by Sophia Gray
“You can probably guess why I'm down here,” Butler continued. “Bull sent me to tell you it's still not too late. Most men in his position wouldn't have given you nearly as many chances to prove your loyalty, but hey, he's just a special kind of guy. He doesn't want you rotting away down here. That's not the kind of fella he is.
“All you have to do is stop pushing back against him. Understand? It makes him look bad, and he can't afford that. You agree that you'll get in line and follow orders from now on, and we can arrange for a witness to say that they saw the murders, and that you weren't the one who did them. Heck, we can set some lifer up for it. What difference does it make, right? They're already in here forever, so one more notch on their belts won't matter.
“But if you keep spitting in Bull's eye like you've been doing, we'll make sure you go down for these two killings. Then you'll be tried, you'll be convicted, and you'll end up a lifer. So what do you say? Are we going to go for the carrot, or the stick?”
These words penetrated the red haze of Hank's brain. Butler and Bull had stripped him of everything. His freedom, his dignity, even his ability to trust his own mind. They'd ordered him to be beaten and starved. They'd turned him into an animal, and now they were trying to train him like one—rewarding him when he obeyed their commands, punishing him when he didn't.
Well, maybe he wasn't a good man. Maybe he was a piece of shit. Maybe everything that had happened since that night in the bar was his fault, and he deserved to die for it.
But he was still a goddamn human being, and if he was going to die, he'd die as a man instead of a dog.
Using the last of his strength, Hank launched himself at Butler with a snarl. Butler stumbled backward, his eyes comically wide—he clearly hadn't expected this response, and he fumbled with his baton, trying to yank it from his belt. Hank's fingers closed over it first, wrenching it out and raising it over his head as Butler fell backward into the hall.
Hank was on top of Butler in seconds, clawing at his eyes with one hand as he raised the baton with the other. Butler cringed, terrified, and raised his arms to protect his face. He was too slow—Hank's nails hadn't been cut or filed in almost a week, and they were sharp enough to leave a series of deep gouges under Butler's left eye.
The first time Hank brought the baton down, it connected with Butler's forearm. Hank hoped it would snap a bone or two, but Butler's bulging muscles cushioned the blow. He was still trying to get up, but Hank straddled his wide chest, pinning him to the floor.
Butler yelled for the guard in charge of Ad-Seg. “Rory! Help! Hall's gotten out of his cell!”
Hank swung the baton again, and this time, it hit Butler squarely between the eyes with a thwack. Butler went cross-eyed for a moment, let out a groan, and fell back to the floor, unconscious.
The alarms started to honk, and above them, Hank heard a strange roaring sound, like what he used to hear when he'd listen to the inside of a sea shell as a child. It took him a few seconds to realize it was the voices of the other inmates in Ad-Seg, howling and cheering through the slots in their doors.
“Take 'im down, Hall!”
“Yeah, that's right! Fuck him up! Fuck him up! Fuck—”
“You're the fuckin' man, Hall!”
“Right between the eyes! Put his lights out for good, the cocksucker!”
A door at one end of the corridor slid open and a squad of corrections officers marched in wearing riot gear. They rushed over to Hank, pulling him off of Butler and prying the baton from his hand. Hank felt a series of kicks and punches to his torso, but the pain barely registered, dulled by a strange euphoria.
Butler had come down to gloat and treat Hank like some kind of trained pet. In response, Hank had scarred his face and probably given him a concussion.
Good. Fuck him.
Because Dutton had been right. These people could take everything away from Hank, but they couldn't rob him of his soul. No one could snatch that away from him. He could decide to give it freely, but instead, he'd chosen to stand his ground.
The guards dragged Hank back to his cell, threw him down on the flimsy plastic mattress, and slammed the metal door. From the jagged agony in his side, he could tell that his injured ribs had been re-broken.
But he didn't care.
He was too busy laughing triumphantly, until tears spilled down his cheeks.
Chapter 30
Beth
The day after Butler was attacked by Hank was Beth's day off.
Beth had celebrated when she'd heard what happened down in the hole. She knew Butler had gone down there to bully Hank into playing by the rules, and when she heard about Butler's injuries from the other guards, it took all of her self-control not to throw her head back and laugh. She was just sorry to hear that Hank hadn't been able to give Butler a solid kick to the balls while he was at it.
She knew the effect that Ad-Seg could have on prisoners—both mentally and physically—and she'd been scared for Hank, knowing that the claustrophobia of incarceration was already difficult for him. But when she found out that he'd still had enough strength to throw himself at Butler and snatch his baton, she was relieved.
Just hang on a little while longer, Hank, she thought to herself. There's still a chance for us to get out of this together.
When she got home, she realized that she still hadn't bought a pregnancy test. The news about Hank and Butler had distracted her again. It was probably for the best, though. Given what she'd have to do the next day, it would be better for her not to have the results hanging over her in case they turned out positive. She'd need all her focus if this was going to work, and then she could pick up the test afterward and deal with the results then.
She didn't sleep well that night due to nervousness, and when she woke up the next morning, she threw up again. She tried to tell herself that it didn't mean anything—that it was just anxiety, that anyone would throw up repeatedly if they found themselves in her position.
Those thoughts weren't much comfort to her. For the hundredth time, she wondered what would happen if the test came back positive, and for the hundredth time, she tried to shove those thoughts away.
Beth threw on some casual clothes, got into her car, and drove to the nearest rental car company. Butler would recognize her vehicle if he saw it, and if this plan was going to have a snowball's chance in hell, she knew she'd need to be careful and cover her tracks. She rented a plain-looking white sedan for the afternoon and drove to Saint Felipe de Jesus High School.
Then she parked across from the school, got the camera on her phone ready, and waited for the final bell to ring.
When it did, the front doors of the building were flung open and a sea of teenagers in school uniforms flooded out, screaming and laughing and shoving and jeering. Beth looked at them carefully, singling out a long-legged girl of Mexican descent whose hair was tied back in a ponytail. She waved goodbye to a couple of her friends and then crossed the street, adjusting her pink backpack.
She matched the description Dutton had given Beth, but still, she had to be sure. She peered through her camera, zooming in on the name embroidered on the front of the girl's shirt: Maria Gonzales.
Beth nodded. So far, so good.
Maria peered around quickly to make sure no one was watching her. Then she walked over to a blue two-door convertible, getting in on the passenger's side.
Butler was waiting behind the wheel. When Maria got in, Butler leaned over, putting an arm around her and giving her a long kiss on the lips.
Beth started to snap pictures.
Maria gently touched the bandages on Butler's cheek and forehead, looking concerned. Beth couldn't hear their words, but she saw Butler making some kind of “Aw shucks, it's not so bad” gesture before he kissed Maria again. His arms shifted, and it was hard to tell, but it looked like he was sliding one hand between her legs.
Right across from the school? Beth thought smugly, continuing to take photos. You brazen son of a bitch, Butler.
<
br /> It almost seemed like Butler must have heard Beth's thoughts, because he withdrew his hand and turned his car on. Beth quickly took a few final shots which included Butler's license plate before he drove off.
So there it was.
Beth had hard evidence that Butler was having a relationship with Roberto Torres's 18-year-old cousin.
If word of this reached the prison, it would be a race to see who would eat him alive first—the Sinners for having sex with their leader's barely legal relative, or the Knights for betraying their whole racist ideology by fucking a Mexican girl. This info was so juicy, Beth could hardly believe it was true. She had to check and re-check the pictures, just to make sure.
But now what?
Sure, she could try to corner Butler alone during her next shift and lord it over him, warning him to stay off her case and stop screwing with Hank. That didn't seem smart, though. It would just put Butler between a rock and a hard place, since the Knights would still expect him to follow their orders. If Butler was trapped like that, there was no telling what kind of desperate moves he could make. Worse, if he knew she had this evidence against him, that might give him enough time to think of how he could slime his way out of it. Beth would be back to square one—and it would be even worse, since now she'd have Butler as a real enemy.
She could go to the Knights or the Sinners with the info, but again, what then? In the best-case scenario, they'd have Butler killed. Then he'd be replaced by some other guard who was loyal to the Knights, and their abuse of her and Hank would continue. Again, she'd be back where she started.
No, this kind of thing had to be used carefully, with surgical precision. It was like having a gun with a single bullet in it—a powerful weapon, sure, but she had to make her one shot count.
Maybe Hank could help her come up with the best way to use it. Now that she had compromising information about Officer Rory in Ad-Seg as well, she'd be able to visit with him.
But first things first.
Beth dropped off the rental car, then went to a drugstore on the way home and bought a pregnancy test. The clerk, a middle-aged woman with frizzy gray hair and thick glasses, studiously kept her eyes down as she rang up the purchase. Even so, Beth thought she saw the clerk shake her head almost imperceptibly.
When Beth got home, she took the test, then sat on the lid of the toilet and waited for the results. Finally, two lines appeared on the strip.
That was it, then. She was pregnant. It wasn't what she'd been hoping for, but even so, it felt better knowing for sure. It didn't even feel like much of a shock, and she realized that on some level, she'd been steeling herself for this ever since she first noticed the blood on her sheets.
She went to the bedroom, stretched out on top of the blanket, and stared at the ceiling.
How would Hank react?
The truth was, she couldn't even begin to guess. His entire life had already been turned upside down since he'd gone to Bluebonnet. Contemplating a two-year sentence was one thing—lots of short-time prisoners were released with babies waiting for them at home, either from sex before they'd been sent away or during a conjugal visit. But now that he was facing the possibility of a life sentence, what would the thought of having a child on the outside do to him?
And despite what they'd shared in the infirmary, how could she even know for sure that he would want her to have his baby? Their whole relationship had been chaos and uncertainty from the beginning. He was clearly still mourning his wife and child. How could Beth possibly hope to fill that void for him? What if he rejected her for trying?
Beth didn't have any answers to these questions, but she knew one thing: She was going to keep this baby. She couldn't bring herself to abort it, or give it away for adoption. It was a part of Hank, and she wanted it in her life, if only because it was probably the closest thing she'd have to being with him.
She hoped Hank would understand that, even if he didn't want any part of it. She hoped he wouldn't be upset with her for her decision.
Eventually, the sun set and Beth's eyelids grew heavy. She fell into a shallow and restless sleep, dreaming of how things might go when she saw Hank again tomorrow. None of the potential outcomes seemed good.
Chapter 31
Beth
The next day, Beth woke up early to get a take-out bag of breakfast from a diner down the street. Then she went to Bluebonnet a couple of hours before her shift was due to start. She wore her uniform to avoid attracting attention, and whenever someone noticed her and asked what she was doing there so early, she mumbled something about needing the overtime and scuttled away quickly, trying to keep the bag of food behind her back.
She carried the bag to the overseer's office in Ad-Seg, where Officer Rory sat in front of an array of security monitors with his feet up on the desk, reading an old, tattered issue of Penthouse. Rory was a morbidly obese man in his late forties, with short, spiky red hair that was starting to turn gray. The monitors displayed the live feeds from the cameras in the corridor, showing that the hall was empty and the cell doors were shut.
When Rory saw Beth, he tossed the magazine aside, licking his chops lasciviously. Beth wasn't sure whether he was ogling her or the food she was holding.
“Officer D'Amato! What brings you down to the bowels of Bluebonnet?”
Beth smiled warmly. “Well, I've been meaning to visit you down here ever since I started this job. Ad-Seg is my favorite part of the prison. There's just so much history down here. It must be fascinating!”
“It sure is, toots. We've had lots of famous bad guys come and go over the years. Come have a seat, and I'll tell you about some of them.” He chortled, putting his feet on the floor and patting his knee invitingly.
“Actually, there's one in particular I'd really like to talk about. The rich artist who killed his wife and her lover—Sam Lockhorn.”
Rory fidgeted uncomfortably in his chair, loosening his tie. “Why, uh...I mean, what do you want to know about him?”
“Oh, it's not so much what I want to know as what I know already. For instance, I happen to know that while Lockhorn was staying down here before he was transferred to death row, you smuggled in some art supplies for him—”
“Now wait a goddamn minute—”
“—and that you currently own the last thing he ever painted, so you can anonymously sell it for upwards of a million dollars when you retire in a couple years.”
Rory's face was turning red. “That's a fucking lie.”
Beth shrugged. “Maybe it is, maybe it isn't. But I'm willing to bet that if word got out among the convicts, at least one of them would have friends or family members on the outside who'd be willing to break into your house and grab it while you're here on duty.”
“Oh yeah, you half-bright cunt? What makes you think I haven't got it stashed someplace else?”
“Simple. You have no friends, your family fucking hates you, and the painting's too big for a safe deposit box. Stop screwing around, Rory.”
Rory's teeth were clenched so tightly that the muscles in his jaw were twitching. Finally, he said, “Fine. So what do you want from me?”
“Nothing too complicated. Whenever Butler and his goons want to come in here without showing up on the security tapes, you arrange it. I want you to do the same for me.”
“What, now?” he whined plaintively.
“Yes, right now.”
Rory sighed, then dragged the computer keyboard closer to him and started typing. A few seconds later, the screens blinked, then continued showing the empty hallway.
“Okay, I've tricked the cameras so they'll show a loop of the empty corridor while continuing to stamp it with the current date and time. I'm assuming you want Hall's cell open?”
Jesus, Beth thought. It didn't take long for everyone to hear about that. But hopefully, in just a few short days, it won't matter how many people know about it. We'll be long gone.
“That's right,” she replied curtly.
Rory nodded a
nd hit a button, unlocking Hank's cell. “Okay. You have five minutes.”
“If you want to hang onto your little retirement plan, then I have all the fucking time I want, fat man.”
And with that, Beth opened the door to the corridor and walked over to the door of Hank's cell. Her heart was slamming against her ribcage like a fist, and she could hear her own blood rushing in her ears.
This was it. The moment of truth.
Chapter 32
Hank
When Hank heard the lock on the door click open, his entire body tensed automatically, sending fresh waves of pain through his ribs. He fully expected to see a group of guards led by Butler, or maybe Bull and some of the bigger members of the Knights. Either way, he'd be severely outnumbered, and in his weakened condition, he probably wouldn't last long before they cut his wrists or strung him up so he'd look like just another suicide in the hole.
