Redeemed Love

by M. S. Brannon

  As Klaus looks to the side and the other three men charge me, the hot water of the showers beats down on our naked skin. I’m backed into a corner, knowing exactly what’s on their minds… sodomy. Klaus isn’t doing this because he has an attraction to men; he’s doing this to prove his dominance—to unman me. And that will never fucking happen.

  Just as they reach my body, I start swinging my fists, fending off the skinheads. I connect my fist with one flunky and he falls to the ground immediately. Then another rams his fist into my rib cage, igniting massive pain. They’ve barely begun to heal from the last beating and he is using my weakness to his advantage. I buckle slightly yet still connect my fist with his cheek. But my body is too broken and bruised, and soon, I can’t evade them.

  I am pushed back against the wall, three men pinning me to the brick as Klaus moves in front of me. He is covered in Nazi insignias such as swastikas, SS lightning bolts, and phrases from Hitler propaganda.

  “You know, Evans, this could have been your best move. I would have protected you from anyone in here. I know what your reputation was on the streets, and that could have been beneficial to me, but you’ve made your choice.”

  Klaus runs his palm down his muscled frame until it lands on his dick then gets himself hard enough to violate me. I watch his eyes, showing him I’m not afraid, and I’m not. I will never show fear in this place. He will have to kill me before he will sodomize me, though.

  “Turn him around!” Klaus demands and my body is instantly jerked to the left.

  I am fighting with every ounce of strength I have, knowing I cannot allow this to happen. I will have to find a way to kill myself before I allow him to stick his dick inside of me. If I slam my forehead into the brick wall hard enough, I may be able to do just that—kill myself.

  Then a memory triggers from my catalog of recollections. I remember Reggie showing us a MMA move to break out of a certain type of hold. I don’t remember what the move is called, but I do recall how he showed us to free ourselves. The men are not holding me in that exact place, but I think it will work, or at least give me to time break loose. Who gives a fuck anyway, I’ll die trying.

  I stop struggling and can feel Klaus’s body heat as he steps directly behind me. Then, as his hand reaches up on my shoulder, I react. I allow my knees to buckle and my slick skin helps me fall quickly down the wall. With immense force, I yank my arms out of the other men’s hold. When I force my head back, connecting the back of my skull to Klaus’s junk, he groans in agony then staggers back on his feet before he falls.

  Adrenaline fueled, I sweep my feet along the ground, dropping two men at once. Their large bodies collide with the floor hard. I pop up to my feet and lethally punch the fourth man in the throat. As he struggles for breath, I get myself behind him and snap his neck. Then I stand over the men on the floor and debilitate them the same way effectively. The sounds of bones cracking mingles with the steam in the air.

  When Klaus, who has been left on the ground, suddenly pops up and charges me, I ram my fist toward the ceiling and upper cut him under his jaw. He slams down to the wet tile and cracks his skull on the ground. For good measure, I stand over him and look to see if he’s dead. Then, like the others, I snap his neck.

  With four high ranking men from a notorious skinhead gang rendered lifeless at my feet, I duck my head under the spray one more time then step from the shower area. The beast I’ve become walks tall as the bodies continue to line up for the next three years.

  The air is brisk and smells clean from a sudden rain shower. A small amount of drizzle still falls from the sky and dusts my skin. Normally, the chill in the air would bother me, though not today because it is one of the best days I’ve had in a long time. I am finally able to walk out into the world as a person of society again. For the betterment of it? Probably not, but I’m walking out anyway.

  The last four years of my life have only taught me one thing—I never want to be in prison again. The cramped confines, stress, not to mention the daily threats on your life, all made me more anxious than I’ve ever been and far more violent. Each day was a constant battle, some I won and others I didn’t, however I made it out alive. That’s all I asked for when they slapped the cuffs on me all those years ago.

  Yet, something still haunts me—the underworld. For the last six years, the drug life has taken over my existence, altered my future, and destroyed any chance for me to be a good person. The time I spent locked up, I’d think about Matt and how much I wanted to kill him. I would close my eyes and envision him gurgling for his last breath, but something always held me back and stopped me from actually planning it.

  I think about Matt’s experience when he tried to get out of the life. He discovered Cami’s mother abandoned him for his own brother, taking his only child with her. He knew there was nothing he could do because the underworld still had its hooks in him. And as I leave the halfway house today, I can feel the pull the drug life has on me. I’ve saved Cami and paid my debt society, but if my family doesn’t want anything to do with me, what else is left? I could easily get in the Challenger and find somewhere else to start. I could be Matt.

  Along with my hesitation of leaving the Rykers’ organization, is the reality that I’ve spent so much of my life lately living in that beastly persona I created to survive in the underworld. My family and Cami were the only people who kept the real Jeremy Evans alive, but now, I’m not sure if the real Jeremy Evans even exists. Actually, I know he doesn’t exist.

  The night I was arrested and looked into Cami’s broken eyes, I felt the last sliver of him die. All that remains is the anger and hate, the killer the underworld created. He’s who I’ve been for the last four years. Hell, he’s who I’ve been for a lot longer than that. One doesn’t just shed that kind of anger. It was my survival tactic. Besides, let’s face it, I still need to remain in that mode now that I’m free from the state. I don’t know how my family will react to me getting out of prison and besides, shedding my way of life for the last four years will be nearly impossible. Currently, the beast is all I know how to be.

  I close the door to the halfway house and suck in a breath of fresh air. I can feel a smile, a piece of happiness, wanting to break free; the feeling is foreign. The smile doesn’t surface, as it hasn’t the last four years I’ve been incarcerated. Today, it hides just under the surface because, for the first time in years, I am walking away a free man—I’m free.

  I’m free.

  Free.

  Free.

  I am free of routines, steel bars, the noise and the agony of listening to someone getting their ass beat. I am free to eat a decent meal. I have the freedom to do what I want, when I want. I’m free to fuck a woman when I want and where I want. That’s probably the sweetest part of my release. I will be able to walk into the nearest strip club, set my sights on a dancer, and fuck my brains out.

  I close my eyes and revel in the mist blanketing my face, and then it finally breaks free—my smile. It’s not big, only a smirk, but it’s carefree and totally relaxed when I think about the joys of being with a woman. I miss women. I miss the sensations they bring out in me, the total dominance over their body, and watching their eyes roll back in their head when I make them come.

  However, the only woman who’s seared into my soul forever is Cami. She is and will forever be the one who got away. She was the last woman I touched and tasted. And it was moments spent with her that freed me slightly from the hell of I-Max prison.

  Cami. Cami. Cami. Her name bounces around my head as the very last vision of her comes into my mind. Standing by the oak tree, watching me get escorted away by the police. She stood and grieved yet another loss in her life. Her brown eyes were crying while her body shuddered from sadness.

  When I pull emotions back and really think about what free means to me, I find it’s just a looming cloud hanging over my head. I’m in a state of vacillation between the confines of prison and the availability of the drug world. To me, the word
free has a different meaning than the dictionary definition. Yes, I do have the ability to walk amongst society again, but I really don’t feel the sense of relief anymore. I am anxious and stressed.

  According to the state of Michigan, I am no longer inmate 815.2245; I am Jeremy Evans. I am a person, no longer a number. But it’s amazing what a person will get used to when they’re locked behind bars for years.

  Once I surpassed my first year, the days slowly became tolerable. Now, I have to readjust myself yet again. Only, this time, it’s with the people I hurt the most.

  Matt Ryker is all I can think about. I’ve done my stint, and according to our agreement, I’ve done what he’s required of me. It’s been a long eight years since my journey into the underworld started, and as I step onto the wet concrete just outside the halfway house, I can still feel the hold he has over me. The tracking devise around my ankle has been cut, but it doesn’t put me at ease. I remain attached to the underworld. Until I see my family, I am not free. I am still a soldier for the Rykers. Cami is free, but if my family has disowned me, I will have nothing. It’s that very thought that will keep the darkest parts of myself very much alive. My entire future depends on my family.

  When I talked to Jake prior to my sentencing, he told me our family was in turmoil, and that Reggie and Darcie were fighting. What if they didn’t make it? It would be my fault their marriage didn’t thrive since I was the reason they were fighting.

  Reggie has been my rock for most of my youth, and I’ve learn so much from him. He taught me how to drive and a lot about the one hobby that was legal. He supported me when I was drunk and out of control. He made me see that I was on a path of destruction and I quit drinking. But because I was an expert at living my double life, I fooled my oldest brother, and now, I could have ruined his relationship with the woman he loves.

  Then there’s Drake. I expect nothing less than hatred toward me, and I would be disappointed if there was anything else. He should want to kill me. There are days I’ve spent locked inside hoping I would die, just so my brother could have peace. Would he have peace if I died?

  Someday, I will tell him what I went through to make sure Carter Brown never left I-Max prison. I will tell Drake there’s been blood on my hands for the last four years, only so I could get my hands on Carter, and in the process, I was beaten, stabbed and almost sodomized. I have no idea how his life has been, but before I went to prison, Drake was furious. If only there’s a way to get him to understand I’ve done the best I could to repay my debt to him.

  I turn and look back to the building, staring at it one last time, just as I did when I was paroled from I-Max prison. I’m branding my mind with the feeling, reminding myself I will never be here again. With everything that has happened to me behind the walls of I-Max, I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life. I will never come back to this place—I would rather die. The despicable acts I was forced to comply with will haunt me for the remainder of my life, but I will suffer a thousand sleepless nights knowing Cami is away from Sulfur Heights.

  As I pull my small bag of belongings onto my shoulder, I head toward the bus station. My next step will be to face my family. I know I’ve let them down, and I can honestly say I’m not sure how welcome I will be when I arrive in Sulfur Heights, but there’s nowhere else for me to go. My car is there and that’s where my parole meetings have been set up. I can’t leave town. Not just yet, but I will because there’s no reason left for me to stay.

  The ties I held onto all my life have been cut. Out of protection, they’ve been severed, and I need to be on my own. Free of everything. However, before I face those demons, I have two things on my mind. I want to eat a decent meal and fuck a stripper—in that order.

  The air heats up after the rain stops, making it a perfect, humid June afternoon. I walk the two blocks to the Greyhound bus station. The bus station is dead, only having a handful of people waiting on their upcoming bus. After I purchase my ticket, I have a few hours to kill. I only need thirty minutes to eat, so the remaining time will be spent inside a stripper.

  I step back outside, noticing a diner is conveniently located across the street. It looks like an old establishment with weather siding and grungy glass. However, the smell coming from the restaurant is making my stomach ache in hunger. I quickly head across the street then step into a slice of Heaven.

  The smell of burgers, fries and grease floods my nostrils, almost making it impossible to keep my feet shuffling forward. I take in a breath, deeply inhaling the smell of absolute sovereignty. I’m not sure how long I am standing in the doorway, but when the bell over the threshold rings again, I snap out of my trance, alerted that other customers are behind me. I allow them to walk in ahead of me.

  I feel a little discombobulated. It’s been so long since I’ve had the freedom to be on my own. I now have the liberty to eat without always looking over my shoulder. I can feel the anxiety heat up my blood and my fists start to clench in frustration. I’m lost. I’m not sure what to do; all I know is the diner is very overwhelming.

  The waitress dressed in a classic 1950s diner uniform approaches. “We’re kinda full right now, but you can sit at the counter if you’d like.” She looks sympathetic and kind, putting me instantly at ease.

  She points to the empty stools affixed to the black and white checkered floor. They are lined up in front of a long counter, facing the kitchen window and malt station. I nod my head in agreement as I make my way into the restaurant and to my seat. I pluck the vinyl covered menu standing in front of me and scan the endless options. The grumble in my stomach reacts to the glorious smells of diner food, and I can’t wait to sink my teeth into a fat, juicy burger. Besides sex, this is what I’ve craved—real food.

  “You just get out?” the waitress inquires as she slides a small glass filled with water in front of me. Initially, I’m taken aback and the hairs on my neck begin to stand. I knew this would be one of the hardest parts of my release, admitting to the event that led to my incarceration. It will always lead to more questions, ones I don’t ever want to answer in this life time. “Don’t be mad.” The waitress must’ve sensed my discomfort. “We get you fellas all the time. Y’all always have the same look and appetite.”

  I nod my head in agreement but say nothing more except what I want to eat. “I’ll have the double deluxe burger with fries and a Mountain Dew.”

  She giggles to herself and looks back at me. Her gray hair is cut short and the weathered winkles around her eyes tell me she’s experienced this firsthand. “Told ya, big appetite.”

  I blow off her comment as she attaches my order ticket to the metal ring in the center of the kitchen window.

  As I wait for my food to cook, I reflect on my first year inside. It was the roughest year by far. I was attacked and beaten on more than one occasion as well as nearly raped in the shower. I knew that, if I was going to survive prison, I had to detach myself from the outside world so I could focus on the new world inside I-Max.

  I had to break the hopeful thoughts I still carried with me so I could be immersed fully in the prison life. Thoughts of my family and all the little adventures we went on. Racing on Old Miller’s Road in my Challenger and hearing my brother in the passenger seat laughing with delight. Thoughts of Cami and every ounce of happiness she brought me. I had to lose them all to survive. Of course, there were times, lying in my cell before lights out, when I’d think of the good times, but those nights were usually followed with horrible nightmares. After time, I stopped thinking of them at all.

  A month after sentencing, I was transferred from county to I-Max and placed in the medium security section. Due to my nonviolent crimes, I was able to be locked up with a cellmate and got one hour outside with the general population.

  It was an adjustment sharing a cell with Frank at first, however I learned he was just an old hippie who liked to smoke weed and sell it. We had a lot in common in that aspect. We were cellmates for six months, and during that time, Frank was
my teacher. He had experience on the inside, especially in his youth, and was more than willing to share pointers with me. I never really talked to Frank; I only listened, absorbing all the information he told me.

  When he was released, my new cellmate was a very familiar man from my criminal past, Victor. He was transplanted in I-Max to make sure I followed through with my final job for the Ryker family. I was already rigid when I came to I-Max, but I had to become someone even darker once the steel bars locked behind me.

  When I was on the streets, I was someone feared, never to be messed, and I had to gain that perception inside. After what happened with Klaus and his gang, I started gaining that feared respect. Yet, I was far from killing at that point. I was amongst the worst criminals in Michigan’s history, and I had to surpass even their reputations to become someone even career villains feared. Even though I was housed in medium security, the men who were there with me were just as bad or worse than I am. Like me, they were only charged with the minor infractions of what they’ve really done. I became addicted to the power and the ability to put the fear of God into someone.

  Then, as my time went on in I-Max, I got a taste for the darker life. So much so, I couldn’t ignore it, and part of me enjoyed the man I was becoming. I never thought it would be possible for the beast inside me to be worse, yet it’s amazing what people will get used to and how they adapt. That’s all I was doing that first year—I was adapting to my surroundings—and by the end of my third year inside, I had become a feared man on the yard. No one messed with me. The blood is still on my hands for many different reasons.

  The first time I was sent to the yard for recreation time, I was overwhelmed. There were so many men gathered in different sections of the fenced area. Basketball courts on one end, picnic tables in the middle, and in the opposite corner, a fitness area. It didn’t take long to see how the recreation area was divided. Gangs ruled the yard, divided by color—divided by race. I suppose joining a gang may have made prison life easy. I chose not to go that route, though.