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Jail is an exercise in patience. Everything moves much slower than I’d prefer. And no one gives a fuck about my preferences. Staff is in no hurry to do the prisoners any favors. I figure I better get used to standing in lines because I’ll be doing a lot of it while I’m here.
Now it’s been a while since I’ve been inside, but I remember the basics. Keep my attitude in check. Find out who runs the block before I open my mouth. See who I can align myself with to stay out of trouble. Listen more than I speak. Show respect. Throwing around my status or my club’s name is a surefire way to get my ass handed to me. I’m not the type to put my head down, but I know better than to lock eyes with anyone inside.
Finally, I’m assigned a cell. I grab my county-issued itchy wool blanket and follow the guard up the stairs to my cell.
“Dinner’s at six,” he informs me before locking me inside.
Wish I could skip it. Fuck knows the food will be a step above pig slop. Chow hall isn’t exactly a safe place. Or somewhere I want to linger, but it’s not like I can order room service.
“You’ve got to be shitting me,” I mutter about an hour later when the door slides open, and the guard shoves Husky inside. What the fuck did I do to deserve this?
“See, Z. I told you we’d probably get to be roomies again.”
“Yeah, I’m thrilled.”
Not sensing my tone, he grins. “Me too.”
I stretch out on the cot and slip my hands behind my head. “You wake me, Husky, I’m gonna be pissed.”
He paces back and forth in front of the door. “I won’t. Unless it’s important.”
“Great.”
True to his word, he doesn’t wake me until dinner time. Or rather all the clanging and noise wakes me. We step out of our cell into a semi-controlled mass movement of inmates. I slip into the group like a fish headed upstream. Staying hyper-vigilant is critical here. Crowds like this make it easy to get stabbed. Guards won’t realize I’m dead until they discover my bloody, stomped-over corpse lying on the concrete after everyone’s in the dining room.
I’m careful not to touch anyone or make eye-contact. I’d prefer not to talk to anyone either, but Husky’s right at my side, babbling away.
“Do you ever shut up, Husky?”
He shrugs. “It’s a nervous habit.”
Eventually, we arrive at the disgusting food-and-who-knows-what-else splattered dining hall. A scoop of brown slop is dropped on my tray, along with what I think is supposed to be a biscuit and some peas.
I feed my dogs more appetizing meals than this.
There are still plenty of empty tables. I find a seat where I can keep my back to the wall and observe my surroundings. See who’s in charge around here.
I’m not waiting long before some scraggly guy ambles his way to my table. “Easy would like a word with you,” he says.
His demeanor reflects a bit of respect, so maybe he already knows who I am. Clearly, he’s not the one in charge. He’s doing the bidding of the shotcaller. Since I have no fucking idea who Easy is, I raise an eyebrow.
He jerks his head to the right, and I follow his line of sight to a table in the far corner. Some scrawny dude who looks like he never outgrew his Marilyn Manson fanboy days glares back at us.
Fantastic. Easy, huh? Bet he spells it with a ‘z’ too.
“Bring your tray.”
“What’s your name?” I ask as I curl my hands around the orange plastic, prepared to use it to whap upside the head the first person who bothers me.
“Jeb.”
“I’m Z.”
“I know who you are.”
Well, at least we’re off to a great start.
Husky also picks up his tray and Jeb sets his hands on his shoulder. “You’re not invited.”
“But he’s my roomie,” Husky protests.
I shake my head. “Stay put, Husky.”
“He your buddy?” Jeb asks with a hint of a smirk.
“No, he came over with me from Union City. I can’t seem to shake him.”
“We can handle that for you.”
Do I want to see poor Husky get the shit kicked out of him or worse? Just for the crime of annoying me? Not really. “Appreciate that. But it’s fine. Eventually he shuts up.”
We arrive at the table and I wait for Easy’s signal before setting down my tray and taking a seat.
So much prison etiquette to remember. Thankfully, it’s all coming back to me.
“What’s up, Z?” Easy says. “Welcome to UCC.”
“Thanks.”
“Your boy, Loco vouches for you.”
Huh. Well, how about that? I almost laugh, picturing the groveling conversation Rock probably had to have with Loco to get him to make a few phone calls.
“He’s not my boy. He’s a friend of my club and we do business together sometimes.”
That was apparently the right answer because a slow, evil smile spreads over Easy’s face, making him look less inclined to stab me at any minute.
“Right. Your bros most kindly asked that we look out for you while you’re here.”
Meaning, I suppose, Rock had to hand over some cash to whoever this guy is affiliated with on the outside. At least I hope it’s cash and not some other dirty favors.
“They did, huh?” I stab my cheap, plastic spork into the brown lump and force myself to take a bite.
“They did. You need something, or anyone bothers you, talk to Jeb.”
I side-eye Jeb. “Thank you.”
“I’m closest to your cell,” he explains.
“Good to know.”
“Frazier! Phone call,” blares over the PA system.
Even though I’m dying to jump out of my seat and run, I raise my gaze to Easy to make sure he’s not going to see it as a sign of disrespect if I leave.
“Leave your tray.” He points to the two guards stationed at the door. “Let them know you have a call and they’ll show you where to go.”
“Thanks.”
Fun with prison politics time is over, thank fuck.
I hope whoever’s calling has some good news for me because I really want to get the fuck out of here.
Chapter Fourteen
Lilly
Before the sun’s up, I crawl out of the lonely torment the bed I’ve shared with Z has become. They finally set a bail hearing for him today.
I can’t be there to support Z. I ca
n’t stand up and say, ‘I’m going to be his wife. I’m the mother of his child. He’s not a flight risk because he would never, ever leave us.’
I can’t plead for his freedom.
I can’t do any of those things for Z because of something he did to protect me.
Rock assured me over and over that everything would be okay and this was what Z wanted. It didn’t lessen the guilt weighing me down.
Chance is still asleep.
A little farther down the hall, I hear Grace fussing and Hope’s soft voice.
I end up going downstairs.
The roar of at least one bike in our driveway has me opening the door.
Rooster and Jigsaw slowly make their way up the sidewalk. “Morning, Lilly.”
“Come on in. I was just about to make coffee.” Ziggy and Zipper flank my sides, glaring at the guys. “It’s okay, boys. Come on.” I back them up to make room for Rooster. Jigsaw waits on the other side.
“Do you want me to take them for a run for you, Lilly?” he asks.
“Uh.” Crap, the dogs are used to an early morning run with Z almost every day and another quick run at night. With everything else going on, I haven’t done more than take them for a quick walk here and there or left them to play in the yard.
“Do you mind?”
“Not at all.”
As soon as the dogs see me hand over their leashes, they decide Jigsaw’s good people. Their big, furry bodies wiggle so hard, he can barely clip the leash to their collars.
“They’ll tug if you don’t keep them in check,” I warn him.
“I got this, Lilly. Be back in a little bit.”
“Thank you.”
In the kitchen, I find Rock and Rooster quietly discussing something. Probably plans for Z’s hearing.
“Coffee?”
“Please.” Rock turns and nods. “Thank you, Lilly.”
I try to listen in, but it’s obvious they’re not going to discuss too many important details with me hovering.
More brothers show up. They take over the dining room to form a plan.
