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I laugh loudly. “My, my, my, warden. I thought you were married to a woman. If you weren’t, you still couldn’t have my ass. I would be fucking you if I swung that way.”
“Get his ass in the hole as soon as he’s done with his fucking lawyer,” the warden seethes, stomping off to his office.
“Yes, sir,” Trenton answers to his back. He opens the door and escorts me into the visitors’ room. Shane stands and narrows his eyes at Trenton.
“What?” Trenton asks Shane with irritation.
“What took so long?” Shane puffs out his chest and fixes a steely gaze on Trenton. Gone is my frightened lawyer from my trial. I like this new version of him.
“He’s here now,” Trenton grumbles, taking my cuffs off. “Hurry up. Tired of escorting inmates.”
“Then get another fucking job,” I say, mean mugging him. He glares back, walking backward to leave the room, mumbling under his breath.
I ignore him and walk over to Shane, giving him a one-armed hug.
“Nice to see you man,” I say truthfully. Since he defended me, Shane has been working overtime to get me out of here. He even starting working with the MC. He’s a valuable asset and fits in seamlessly with my brothers. They all appreciate him.
“You too,” he says, sitting in the chair across from me.
After Shane gave the message to Zeke all those years ago, Prez agreed we should put him on retainer. Shane was afraid to be hurt if he fucked up my trial, but he did right by me. He filled appeals immediately—all of which have been denied—and has been trying since I got in here to get my sentence lowered.
After we exchange pleasantries, I ask, “Why are you here? I just saw you last month.”
“Your last appeal. It’s been denied. I can only file one more, but I don’t know what good it will do. Especially since Antonio is dead and his wife finds any way she can to lobby to have you resentenced to life without parole. She thinks you had a hand in his demise.”
I shrug, but don’t confirm or deny. We both know what it is and if I say anything, the cameras and recording devices they’re not supposed to have in here can pick it up.
“This is fucking bullshit,” I say plainly. “I’ve already been sentenced. Can they do that?”
Shane looks annoyed, but not with me. “Yes and no. She can lobby for a new trial, saying Antonio's testimony was the catalyst for his murder. I’m doing everything I can to make sure that doesn’t happen and your original sentence is upheld.”
“Good,” I say with a nod. “I don’t feel like going through another trial. That shit is boring.”
He shoots me a dry look. “They’re not supposed to be entertaining. That’s literally the point of a trial.”
I roll my eyes at that. “How’s everyone doing?”
“Really good. Zeke had a stint in county for dealing, but I got that tossed because the cop’s body cam wasn’t on and he had a history of planting evidence. I’m trying to get his ass thrown off the force.”
“Good man,” I mutter. I fucking loathe cops. Any way to take some of those fuckers down is fine by me. “Fucking Zeke needs to stay the fuck out of trouble.”
“He’s okay.” Shane’s cheeks pink and I raise an eyebrow at him. “I mean, helping him is no trouble. It’s fine to help him. I’m on retainer after all.”
The red buzzer over the door sounds and I know our visit is over. “Let me know about this next appeal. I need this shit to work out and get the fuck out of here.”
“I’m on it, Rax, I swear it.”
Trenton cuffs me and leads me away with a grin, Shane’s words ringing in my ear. I hope he does try. If the appeal doesn’t work, I’ll see if he can get me moved to a closer facility than fucking Missouri.
Prez, Zeke, and the rest of my crew can only come once or twice every few months with it being an eight-hour motorcycle ride and they have their responsibilities with the club. Members from local chapters have visited, but they’re not my family. I don’t know them well enough to be excited about their visits.
The death grip Trenton has on my arm snaps me out of my thinking. “To the hole you go, bitch. You’ll have plenty of time to regret your fucking flip-ass attitude while you’re down there this weekend. Think I’ll have a little fun before I lock that door, though.”
Gripping my arm harder, he pulls me down the dank hallway that leads down to solitary confinement. I know what he means to do. With me cuffed, he can beat my ass and I won’t be able to do shit but take it.
Or that’s what he thinks. I have no desire to get my ass beat and I’m tired of letting Trenton off the hook for his bullshit.
A guy on the thinner side that wants to join one of our Oklahoma chapters when he gets out taught me a trick. “When they have you cuffed behind your back,” he said, “if they get you on the ground, slide your legs through to get your cuffs in front of you.” From there, he taught me how to maneuver my arms in front of me by tucking my legs through my cuffed hands. It took about a week for me to get it down in enough time to make a difference, but I figured it out. We had to use a shirt to simulate handcuffs, but how different could it be?
