Chapter 1 - Convict
I know the signs before anyone else.
There's a rhythm to a prison, a pulse you feel in your bones after you've been locked up long enough. A year and a half in Pine Haven Correctional taught me to read the air like others read books. Today, the air tastes wrong.
The guard who normally patrols my cell block is missing. The replacement is green, jumpier than usual. In the yard earlier, men gathered in tight clusters, voices low, eyes darting. That never happens unless something big is coming.
I keep my head down, focusing on the small square of floor in my cell. Three more days. Seventy-two hours until I walk out those gates and breathe free air again. I've waited too long to fuck it up now.
"Thompson!" A guard I've never seen before appears at my cell. "Mail."
I don't move immediately. Mail comes in the morning, not late afternoon. But I approach slowly, taking the envelope he slides through the bars. It's from Dice—my little brother's messy scrawl unmistakable. The guard moves on quickly, not even waiting to see if I'll open it.
Another red flag.
I tear open the envelope and find a single piece of paper with two words: "Be careful. Someone is coming for you."
Shit. Dice must have heard something through the Outlaw Order. His MC has connections everywhere, even in here. I should have taken him up on his offer to join when I get out, but I've never been good at following orders.
I crumple the note and flush it down the toilet. Whatever's coming, I don't need evidence connecting me to anything.
The first scream comes at 3:42 PM. I know because I'm staring at the cheap plastic clock on the wall when it happens. Then another. Then the unmistakable sound of a guard's baton hitting the floor.
It's starting.
My cellmate, Miller, sits up from his bunk, eyes wide. "What the fuck was that?"
"Stay here," I tell him, moving to the cell door to look out. "Whatever happens, don't leave this cell."
Down the corridor, I see inmates pouring out of their cells. Someone got keys. Guards are being overwhelmed, some fighting back, others running. Blood already stains the concrete floor.
Prison uprising. And I'm caught in the middle of it, three days before my release.
"Fuck," I mutter, stepping back from the door. I've managed to stay out of serious trouble this entire bid, focusing on my release date, on seeing Dice again. I'm not getting involved in this shit. Not now.
The cell block door bursts open, and inmates from B block flood in. Among them, I spot a group of guys I don't recognize—big, pale-skinned men with distinctive Irish accents shouting over the chaos. The hair on the back of my neck stands up.
Miller peers over my shoulder. "This is bad, man."
"Yeah." I scan the cell for anything I can use as a weapon. Nothing but a few books and our personal items. "Get back."
A face appears at our cell door—a redheaded guy with a neck tattoo of a shamrock. He grins when he sees me, all yellow teeth and malice.
"Thompson! Just the man we're looking for." Two more guys appear behind him. One has keys.
I step back, squaring my shoulders. "I'm not looking for trouble. I'm out in three days."
Shamrock laughs. "That's the thing. Some people would prefer you didn't make that date."
The cell door swings open. Miller backs himself into the corner, hands up, wanting no part of this. Smart man.
I don't have that luxury. Three guys enter, two with makeshift knives. I recognize the distinctive shape of melted plastic wrapped around razor blades.
"Nothing personal," Shamrock says, though his smile suggests otherwise. "Just business."
I've survived the whole year behind bars to die three days before freedom. As the first guy lunges, I sidestep, grabbing his wrist and using his momentum to slam him face-first into the wall. The crack of his nose breaking is satisfying, but I don't have time to enjoy it.
The second guy slashes at me. I feel the bite of the blade across my abdomen, hot and sharp. I drive my elbow into his throat, dropping him to his knees, gasping.
