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I finish up the crap that’s on my tray and start making my way out, a quick glance over my shoulder shows that he and some of his buddies have upped from their table and are making their way towards me.
I dump my tray with the others and move into the corridor that leads back out onto the yard. Clocking the two wardens that are standing guard at the doors,and waiting for that first strike to come from behind me.
I keep my shoulders loose and my fists tight. Adrenaline rushing through my veins as I get closer to stepping outside.
And when something finally comes, it’s not what I expected. Something solid and cool presses tight against my scrunched up fist and a deep voice speaks into my ear.
“Jimmer says keep ya head down, kid.”
I side glance the Mexican who’s standing beside me, and he nods me an understanding as I unclasp my fist and take what he’s offering. Now that we’re closer I recognize the ink on his hand Soldados Malditos. It looks like Tac’s work, I’ve seen him do the emblem enough times in the past. Whoever this guy is he’s a member of the cursed soldiers,and they are solid allies of the club.
I tip my chin at him, checking the guard to my left ain’t watchin’ before I tuck the weapon into the back of my scrubs. And once we’re out in the yard we go our separate ways.
I wait until I’m inside my cell before I look at what he’s given me. The shiv ain’t all that big but it looks as if it could be effective. Its blade sturdy and sharp and the handle made comfortable to hold by bandages and book pages.
Prez can’t be all that mad at me if he’s put eyes on me in here. It still surprises me that he sent Monica the club lawyer for me after I got arrested. She brought with her a direct order from him for me to plead not guilty. Which pissed me the fuck off. But I get that Jimmer needs to cover the club's back. I’d forgotten about the fact I was wearing my prospect cut in front of a witness when I was kicking the shit into Luke. And because the club doesn't deserve extra heat on them because my temper made me get sloppy, I agreed to his request. I pleaded not guilty at my first hearing, despite having every intention on doing the time. And thankfully, due to the brutality of the attack, bail was denied. So here I am, waiting on atrial.
I’m sticking by my original plan. I have to protect Ella. I’m guilty, what I plead in a courtroom ain’t gonna change that.
I’ll stand trial. I’ll do what’s right by the club, but I will be found guilty. There’s too much against me for it to be any other way.
The days and hours pass slowly. I spend myself looking up at the mattress above my head, and torturing myself by thinking about what she’s doing. I wonder if she’s hurting like I am. And if Prez has found a way for someone else to keep watch over her. I’m just grateful for that sharp-tongued friend of hers. Abby will tell her to move on, convince her I’m a jerk, and I’ll bet she’s already come up with a plan to help Ella get over me.
“S’up Nyx.” One of the inmates I share my cell with strolls in from kitchen duty. He’s one of the do-gooders, got himself enrolled in just about every program this shithole got running. He chats a lot of shit. He chats too much full stop and I’m almost certain he’ll be the first one I lose my patience on.
I nod back at him and tuck my sketchbook under my ass. He’s asked enough times if he can check out my work and my answer is always the same. I ain’t about to share Ella with anyone inside these walls.
The guy that sleeps above me follows him in and hops straight up on to his bunk. He seems average enough, and I’m guessing the pictures he’s got covering up all his wall space are of his wife and kids even though he never talks about them. Not even when do-gooder tries to make conversation and asks.
He keeps himself busy around here too, working extra hours in the kitchen. He just don't preach about it like the other guy does.
Our other celly is a huge fucker who doesn't say shit, and looks pissed off at the world and everyone in it. He avoids eye contact and stays out of everyone’s business. Which suits me just fine.
I keep a low profile myself, get my duties done, and then either sketch or work out with my free time.
It’s all I can do apart from fucking miss her.
I’ve been in over a month now, I’m no longer the new kid and I ain’t made a single friend. I ain’t made no enemies either, which in here is a fucking miracle. I step outside for morning yard time, letting the morning sun heat my face and stretching out my legs before I take a seat on one of the bleachers and notice some ruckus over in the corner A couple of the skinheads throwing their fists around, beating on someone who’s probably looked at ‘em wrong.
“New inmate,” do-gooder slides beside me, nodding his head towards the scuffle. More men have piled in now, inmates who they have fed their bullshit to and recruited. “He came in yesterday, shares a cell with a guy I take an art class with. You should join us, you’re always sketching in that book of yours.”
The wardens manage to break it up but not soon enough to stop blood from spilling, and the last guy who gets pulled off is putting up one hell of a fight. It takes two wardens to pry him off the helpless body that’s curled into a defensive ball.
I watch on as one of the wardens help him back on to his feet, even from over here I can see he’s in bad shape. Without doubt, he’s heading straight for the infirmary. And If he’s got any sense he’ll try and spend as much time in there as he can because he’s just made himself an easy target for anyone wanting to blow off some steam.
As he gets closer, I have to squint my eyes together to block out the sun because what I think I’m seeing can’t be real.
His hair is longer, and even though the scuffle has caused it to flop over his face. I’d still recognize him anywhere. And he has the balls to snarl at me as he gets escorted off the yard by the wardens. His mouth filled with blood and his face already starting to swell.
I smile to myself and stand up from the bleacher.
“You know, that’s the first time I’ve seen ya smile,” do-gooder tells me as I follow the sorry excuse of a fucking bitch off the yard with my eyes.
“Don’t get used to it,” I murmur back at him before I head off to make a phone call for the first time since I’ve been in here.
It takes two days after I make the call for Jessie to show his face and I got to admit, it feels good to see him.
“How ya holding up?” He speaks into the phone on the other side of the glass. From the state of him, he’s had a rough night, he’s got a black eye and split lip.
