Prologue
SEBASTIAN
There is no greater revenge than the kind served cold and dead. The kind that is unexpected and long feared by professional backstabbers. My blood itches with the need to put my brother’s head on a damn platter for what he did. He ruined my life. Five years behind bars. Five years of pissing in front of someone and beating the hell of men who try and sneak a peek.
I have one year left in this shithole. The walls are caving in a little closer every day. The orange jumpsuit is uncomfortable and scratches my skin. I swear they don’t wash them: it’s disgusting. The food is even worse. Cold, thick stew every day. I believe they blended all the food up and pour it on a plate.
I would almost rather starve. Almost.
I stare at the marks I’ve carved in the wall. A tally for every day I’ve been here. Only 365 more. Crossing my arms above my head, my eyes lock on the metal that makes the bed above mine. My new cell mate, Gregor, s in the bunk above me. I hate new cell mates. Especially ones that are so damn vocal.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he moans quietly as he jerks off. His skin slaps together, and it makes me angrier by the second.
I hit the bottom of the bed with my fist. “Quiet up there. I don’t care if you get off, but do it with your lips shut.”
There isn't much time to pleasure yourself unless you get with other guys, and that isn’t my style. There have been attempts, and every guy walks away with a broken nose and a few teeth missing from my fist slamming in their face.
Life in prison is far from easy. It’s an eye for an eye in here. Survival of the fittest.
And when a man needs to get off, the only place he’s safe is in his cell.
I stopped doing that shit years ago because it wasn’t worth the fights it caused in here.
Another reason? I miss the feeling of being with a woman. When the day comes that I get to feel soft curves and warmth again, it will be the best day of my life. It will feel so good that waiting all that time to come will be worth it.
“Hell yeah, that’s good,” Gregor mumbles to himself, and I curl my lip, smashing my fist on the bed again.
“If you care for your health, you’ll shut up. Last warning, Gregor,” I say through clenched teeth and tight fingers as they curl into my palm.
He quietens, and then all I hear is the bed shaking, balls slapping against his fist, and a grunt when he comes.
I can’t wait to get the hell out of here. I hate listening to that shit.
“Knight,” the correctional officer barks at me through the bars. The keys jingle on his hip as he stretches the retractable wire from his belt so he can insert the key in the lock without having to take it off his belt loop. “You have a visitor. You know the routine.”
I swing my legs over the bed and plant my feet on the filthy ground, lifting a brow in confusion. I haven’t had a visitor since I got here.
“Don’t ask me. I don’t know why anyone would want to see your useless ass,” Andrews, the correctional officer, sneers at me.
I turn around and give him my back, pushing my hands through the small hole so he can cuff me. Andrews is a real bastard when it comes to cuffs and cruelty. He loves to tighten the metal until the skin bleeds. I have scars around my wrists because of him, but I never show my pain.
Pain is just another feeling a man can use over another man in a place like this.
The iron door slides open with a rough clank, and Andrews grabs me by the front of my jumpsuit and pulls me out of the cell. I stumble into the wall, my shoulder taking most of the hit against the cement. A flare of pain spreads through my muscle, but I keep my mouth shut. I don’t want to give Andrews the satisfaction.
The metal door clanks again, slamming shut, and Andrews locks it. “Get going,” he says, shoving me in the back.
I swear, the first man I’m going kill when I get out of here is Andrews. His days are numbered. The chains holding my hands together rattle as I walked. A few guys that I’m great enemies with come to the front of their cells and wrap their hands around the bars. The crazy bastards bite the air, showing their yellow teeth.
One guy, a drug cartel leader, places his fingers against his temple in the shape of a gun, and mock pulls the trigger. He’s telling me he’s going to shoot me. I doubt it. I’m too good at covering my tracks, and when I get out of here, I’m going ghost. No one will be able to find me.
I keep my shoulders back, back straight, and head held high to make sure I can always see where I’m going. The minute someone casted their eyes down was the minute they got attacked.
Weakness isn’t allowed.
The guys taunting me as I walk by their cages would never challenge me when we’re free to roam. No one touches me. I’m a king in here, and I plan to be a king out in the world too once I get my chance.
The buzzer to the door and the lock sound at the same time to signal the large metal opening for us. The door is old, tan paint chipping to show the silver beneath, and the square window in the middle of it is cracked. The place is a real shithole, but us criminals don’t deserve any better.
Only I do, actually, because I didn’t do the crime I was charged with. I’m not a saint, never have been, but if I’m going to go down for something, I want it to be for my own doing, not someone else’s.
“Third booth,” Andrews says, pressing his hand between my shoulder blades and driving me forward.
I crack my neck, turning it side to side to relieve the tension of wanting to turn around and show that guy just who he’s fucking with, but his time will come. I have to be patient. My chains continue to jingle as I walk by a few guys talking on the phone to their visitor on the other side of the glass. Orange jumpsuit after orange jumpsuit fill each space until I come to the booth reserved for my visit.
The big brown eyes staring back at me have my feet frozen on the spot. I can’t move. Can’t breathe. What is she doing here? She isn’t supposed to be here. She is supposed to be gone, away from me, safe.
She has a blackeye and a busted lip, her flawless complexion is bruised, covered in abuse, and all I have are questions.
“Sit down, inmate.”
I twist my head over my shoulder to look at Andrews, and he squeezes his baton, the side of his jaw flexing, as he silently urges me to disobey.
Not a chance.
I swivel my head to the glass again, where the woman that haunts my fucking soul sits on the other side, completely untouchable.
I never thought I’d see her eyes again. With a racing heart, I sit and pick up the black phone to the left of me. She does the same.
“Gabriella,” I say her name on a broken breath. “What are you doing here?”
“I know. I know what you said.” She glances away, and the light above us illuminates another bruise on her cheek.
“What happened?” I can’t say I’m glad to see her. She’s the woman who makes my heart beat quicker than any illegal job I’ve ever done. She’s forbidden, wrong, a seduction that I can’t give into.
She is lawless.
“He found me,” Gabriella whispers as a tear falls down her cheek.
My racing heart stops beating the second I hear those three words. “That’s impossible,” I reply. I got her a new name, new passport, an ID, birth certificate, and forged divorce papers. There’s no way my brother could have found her.