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The petite, fair woman with cinnamon-brown curls and unsmiling hazel eyes slid a padded yellow envelope through the semicircle opening in the plexiglass window. The tag on her pressed gray shirt identified her as Officer S. Woodley, but the beefy guard escorting Kieran Sullivan out of lockup apparently took the opportunity to make a pun out of her first name.
“Shirley, I can get a smile out of you this morning,” he said, laying the cheese on thick.
“Surely not,” she deadpanned, and the look in her eyes was enough to melt his cheese. She turned a slightly less hostile gaze to Kieran. “I need you to review the contents and sign a release that states we are returning all your possessions to you.”
Kieran dropped his gaze and accepted the envelope, and heat crept up his neck when he noticed how embarrassingly light it was. The contents weren’t just the things he’d had on him at the time of his arrest; they, along with the clothes on his back, were everything he owned. His slumlord would’ve leased his apartment to the first schmuck who’d come along after Kieran missed his rent payment, and there was no way in hell the slimeball had held on to his meager belongings for him. Bouncing the envelope in his hand, Kieran said, “Feels about right.”
Woodley’s only reaction was a quick double blink. He got the feeling people did her bidding without hesitation. “I’m afraid ‘about right’ won’t cut it, Sullivan. Open the envelope so we can catalog the contents. The sooner you sign the waiver, the faster you’re out the door.”
He nearly snorted.Waiver. As if Arrowhead Correctional Center would mount an investigation if he reported missing items. But Woodley was right about one thing. Kieran was ready to get the hell out of there. Just one more door stood between him and revenge—the thing he wanted even more than his freedom.
“Yes, ma’am,” Kieran replied, then picked at the taped seal with his thumbnail.
“What did you think about the Bronco’s draft choices, Darren?” Woodley asked Officer Carson, who stood closer to Kieran than he liked.
The freight-sized guard stuck his enormous hand out, palm facing down, and rocked it from side to side. “I won’t hold my breath that we’ll win the division, let alone make it to the playoffs this year.”
Kieran continued working the seal until it loosened enough to pull the tape free, and then he tipped the envelope over to spill the contents onto the stainless-steel counter. “A wallet and a cell phone. Everything is here.” There’d been a set of keys to the car he’d allegedly stolen, but those had likely been returned to the owner.
Woodley briefly closed her eyes and shook her head. The officer’s deep breath said she had no fucks left to give, so he took pity on her by opening the wallet and rattling off the contents. “An expired driver’s license, a reward card for Biggie’s Sandwich Shop, and a library card.”
“Looks like you’ve earned a free sub,” Carson said.
“They went out of business three months ago,” Woodley countered.Story of my life. At least the library card was still good, not that he’d have a way to drive there. “No cash?” she asked. Kieran had used every dollar he’d made to pay his rent the day before he’d been arrested. The paycheck prior to that went to an anniversary gift for the guy who’d betrayed him.
“No, ma’am, but I didn’t have any when I arrived. Everything is here.”
He caught a brief glimpse of pity in her gaze before she slammed the shutters down again. Woodley slid a waiver through the opening and showed where he should initial and sign. “Good luck out there,” she said as he scribbled his name.
“Thank you.” He slid the form back to her and returned his meager belongings to the envelope.
“He’ll be back,” Carson said. “Guys like him don’t know any other way.”
The guard’s comment raked his nerves. Carson didn’t know jack about him, but Kieran kept his mouth shut. He had one more security door to go through, and he’d be free.
A loud mechanical buzz echoed through the corridor as Officer Woodley assessed him through narrowed eyes. “I don’t know. I think this one could be different.”
Kieran stepped through the doorway, expecting Carson to remain behind it, but the hulking guard followed him out instead. The door shut behind them, and the automatic lock engaged with awhirand aclank.Kieran knew he’d hear that sound in his nightmares for years to come.
“I hope you prove me wrong, Sullivan. Maybe you’ll find love after lockup,” he said, referring to the popular reality show the inmates liked to watch. Even Kieran had gotten sucked into it more often than he wanted to admit, but he wasn’t looking for love. Just revenge.
Arching a brow, Kieran studied the guard. Either his bullshit meter had broken, or Carson meant it. Kieran struggled with genuine interactions at the best of times, and his current circumstance definitely didn’t fall into that category. His uncertain future was more like staring down the barrel of a gun, not knowing if it was loaded. Emotional Russian roulette. Sarcasm was an old friend—his only friend now—and he hid behind its shield. “Of all the guards, I disliked you the least,” Kieran called over his shoulder.
Carson snorted. “Damn straight. Who else would you prefer? Briggs? Dimbly?”
An image of the guards nicknamed Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum sprang to mind. “Not in this lifetime.”
When Kieran reached the door, he lifted his hands to push it open but froze. His chest tightened with trapped air just like it had when the jury had read its verdict. He took a deep breath to ease the pressure and willed the rising panic away. Kieran was beyond the point of nothing to lose.
“Yo, Sullivan,” Carson called out. “You got a ride?”
Grateful for the distraction, Kieran said, “My chauffeur will be waiting.” He pushed the door open and stepped out into an overcast March day, wearing the clothes he’d had on when he’d gotten arrested nearly two years prior. It had been a hot summer evening then, and he’d worn cargo shorts, a faded tee, and a pair of flip-flops. Since he didn’t have a single person in his corner, he’d remained incarcerated after the arrest and throughout the trial. He’d transitioned from the striped scrubs at the local jail to the bright orange ones at Arrowhead. Wearing his own clothes felt damn good, even if they were too big and provided little protection against the damp, chilly air.
Thick gray clouds hovered overhead, rolling like the anger churning inside him. For the past year, he’d expressed his eagerness to put the past behind him and start fresh. That’s what the prison counselors and the people with power over him wanted to hear, so that was the bullshit he fed them. But privately, Kieran tended to his bitterness like a stew on the stove. He knew when to adjust the heat and which ingredients to add to the pot to keep his resentment sharp. And the fucking drab sky and clouds only antagonized him more.
For twenty months, his entire existence had been gray—the floors and walls, the food, and the pallor of the inmates’ skin. The only break in the monotony were the prison scrubs. He would happily go the rest of his life without seeing the color orange again. Kieran had foolishly allowed himself to daydream about the vibrancy he’d see on release day, but he’d just gotten more of the same. Everything around him was wet and shiny from the rain, but it was more of a piss on his parade than a refreshing, clean slate. Kieran’s olfactory senses zeroed in on the motor oil brought to the asphalt’s surface by the shower. It was a scent he knew all too well, and it became a match to his pilot light. Rainwater splashed up on his feet and shins as he walked, but his wrath made him impervious to the chill. Kieran reached inside the padded envelope, removed the wallet, and stuffed it into his back pocket. Then he tossed the envelope with the cell phone into the trash bin. The device was dead, the contract canceled, and there was no one on the contact list he wanted to speak to anymore.
A slight breeze stirred the air, and Kieran closed his eyes and tipped his head back. Yeah, he’d enjoyed fresh air during breaks in the yard, but they never lasted long enough and were controlled by someone else. He’d lived long enough like a marionette, and there was no better time to embrace free will. The weather wasn’t what he’d hoped for, but he got to enjoy it outside the fences, and that was a victory he’d stop and embrace.
