Clint and I got dressed, pulling on our orange uniforms and making our beds the way we’d done for the last nineteenmornings since I’d been brought in after firmly pleading guilty over my brothers’ cries of no in the courthouse. I slid my most prized possession out of its hiding place and slipped it into the pocket of my pants, noticing the way Clint eyed it the entire time, even when it was hidden behind horrible prison material.
Poor Clint.
Good Clint.
The guard eventually arrived at our cell to let us out for breakfast. The key went in the door, and I closed my eyes, listening to the turn of it carefully. Sounds, no matter how nasty, were something that should be recognized and appreciated more. They were a part of life. Like smells. Like colors. Like touches. Sounds made surroundings real.
This was very fucking real.
When the door opened, we were guided out and down to the food hall. The usual crowd was there. Some old MC rivals, some old MC friends. A few of the outlaw biker community littered among the regular murderers and rapists of the state of Texas.
Clint and I collected our breakfast, and I felt a particular pair of eyes on me from the corner of the room. The same pair of eyes that looked at me sadistically every morning.
Prison Guard Jon Taylor.
The guy who’d given Drew so much shit while he served his time inside.
“Don’t look at him,” Clint said as he shoved a mouthful of oatmeal into his mouth.
I didn’t respond. All I could do was smirk as death swirled a finger up my spine and reminded me of its arrival.
It’s almost time, Harry.
We ate in silence. The less noise we made, the less we’dbe attacked.
The time came for us to leave, and we walked over to the trash unit and emptied our trays before we walked away empty handed.
Row upon row of prisoners lined the hall. It was a sea of badasses. And I had my eyes set on two. It was only when I saw the back of Ramirez’s head—the one Emp who deserved to die more than any of them—as I approached, that I felt death take a back seat as the adrenaline rushed in.
“I’m gonna miss you, brother,” Clint muttered as he walked beside me.
I smirked, pushing my hand in the pocket of my pants and feeling the sting of the small, sharp blade that sat there.
Thank you, Sutton.
“You’ll see me soon enough, my friend.”
“Ain’t that the truth?” Clint laughed.
“You ready?” My heart picked up pace, beating harder than ever before as it cried out in ecstasyYes! This is the way we go! We die for something. We die for a reason. Not from disease!
“Ready.”
With a gentle tap at the bottom of my spine, he pushed me forward, and I made my last move as a soldier. I launched at Ramirez with all the power he’d launched his fist into Pete’s face, lifting the weapon out of my pocket and aiming it straight for his neck.
He didn’t have time to blink before I’d grabbed his chin, pulled it back and driven that blade straight through his artery.
Some people didn’t deserve to live. If I was going to die, you could bet your ass he was too.
The blood splattered everywhere at once, spraying hisneighbors as it burst like a fucking pipe.
“Howl for The Hounds, Ramirez,” I whispered in his ear as he gargled on his own taste of death. “Drew Tucker says hi.”
It all happened quickly then. The world spun at my feet. The noise became electric. A fascinating sound of the reaper arriving on a speeding train with the smoke blowing all around me and the chaos being drowned out the cries of criminals and death’s laughter.
Jon Taylor arrived, his kicks strong and his baton powerful, driving into my broken body with the exact force I needed from him. I smiled the whole damn time. The whole fucking time as I went down, bleeding around the two men I’d wanted to get near me the most. My cancer stained the floor. It tainted the air as I let myself go out the way I wanted to. But not before I saw Jon Taylor hanging over my broken body, pulsating with anger. So much anger, he didn’t see Clint stepping up behind him… or the blade he held in his hand.
One last kick turned my whole world black.
