by J. D. Sloane
Copyright © 2017 by J. D. Sloane
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 9781543945645
for my husband
my critic, my sounding board and my partner in crime
without you my shotguns would still have bullets in them
love you forever
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter One
Ronan White drummed his fingers on the picnic table near the prison benches and let his eyes sweep across the yard, his dark brows raising as he noticed the high, barbed wire gate near the entrance stutter on its tracks. He lifted his cards and then snapped his fingers in the dealer’s direction, fixing him with a stare so magnetic that the younger man froze, his face filling with a moment of worried confusion.
“Just one, Chase,” Ronan said, rolling his jaw as the men on either side of him fell into an abrupt silence. “I’m feeling lucky today. Those Wonderland cocktails of Dula’s seem to really be doing the trick.”
“One card,” Chase said, tossing it to him with a nervous tic that almost sent the card flipping off the edge of the table. Ronan slid it into his hand without looking at it and tracked the long black delivery truck down the drive, the insignia on the side so faded and torn it was almost unreadable.
Signal Food Supply, Ronan thought, glancing over his shoulder as he saw one of the more well- known gang leaders in the yard walk over to the fences and speak with one of the guards. The Greener Solution. Well, well. That’s twice this week now and right at 11 am. I wonder how much those boys like being low man on the totem pole. And my guess would be not much.
Ronan watched the van roll towards the south gate as the man next to him tossed another cigarette into the pot. He noted almost without thinking that there were two men in the truck and that two guards swung the back doors open to help them unload. He glanced at his cards as the man next to him smiled and then flipped two cigarettes into the pot, watching Chase fiddle with his deck with a sudden wave of annoyance.
“Hey,” Jacob said, tipping his head towards the yard behind them. “I hear that Lincoln Hax is getting out of protective custody this afternoon.”
Ronan glanced over his shoulder and watched as the gang leader spoke with the guard quickly, their exchange breaking up with the easy comradery of long term business contacts. He brushed his thumb across his lips as the guard rejoined his colleagues on the other side of the yard and then turned back around, knocking on the table with his knuckles.
“Well, that is good news, Jake,” Ronan said. “He’s definitely been missed around the yard. By his boys down in D Block at least.”
Chase glanced over his shoulder as the tall gang leader glanced in their direction and then rolled his tattooed shoulders lightly, running a hand over his shaved head as he tipped his chin towards one of the men next to him.
“Word has it he’ll be back in gen pop by lunch,” Chase said, shrugging as he touched the deck again, his fingers sliding over the top of it with a greasy brush of one finger. “But he’ll be hard to get to. The guards watch over him almost as closely as his own people do.”
“The whole world hates a quitter, Chase,” Ronan said, holding up his finger to him. “Don’t forget that. And refresh my memory. His crew works in the laundry, don’t they?”
“Most of them do,” the man next to him said as he tossed in his cards in with almost indecipherable groan. “But they won’t be able to get him back in there for a few days at least. Maybe a week. I hear you’re meeting with that reporter from the news tomorrow. You know, the good looking one. Alicia…whatever.”
Ronan tipped his eyes in his direction and then flipped his cards over as Chase frowned, his dark eyes twirling wildly for a moment.
“Why, Travis?” he asked his low, gravelly voice coming out in an amused hiss. “Do you want an autograph?”
Ronan smirked as Travis blushed, the expression so strange on his gaunt, bearded face that the other two men burst into laughter. He felt his expression drop as Chase flipped over his hand one card at a time, his face lighting up with victory as he flipped over the last one.
“That’s a straight to the Ace, my friend,” Chase said, tapping the face of the half-dressed pin-up girl on the far right as his face split into a wide grin. “Joker’s wild! Holy shit, you should see your face…”
Chase laughed as he swept one thick arm towards the pot and Ronan leaned over the table, his pale face suddenly so friendly that Chase paused with his hand in mid-air.
“This card,” Ronan said slowly, picking up the pin-up rounding out his flush as he held it up to him. “Where did you get it?”
Chase looked over the card swiftly, his dark eyes darting to the men next to him as he shook his head and shrugged.
“Just in the pack with the others,” Chase said as Ronan’s face moved with some emotion too quick and convoluted to catch. He held Chase’s gaze, something violent and unchained unfurling behind the wide dark pool of his eyes and then glanced over his shoulder and back again, his expression changing slightly.
“Not this one you didn’t,” Ronan said. “I really can’t express to you how much I hate people touching my things without my express. Permission.”
He tucked the card in his shirt pocket as Chase slid the deck in his direction and felt his anger take an erratic upwards spike at the simple terror in his face, his expression so stiff it looked like it would crack wide open. He rolled his shoulders slightly, trying to decide how much good old-fashioned violence might appease his sudden killing rage and then snapped his eyes towards the fences again as one of the tattooed leader’s men sauntered towards a group of glassy-eyed inmates, his hands shoved deep in his pockets as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
“Those men,” Ronan said, his face becoming cheerful again as he tilted his head to the other side. “Go sell to them.”
Chase glanced over his shoulder and then met Ronan’s gaze as he raised his brows politely.
“Those guys? They only buy from Garrett’s crew.”
“Well that doesn’t sound very American, now does it? What ever happened to a little friendly neighborhood competition to round out the free market, hmm?”
Ronan tipped his wide dark eyes towards the fences again and then sat back on the bench, tipping his finger towards the other men as he threw Chase a look of carefully controlled annoyance.
“Go now, Chase. Fortune favors the bold.”
Ronan looked up at him from lowered eyes as Chase got up, already sweating in the bright October sunshine and then tipped his chin to the man on his left as he sauntered away, his pale face brightening with a wave of amused interest.
“You should get ready,” Ronan said, watching Garrett do a quick double take as Chase walked towards the gate. “It won’t take long for Garrett to try to reacquisition his favorite. Clients.”
“Fuck’s sake, White,” Travis said, his wiry body snapping into attention as Jacob swept the cards off the table and ducked them behind one of the metal bleachers. “You know Garrett’s going to take him apart, right? He’s got at least fifty pounds on him.”
“Well, if the light-fingered Mr. Smith only wanted to fight within his weight class he should’ve picked a more reputable venue. Jacob, you
take the dealer. I’ll handle Garrett. Alone.”
Ronan whistled quietly under his breath as Travis closed his eyes and then shook out his sleeves, pulling his fists into his lap as he turned towards the middle of the yard. Ronan saw Garrett turn in Chase’s direction, his dark eyes shifting from one face to the other and smiled slightly as he noticed two guards from the other side of the yard elbow one another, watching the action from a careful distance.
Friends in low places, Ronan thought, his broad shoulders pitching in the direction of the fences as he saw Garrett tap Chase on the shoulder with one meaty palm. You just can’t have too many of them.
He saw Chase turn and say something rapidly, the ripe, unhealthy color in his face enough to set his teeth on edge and then stood up as Garrett swung on him without warning, his arm arcing through the air like a sledgehammer as it hammered it into the side of Chase’s skull. Ronan leapt out of his chair as Garrett’s crew turned like a flock of birds and ran towards the center of the fray as he saw the circle of men near the fences huddle together in sudden excitement, closing into a tight circle as the guards began to move.
Ronan felt his entire body uncoil as he ran, letting his bloodlust snap his focus into one quick predatory engine of instinct. He saw the circle of men thicken and sway as he approached, the men moving with Garrett as he tossed Chase to the ground and jogged up the metal picnic bench outside of the circle before it could close again, leaping behind Garrett in one smooth movement as he felt the crowd shift like a school of fish.
Ronan felt his hands dust the ground as he landed, the sound enough to turn Garrett’s head and he hammered his boot into the front of Garrett’s knee as he stood up, throwing his fist into the soft underside of his jaw as he let out a muffled yell. He hit him again as he heard Garrett’s teeth crack together and tackled him to the ground as the crowd roared behind him, his temper escalating so wildly his vision seemed to begin behind a thin pulsing membrane of red.
Ronan straddled Garrett across the chest as he began to struggle and threw his fist into the bridge of his nose, sneering deeply as he felt it flatten beneath his knuckles. He felt Garrett’s blood hit the front of his gray shirt in a sudden spray and jerked backwards as Garrett threw his arm up, slicing his handmade shiv in front of his face close enough for Ronan to feel the air shift as it passed. Ronan grabbed his wrist, forcing it back down against Garrett’s throat as he saw the guards breach the circle out of the corner of his eyes.
“What’s the matter, Garrett?” Ronan said, his dark eyes twirling like flaming pinwheels above the calm, violent amusement of his expression. “Can’t handle a little capitalist rivalry? Did you really think you could corner the market forever with the kind of product you sell?”
“You’re dead,” Garrett said, his broken nose turning the phrase into a garbled blur of consonants. “Who do you think runs this place, hmm? You won’t last the fucking week…”
Ronan leaned closer, his wavy dark blond hair swinging forward until it brushed his face and gave him a broad wink as he yanked the shiv out of his fist.
“Well, I guess I’ll have to take your word for that. Still lots of empty rooms at the Hotel Wonderland. Feel free to look me up anytime.”
He tuned Garrett’s shiv around as he saw a shadow of bodies close over them suddenly and ripped the glass end up his forearm in one smooth, violent motion, gritting his teeth as his arm opened up into a sudden river of blood. He saw Garrett’s eyes widen as he tossed it into the lawn and then felt his body snapped backwards as two guards grabbed him by the arms, dragging him off of Garrett with all the finesse of two amateur fishermen trying to wrestle an alligator into their boat. He relaxed his body slightly, feeling his chest slap into the dirt with a wave of quick pulsing rage and then glanced to his right as he saw one of the men pick up the shiv near Garrett’s head, a blur of guards rushing past them into the crowd.
“Ah, Christ,” he heard one of the guards say above him. “Look at his arm. He’s bleeding all over the place.”
Ronan licked his bottom lip and closed his eyes briefly as he heard another guard walk over and swear under his breath, his black boots pausing at least two feet away from him as if he was surrounded by an invisible fence.
“Someone get him up to the infirmary. You. Morlan. Let’s go.”
Ronan glanced up as a young guard with a round, serious face tapped Ronan on the shoulder with the flat of his club and tipped his chin at him.
“Come on, White,” he said, glancing at the men next to him before taking a step forward. “Don’t make this any harder than it has to be.”
Ronan sat up on his knees, spitting into the dirt as he tracked one of the guards next to him carefully for a moment before ignoring him completely.
“Cuff him, Morlan,” one of the older guards said with a disgusted grimace as Ronan got to his feet. “Jesus. Were you even watching the fight?”
Morlan shook out his cuffs as Ronan looked him over and then turned his wrists up, his blood dripping onto the ground in a slow, steady slap. Morlan hesitated, tucking his club into his belt and Ronan leaned over him until they were almost eye to eye.
“Don’t worry, Morlan. You can’t catch anything I’ve got.”
Morlan’s face fluttered with a moment of worry and then he snapped the cuffs over Ronan’s wrists without incident, stepping aside as his shoulders relaxed slightly.
“Let’s go,” he said, sweeping his club towards the prison doors. “You know the way.”
Ronan walked past what was left of the crowd and bit back an amused sneer as he saw that Garrett was being led away in the opposite direction, talking to one of the guards furiously as the officer slipped his bloody shiv into a plastic bag. He looked around for his men as Morlan led him up the steps without speaking and then cracked his neck lightly as they stepped inside the prison doors, turning his arm around to glance at it in the stark overhead light.
“He won’t be in solitary for long, you know,” Morlan said under his breath as they took a turn down one of the narrow corridors, the light fading out into a low, mellow glow. Ronan tipped his brow at him, his pale face dropping into his usual mask of polite disinterest and glanced up as they walked towards one of the forks in the hallway, watching the guard at the desk stand at sudden attention.
“I know,” Ronan said, holding the eyes of the guard behind the desk as he slowed his pace. “He’s one of your cronies’ top earners, from what I hear. My, my. What is the correctional system coming to these days?”
“Which means he’ll be coming for you,” Morlan said, lowering his voice as Ronan whistled tunelessly under his breath, enjoying the thrill of absolute fear that crossed the hall guard’s face as they approached. “I can’t watch him every minute. Even in Dula’s block he’s bound to have one or two guards in his pocket.”
“I appreciate your concern, Morlan, I do. But believe me when I say that Garrett’s solution is a little above your paygrade. Just find out which guards he’s paying off. I’ll handle the details.”
Ronan paused as the guard behind the desk held up his clipboard and Morlan nodded towards the right wing, pointing to Ronan’s forearm.
“Infirmary. And there may be more coming.”
The desk guard looked down at Ronan’s arm and flinched visibly before controlling himself, looking back down the corridor.
“Fight in the yard?”
“Bad one,” Morlan said. “There were four men injured at least. Maybe more.”
Ronan looked over the red metal locker behind the guard’s head as he swiped his ID through a black plastic card reader and then averted his eyes casually as the metal double-doors sighed open on a long metal tunnel leading back to his block. He glanced out the high windows lining the top of the corridor as they came to the metal doors at the other end and then scratched his chin as Morlan swiped his card down another card reader, watching the light flash from red to green.
Ronan looked up as the air temperature dropp
ed a handful of degrees almost at once and glanced around the high brick walls as they turned the corner to the infirmary, a dark-haired man in a white lab coat looking up as they entered. Ronan swept his eyes around the modern looking medical facility, the only part of the wing that looked as if it had actually been designed with inmates in mind, and then turned as a tall blond woman walked over and looked up at him without smiling.
“Can I help you?” She asked, her clipped, prissy tone igniting him on some low, half-hidden level. He stepped forward as he met her eyes, turning his cuffed wrists up as he felt a thin drop of blood crawl back down his arm.
“I hope so, Nurse Helton. I’d really hate to have to sew this up myself.”
“That’s Doctor Helton,” she corrected, her pale, pinched face registering a brief moment of disgust as Ronan smirked. “And no, we’re not in the habit of letting inmates tend to their own injuries, Mr. White. Especially one that deep. Come with me. Lance can you assist please?”
Ronan waited for Morlan to uncuff him and then followed the doctor to the back of the medical center, his dark eyes tracking the nurse towards what looked like a locked metal cage. He glanced over his shoulder, flicking his fingers at Morlan impatiently and then turned his full attention back to the doctor as she positioned a rolling tray next to a table, her flat brown eyes shifting with annoyance as she pulled on a pair of medical gloves.
“Could you hold your arm out please?” Helton said, as Lance stepped up beside her with the air of a slightly outmatched bodyguard. Ronan took a seat on one the folding chairs as she reached for a damp piece of gauze and then held out his arm as he looked her over, his skin barely flinching as she wiped off the worst of the blood. He considered her pale, unmade-up face carefully, deciding that there was nothing even accidently attractive about her, but her crisp, touch-me-not attitude suggested that she warded off several advances a day, a combination he found just unbalanced enough to be interesting.
“Been working here long?” Ronan asked, drawing the words out as he tipped his eyes in her direction. The doctor examined the cut carefully and then adjusted her glasses with one hand, tossing the bloody gauze onto the metal tray beside her.