More than just falling in love, I think it took joining forces in mutual disdain for a common enemy to bring us all together.
Us versus them no longer means us guards versus them prisoners. It means us versushim.
Allof us, versus The Ivory and anyone who makes him up.
Alright, I’m getting riled up. Let’s do this.
The plan is going to be tricky. It’s a bold move, but honestly, we’re out of options, and even more out of time. We can’t wait any longer.
It’s happening tonight.
Good luck, Ivory. You’re gonna need it.
Making my way back up to gen-pop, I’m bustling. I’m nervous, but determined. Scared, but the adrenaline that comes from fear is driving me to work on instinct. I imagine this is how it feels to go to war, or to be on a SWAT team responding to a crisis.
Not many of us are actually trained soldiers. I know I’m not—neither is Velle. Peters is a Marine, and Linetti was in the Army during the Iraq war. Then there are the actual cops—Rook, Jasper, and Lucas.
The rest of us are self-taught, meaning we’ve had to lean on those with formal training a lot over the last few weeks. Mainly Peters and Rook, since Linetti is a bit of a hot mess, Lucas didnothing but get himself into trouble as a cop, and Jasper… Bless his heart, but I barely trust him with a Starbucks order, let alone teaching combat training or infantry.
But Peters and Rook are born leaders, so they’ve taken the lead. Still, they both have a tendency to look to Velle for approval in most things, which is wild since he’s literally a bouncer from Staten Island.
Velle has a love-hate relationship with being in charge. He loves it ninety-nine percent of the time. But that remaining one percent is where Rook and I come in. We’re his partners in all things, now more than ever. Helping carry his burden, while taking orders without argument and stepping in when he needs us.
Our team as a whole has gotten so used to running things over the last ten years, being relieved of our duties was an adjustment for sure. No more herding inmates to and fro. No more posting up outside the showers or the caf. No more breaking up fights and dragging sorry bastards to the hole.
Out of nowhere, we’d been demoted.
So instead, we’ve spent our time mulling around the East Wing and solitary. Mostly bringing food to inmates, bringing them for showers down there. We were also suddenly expected to handle deliveries and help the goddamn cleaning crew.
It was ridiculous.Ten yearson this island, and we’d become janitors and fucking couriers.Very much intentional.
Any time we’d even cross paths with the Warden’s new team, it turned into a pissing contest between us and them. With me in the freaking middle, like I even give a shit about all this testosterone-fueled nonsense.
I swear, they would’ve started peeing all over the place if we weren’t the ones who’d be cleaning it up.
Territory means much less to me than mind games, and at the end of the day, that’s what this is.A show of control from the oneperson I would definitely pee on, if I wasn’t concerned that he might like it.
Anyway, there has been a plus side to the shift in responsibilities. It’s allowed us more time to dedicate to ourplan, and keeping away from general population has given us an excuse to be conveniently absent when we need to be.
I’m sure The Ivory has figured this out. When he brought his troop in, he also stationed them in the control rooms, meaning he’s definitely keeping a closer eye on things. To be fair, he’s always monitored our every move. Now, it’s just a lot more threatening.
Like when Rook, Velle and I meet up in a quiet corridor and, out of nowhere, one of those big douchebags comes patrolling.
Because of this, we’ve made it a habit never to stay in one spot for more than a few minutes. We’ve been using our signals and codes more often, and overall, we’re being careful.
But that doesn’t mean it isn’t still highly satisfying to mess with them on occasion. Like when I casually stroll into the caf while Equino, Pedroia, and Cruz are monitoring dinner to covertly deliver Luthor his note from Ren. The way they glare at me is almost as satisfying as knowing they have no clue about the note.
I’ve gotten good at these secret and silent passes of conversation—necessary when the assholes have instituted a no-talking order. It’s fucking asinine. Just one of many blatant shows of power they’ve implemented since their takeover.
I’m not saying we didn’t do fucked up shit to the inmates over the years ourselves. We definitely did. But not allowing the prisoners tospeakseems excessive as fuck.
The storm is really raging outside. And inside this prison, things are getting weird.
I run into Byron in the halls of the East, uncuffed and just roaming around with Trevel Fenwick—the newest additionto Manuel Blanco’s prisoner collection. Kang and I exchange words, and I come away from it feeling frayed.
Physically, I’m strong. Ready.
But on the inside, there’s a storm.
