The FBI was trying to put doubt in my mind, and they were succeeding.
Motherfuckers.
But I wasn’t about to let them see me sweat. “Duke had no dealings with the Southside Creepers.”
My brothers and I had been in a gang. But Duke had wanted no part of gangs after high school. He also hadn’t been keen on selling drugs, which was the bread and butter for gangs like the Southside Creepers, the one I’d joined my senior year of high school. The gang that Duke, Dillon, and I had grown up in had been mild—fights and territorial crap. But maybe Duke had wanted to add to his empire, which was money laundering as far as I knew, not drugs and certainly not guns.
“You don’t believe us?” Travers asked, seemingly appalled that I didn’t. “Why don’t you ask Duke yourself?”
I would put money on the fact that he was lying about Duke being at Hector’s. Still, I suddenly felt suffocated, as though Travers had clamped his fat fingers around my throat.
I knocked on the window to get Stew’s attention. “Don’t worry. I will.” I highly doubted Duke would confess to me, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t going to ask.
Stew opened the door.
Fresh air floated in, and I gobbled it up faster than the speed of light, hoofing it out of the room as fast I could as well, not acknowledging Travers, who was telling me they would be in touch.
Fuck them. No way am I being a pawn in their scheme.
“I need to use the phone,” I said on a growl.
Save your rage for Duke.
He was lucky I was in prison.
“Sorry, man. I didn’t mean to snarl.” If any other guard besides Stew were with me, he wouldn’t have had a problem shoving me into a wall. “So did you hear any of it?”
He swiped his badge over a panel at the door leading into the hub of the prison. “Bits and pieces.”
The sound of the lock clicking open echoed, piercing my eardrums. When we were on the other side, I asked, “Do you think my brother would set me up for murder?”
“Can’t say. But people do all sorts of unbelievable things to family.” He sounded as though he’d experienced being burned by a family member.
Stew banked right, and I went left.
“Hart, no phone privileges. It’s time to get back to your cell. We have a shift change in thirty minutes, and that means you need to be in your cellblock.”
It was probably best. The prison phones were heavily monitored, and I had another idea anyway. So I followed Stew back to my cellblock.
Inmates—tall, short, fat, skinny, and in-between—lounged around on chairs and butted their bellies up to tables. Some played cards. Some read. Others talked and laughed.
I searched the room up and down until I spotted Rudy Brown. He was our cellblock’s gang leader and quite savvy in finagling deals with contraband.
Rudy and four of his men were playing cards as I approached. The burly guy next to Rudy, who was famously known on the block as Munster, jumped up to block me.
I raised my hands. “Rudy, can we talk?”
Prison gangs were different than gangs on the outside—fiercer, dirtier in their fighting, and took no prisoners. It was easy to shoot a gun or aim it at someone as a threat. Inside, knives and shivs were by far more powerful and deadly than any gun I’d carried. A person didn’t see a blade coming until it was carving through muscle and bone. I had a feeling Munster had one of those shivs on him somewhere.
“What the fuck do you want?” Munster asked with a snarl that would scare a cockroach.
Some old fuck who’d been in prison most of his adult life thought Henry Vasquez looked like Herman Munster from a TV show I was too young to know.
“I need to talk to Brown.”
The buzz of voices in the high-ceiling room died. Even the men leaning on the rails outside their cells on the second floor turned their attention to us. Most of the men on our block didn’t mess around with Rudy Brown. The main reason stemmed more from what he could get them rather than his arsenal of men.
I wouldn’t be surprised if the guards on the third floor were watching us. A solid glass room surrounded two sides of the cellblock and was the epicenter in which the guards had a full view of the common room, either through the glass or via cameras positioned strategically in places that were hidden from view.
“Let him pass,” Brown said.
Damn straight. The fucker owed me. I’d done my time for him in the hole for protecting his ass not long after I’d started my sentence. He owed me more than one favor too.
Munster moved out of my way, and I slipped into the chair he’d occupied.
Rudy waved his gnarly fingers at the other two at the table. They scattered like rats.
Once we were alone, I leaned in. “I need a cell phone.”
Rudy set his brown gaze on me. “I sold them all.”
“Bull. I know you always keep one hidden in your cell.”
The other inmates returned to whatever they were doing, and the hum of chatter ensued.
Sitting back with the cards in his hand, Rudy kicked his long legs out. “It will cost you.”
“Let’s not forget you owe me, and I’m collecting on favor one.”
He chewed on his toothpick like it was a juicy piece of meat. “I hear you’re getting out.”
I leaned my elbows on the table. “I have a parole hearing. Nothing is set in stone.” I refused to get my hopes up, but no matter who I talked to, the consensus was a resounding yes—I was getting out.
“Why the need for a phone? No one loves you on the outside.”
I stuck Rudy with the middle finger as I popped up. I had no patience for him. “Forget I asked.”
Duke wouldn’t answer anyway. If he did, I doubt he would corroborate what the agents had told me about him being at Hector’s the night of the murder. Still, I had to know if the agents were blowing smoke up my ass or not.
Good luck with that. The only way you’ll know for sure is if you confront Duke in person. That probably wouldn’t work either. Duke was the master at keeping things close to his vest, in person or not. He was an expert at bluffing in a card game.
I shoved my fingers through my hair, ready to head toward my cell in the back corner of the main floor.
Rudy caught my arm. “Wait.”
I backtracked two steps.
“Sit,” he said evenly.
I was getting tired of people telling me to sit. I wasn’t a fucking dog. Regardless, if my brother would answer the phone or my question, I had to try.
I dropped down once again in the chair.
Rudy’s bald head glistened beneath the bright lights. “I hear we have some fresh meat. I also hear he wants you dead.”
It took me a second to register his words. “Who?”
“Does the name Costa ring a bell?” Rudy glanced around as though Costa was close by.
I followed his lead, anxious to know if Costa was in fact living in the same block as me. My search came up empty unless Costa was in a cell on the second floor or had gone back to the library.
“Costa isn’t in this block,” Rudy said. “However, rumor is the warden is moving him into our cellblock. The others are packed to the gills.”
“Just met the fucker in the library earlier. And let him try.”
Rudy perceptibly flicked his head at Munster, who looked up to the glass tower—the epicenter of where the guards watched us with a keen eye.
Rudy was smart. When he wanted to talk without the guards reading his lips, he had Munster stand in front of the camera pointing at his face.
Munster did just that.
“So you don’t know him?” Rudy asked.
“Fuck the dude. Are you going to give me a cell phone or not?” I whispered with a frustrated sigh.
“When the guards make the shift change, duck into my cell. You can make the call there. But be quick about it. You only have ten minutes max before head count.”
Duke had better fucking answer. If not, I just might
take the FBI up on their offer.
4
Denim
Rudy stood outside his cell while I dialed Duke’s number, tapping my foot on the floor. I doubted he would answer or take my call, although I wasn’t on the prison phones. Then again, a burner phone probably came up as “No Caller ID” as well.
Rudy was nervously darting his head around and then back at me. I couldn’t blame him for being anxious. If we got caught, it was the hole for sure. As much as I despised small, dark places, I needed to talk to Duke. I needed to try to get him to talk to me. I had no clue why he’d been ignoring me, but that voice in my head was convincing me that just maybe the Feds were right.
The line rang and kept ringing. I was ready to launch the phone at the chipped cement wall when the line connected.
“Hello.” The woman’s voice was like a siren’s, lulling me home on a dark and stormy night.
Rudy stuck his bald head in. “Hurry the fuck up.”
“Is someone there?” she asked sweetly.
Blood rushed to my cock. I cleared my throat, adjusting my pants as I turned my back to Rudy. “Who’s this?”
She giggled. “Who’s this?”
Between her voice and her laugh, I was instantly hard.
Fuck Duke. I’ll take the minutes I have and talk to her.
I looked at the phone to be sure I’d dialed the correct number and not some sex hotline, although the latter sounded like a fun thing to do.
“Hello.” That time her voice wasn’t as silvery, and I detected a hint of familiarity.
“Do I know you?”
“I doubt it. Are you looking for Duke?”
“Who is that?” Duke sounded sleepy.
Sexy woman. Sleepy voice. The fucker had probably just gotten done with a fantastic round of sex. What I wouldn’t give to roll over and tangle my limbs around the soft and silky skin of a woman.
“Put him on,” I said curtly.
Rudy poked his head in again. “Your ten just dropped to two minutes.”
A growl was ready to erupt from the deep pit of my stomach. “Sweetheart, put my brother on the phone.”
“It’s for you,” she said to Duke.
Rudy was bouncing on the balls of his feet.
“Hello,” I said to the woman. “Put my brother—”
Rudy ripped the phone from my hand. “Get back to your cell. Guards are coming.” Panic jumped off him in waves, which was a stark contrast to the calm, cool, and collected con man. Rudy had been pinched for armed robbery and was in year three of his five-year sentence. He would’ve been a candidate for the early release program if it weren’t for the contraband he’d been caught with last year.
Grinding my molars together, I ducked out just as heavy footsteps filled the room. Guards piled in. Inmates scattered into their cells.
I eyed Rudy as I slipped into my cell three doors down. He looked relieved.
I was anything but. My pulse thumped a rapid beat in my ears. I’d learned over the years in prison to accept the things I couldn’t control. If I hadn’t, I would’ve gone mad in a split second. But I had a feeling I was going to be a crazy fucker and unleash my pent-up madness on Duke if I got out. I had to reel it in. Otherwise, I was afraid I might do something to screw up my parole, thanks to the Feds.
They’re busting your balls, man. You can’t believe them.
The sad part was that I did, or at least a tiny part of me did. Coupled with Duke not showing his face in six years, I was beginning to believe the Feds were right. I was beginning to believe Duke had indeed had a hand in Hector’s murder. Duke had set me up, and that was the sole reason he never visited me in prison.
The guards finished with their head count, and slowly the normal buzz of chatter returned to the cellblock.
I wanted one more shot to get Duke on the phone. But when I started for Rudy’s cell, the sound in the room died. When I glanced at the main entrance to the cellblock, blood rushed to my head. I clenched my fists, grinding my back teeth, as I watched a guard escort Costa to a cell.
The burly fucker strutted in as though he were the head asshole in charge of the cellblock rather than Rudy. Costa searched high and low until he spotted me. Then those crooked yellow teeth shined like a spotlight.
Rudy sauntered over to me. “He wants to tear off your head.”
“He can try.” I was ready to feel my fists connect with bone. I was ready to taste blood and to draw blood.
Costa bore his lethal gaze into me as he settled into a cell with a short, squat inmate. Poor guy. I didn’t feel bad for anyone in there, but I did now.
Once the guard left behind the ten-inch steel door, Rudy warned, “Careful, Hart. You might not get that freedom you salivate for.”
“What are you, my father?” I bit out.
“I have to answer to the warden,” he said.
I shoved my hands through my hair. “Sucks to be you.”
Rudy had some deal with the warden to keep peace in the cellblock. I had no idea what type of deal and didn’t care to know.
Munster strutted over. “We’re going to have a problem.”
Let the fun begin.
My money was on Munster. He was taller and bulkier than Costa, and he had a right hook that could knock a person’s lights out in a flash. I’d seen him do just that in the yard when some newbie tried to piss off Rudy. Maybe I should just let Rudy’s gang handle Costa.
Costa pushed off the doorjamb of his cell.
“Showtime,” I mumbled.
Munster’s mean glare at Costa said he wanted a piece of the dude. I would gladly give him his shot, but I wanted to know how Costa knew my name and why he had a hard-on for me.
But before I could open my mouth, Costa had his hands around my throat and was shoving me into my cell. I tried to pry his paws off me, but the fucker was strong. The room began to spin as darkness encroached from all sides.
Then he threw me, and my back landed against the stainless-steel sink, punching the air from my lungs. In that moment, I swore I was about to face my maker. I gulped down more and more air as intense pain careened up my spine.
A commotion followed with men egging on Costa, or maybe me. I couldn’t exactly hear over the pounding in my head and the burn in my lungs.
Don’t engage. You’ll land in the hole, and then your parole hearing will be compromised.
But it was too late. I couldn’t let the fucker kill me. I had too much to do when I got out.
If you get out.
I shook my head to stop the room from spinning when Costa launched into a series of left and right jabs. My head bounced back and forth like a tennis ball.
Bone connected with bone, sending warm liquid trickling out of my nose.
I wouldn’t see freedom. After this, I would probably be waiting another few years to go before the parole board.
Maybe if I didn’t engage, I still stood a chance for parole.
Costa rammed a punch to my gut.
I doubled over. “I have no beef with you. I don’t even know what your problem is.” My words came out strangled.
He bared his teeth. “Tito Alvarez wants you dead, and it’s my job to do just that.”
My body stiffened as I listed to one side. “Hector’s brother?” I wasn’t surprised the fucker would want me dead. The question, though, was why had he waited six years?
Guards rushed in. One of them had his Taser out, ready to shoot Costa.
Costa raised his hands over his head, smirking. “We’re not done, Hart.”
A guard cuffed him. “You’re done for a long time.”
I imagined he would be in the hole for at least thirty days. I’d served the same fate when I first arrived. I hadn’t been trying to kill anyone when I’d gotten that punishment. But inmates who had been in for years were set in their ways, and newbies were put through a hazing of sorts to see what they were made of.
Costa’s nostrils flared. “Watch your back, Hart. Whether in here or out there. There’s a
hefty contract on your head.”
The guard dragged him out of my cell.
I held out my arms, ready for Stew to slap the cuffs on me. No matter who started a fight, it meant an automatic trip to solitary.
“The only place you’re going is to medical. You need to get that eye checked.”
I heard him, but my mind was still stuck on one question. Why wait six years to retaliate? I understood Tito’s need for revenge. He was definitely an eye-for-an-eye kind of dude. I was sure he had friends in prison, even though I knew he didn’t have anyone in my cellblock. But the prison had several cellblocks.
I wiped blood from my eye, nose, and face with my shirt. “Why not the hole?”
Sympathy washed over Stew as he grabbed my arm. “Medical first. Standard procedure.”
I had the worst luck. It was as though someone didn’t want me to get out of prison.
Yeah, dude. That someone is the person who murdered Hector.
Rudy whistled. “He did a number on you, man.”
“I’ll be fine. I guess I’ll be staying for a while.”
Rudy’s lips turned down, his expression telling me he was sorry.
I didn’t want his pity. But if I wasn’t getting out, I might as well do whatever it took to protect myself.
5
Jade
Two weeks had passed since I’d interviewed with Kelton Maxwell. I’d settled into my new job, feeling a great sense of accomplishment, and I was making new friends with the other ladies in the office. Mallory was my mentor and trainer, but I could ask anyone in the office for help, and they would drop what they were doing to help me. Before long, I would be a paralegal, and that excited me more than anything. With that title came more money, and I could finally breathe for the first time in years.
Mallory’s boss’s office was next door to Kelton’s, so her cubicle butted up to mine. It was nice to have someone I knew helping me. It took away most of my nerves, allowing me to concentrate better. According to Mallory, Kelton was a very demanding attorney, and his previous assistant couldn’t handle the late nights or him. So far, I didn’t feel as though Kelton was demanding. However, I was still new, and he was probably waiting for me to get up to speed. Regardless, I could handle whatever he threw my way. After all, it was my job to make sure he had everything he needed for his cases.
Hart of Vengeance: The Hart Series Page 3