Page 28 of Worth of Waste

She always would.

It was only now that he realized it might not have been a good thing to make such a large purchase—a house worth three quarters of a million dollars—and possibly raise the suspicions of his uncle if by chance Ben was watching Dino’s financials.

It certainly hadn’t been an easy thing to do while locked up.

Mike had helped a lot, and had done most everything Dino needed him to do, as long as he could do so in a legal way. The guy was a great lawyer, even if he was just a public defender. Dino thought Mike was wasting his time in that regard, and he needed to get himself in somewhere he could shine.

Although, none of that was important at the moment.

“She won’t be anywhere near that house,” Mike assured.

Dino didn’t know if that was enough, though. “She might not need to be.”

“The lake property isn’t attached to you, and it does look like it was just auctioned off, and that she was the one who happened to put in the right bid. Don’t sweat the small stuff.”

That was the problem.

Dino didn’t think this was small at all.

And to be safe …

“Keep a distance from her,” Dino said, “just in case. She’s signed the paperwork and it’s all changed over now, you’ve been paid, so there’s no reason to keep contact, right?”

“She’s not my client, Dino.”

“That’s not what I said, Mike.”

Mike sighed. “She wants me to let her know when your official release date is.”

Dino shrugged. “It’ll be in the news.”

The lawyer didn’t disagree.

That was that.

Clang. Clang. Clang.

Dino’s eyes popped open to the annoying sound of metal hitting metal just outside of his cell. He barely had time to roll over before the sound started up again.

Fucking guards.

“Up and at ‘em, boys,” the guard shouted. “Showers for block A in ten minutes, breakfast for block B in fifteen minutes.”

The guard shouted a few more things, but Dino wasn’t paying the man any mind. The routine didn’t change, and it wasn’t about to start changing any time soon. Of that, he was positive. Routine and three meals a day was just about the only things the prison guaranteed its inmates.

Dino pushed off his bunk to stand just as the guard came into view of his cell door. Under his arm, the guard held a newspaper, and stopped to peer in at Dino and a still-sleeping Todd.

“Wake your cellmate up,” the guard said.

“I’m not a babysitter.”

The man just scowled. “He’ll miss the showers.”

What a sad fucking thing that would be.

Cold water, soaps that stank and hurt the skin, and thirty other inmates plus ten guards watching you clean yourself with no privacy in sight?

Yeah, that’d be a fucking shame.