few days working out in the gym—jumping rope, doing sit-ups and push-ups, and relentlessly hammering the heavy bag and the speed bag with the ferocity that had earned him his nickname.
As he did, groups of Warriors and Aryans would assemble nearby to cheer him on, and groups of Sinners would inevitably appear to jeer and curse at him. He tuned it all out, trying to focus on the sound of his breath entering and exiting his body, or his fists connecting with their targets.
But instead, all he could think about was Beth.
He knew how much his words in the stairwell had hurt her. That had been the point. The truth was, he had been happy to see her. He'd thought about their night together a lot—no matter how much he'd tried not to—and his feelings about her reasons for being there were more complicated than he wanted to admit to himself.
He should have felt weird about how willing she was to become a CO just so they could see each other. That wasn't normal behavior for someone who'd only had sex with him once, was it? Yet instead of being creeped out by it, he was surprised to discover that he liked the idea of someone caring about him that deeply. He hadn't felt that from anyone since Elena had died. What he saw in Beth's eyes when she looked at him—the affection, the compassion, the desire—made him wonder if he might be able to find that kind of happiness again someday.
Which was why he'd had to shut it down so definitively.
Caring about anyone or anything in this place was a mistake. Sooner or later, someone—a guard, another inmate—would learn about it and find a way to take it away.
So Hank knew that if Beth had a hope in hell of surviving this, it would require her to do more than just put on an act. The men in here were predators, with absolutely nothing else to fill the minutes and hours of each day than sniffing out weaknesses in the guards and exploiting them. The warmth in her eyes when she looked at Hank needed to be snuffed out quickly and decisively, for her own good.
Still, the harsh things he'd said to her had made him feel oddly queasy. He'd killed men for the Warriors, he'd beaten a man almost to death for almost no reason at all, and he'd broken plenty of hearts in the days before he'd been married. Why was he squeamish about telling off some girl he barely knew?
And why did he find himself spending so much time thinking about how it would feel to be with her again—to taste her hot breath on his tongue as their sweaty bodies slid against each other and their hips moved together?
These thoughts tied his brain in knots, and no matter how many times he smacked the heavy bag to erase them, they seemed to twist and snarl even more tightly until his temples throbbed.
A new group of Sinners drifted into the gym, and Hank glanced over at them between punches. Foley was with them, but he was barely recognizable. He'd already lost weight, and his eyes were hollow from lack of sleep. He stared at the floor as he walked, not making eye contact with anyone.
Also, he was wearing makeup and a blonde wig, and he had an NOS symbol carved into the back of his neck.
Bluebonnet was overcrowded, and on Foley's first night, he'd been tossed into a cell with three Sinners. After the lights went out, Hank and the entire block had listened to the sounds coming from the cell—Foley squealing, weeping, begging, and finally screaming as the Sinners beat him savagely. He shrieked for the guards, and they were outside the cell within moments.
But not to help.
Instead, they stood and watched and laughed.
From that point forward, the Sinners had fun parading Foley around in drag, just to humiliate him in front of the other prisoners and demonstrate their ownership of him. The message was clear: We can make him do anything we want, we can punch him and kick him until we've broken every bone in his body, and there isn't a goddamn thing he can do to stop us.
“So much for owning the fucking place, huh, pal?” Hank grunted quietly.
This sent his brain spinning back to unwelcome thoughts of Beth, like a roulette wheel that kept landing on the same unlucky number over and over. She thought Bull was joking about pimping her out to other inmates, and maybe he was. But she had no idea what horrors these people were capable of, and she was powerless to stand against them. Putting people in hopeless situations and making them do terrible things was what they were good at.
Hank wanted to believe he could figure out a way to get her out of here. But as it was, he had enough trouble looking out for himself, and not a lot of time to reflect or come up with a workable plan.
Now the Sinners who surrounded Foley were tweaking his chubby cheeks and slapping his ass playfully, while others whistled and catcalled him as he passed them. He looked like he was wishing for the floor to open up and swallow him whole.
Hank noticed that this time, Roberto and Manolo were with the Sinners. Roberto was a short, skinny man with a shaved head and vivid tattoos that seemed to cover every inch of his body, including dozens of skulls and an NOS symbol on his forehead. His eyes blazed with the promise of mayhem like a pair of fiery coals, and he always seemed to be moving his shoulders and hips restlessly, as though keeping rhythm with music only he could hear. By contrast, Manolo was well over six feet tall, with neatly-trimmed hair and a large black mustache. His shoulders were so broad that he looked like he had a wooden plank hidden under his prison uniform.
“Well, well, if it ain't the Great White Hope,” Roberto sneered.
Before Hank could respond, Bull was standing at his side with Ram, War Skins, and 88. They seemed to appear out of nowhere, like a magic trick.
“What's the story, Ro-ber-to?” Bull chortled, drawing out the pronunciation of the name and rolling his Rs with an exaggerated Mexican accent. “You guys come to see what a real champion looks like?”
“I don't see no champion,” Roberto spat. “All I see is a dumb-looking gringo who's gonna spend so much time kissing canvas tomorrow, he may as well start selling ad space on the soles of his shoes.” He turned to Manolo. “How about it, hermano? What do you think?”
Hank didn't enjoy being used as a prop in the confrontation between Bull and Roberto, especially while he was trying to work out. And from Manolo's flat, steely gaze, stiff posture, and faint grimace of disapproval, he figured Manolo wasn't too keen on it either.
Still, Manolo played his part. He cracked his knuckles slowly and deliberately and said, “I'm gonna pound you like a tent stake in that ring, pendejo. Believe.”
Bull laughed, turning to Hank. “Well, Hank? What do you say to that?”
Hank wiped sweat from his brow. He hated being treated like a performing animal, but he knew what Bull wanted from him and figured he'd better get it.
“I think every man's got a plan until he gets hit,” Hank said. It was a quote from George Foreman, but he decided to keep that to himself, given Bull's strong feelings about black people.
“There, you see?” Bull smirked. “Tomorrow, you and the rest of the mongrel trash you run with are finally going to see incontrovertible proof of the white race's superiority.”
Roberto waved him away. “Are you stupid or something, homes? Ain't you never watched no fights on Pay-Per-View? When's the last time you saw a white boy win anything in the ring except a falling down contest?”
“This ain't Pay-Per-View, beaner,” Bull shot back. “This is Bluebonnet.” He jerked a thumb at Hank. “Come on, let's get out of here. This gym is starting to smell like taco meat and failure.”
Hank wasn't finished exercising, and the last thing he felt like doing was spending more time around Bull and listening to his racist tirades. But he knew his role in this scene—he was supposed to be the menacing attack dog who bared his teeth, barked when he was told, and followed his master's commands.
It was shitty, but it was a
better deal than Foley'd gotten.
So Hank nodded, tossed his boxing gloves aside, and followed Bull out of the gym without looking back.
Chapter 12
Beth
When Beth showed up for work on the day of the big fight, the entire prison was buzzing about it.
She had to break up at least half a dozen fights between inmates about who would win, and she spent the first two hours of her shift busting convicts for betting on the outcome before she realized it was pointless and ignored it instead. There were just too many of them making wagers, and it seemed like at least half the guards were in on the action too.
Lindhurst was sidelining as a bookie, running from block to block with fistfuls of cash so the prisoners could make bets with people in other parts of Bluebonnet—he even made a few trips to the Ad-Seg unit, so he could collect money from the guys in solitary and the hole. Meanwhile, Butler was openly boasting that he'd bet five hundred bucks on Hank knocking out Manolo by the fourth round.