Some lessons in life are learned the hard way.
Keelan and Mike met as opposites in a prison where violence, murder, and power games were everyday life. To survive, they made a pact to stand together. But that demands trust, and on the shadowy side of life, trust is fragile.
When Keelan’s past catches up with him, the odd friendship yet again faces the same grave questions:
Can a murderer trust a mercenary who worked for the law?
Can the mercenary trust the murderer?
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Learning the Hard Way 2
Copyright © 2017 H.P. Caledon
ISBN: 978-1-4874-1090-2
Cover art by Erin Dameron-Hill
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Learning the Hard Way 2
Learning the Hard Way Book Two
By
H.P. Caledon
Dedication
To my son—you bring out the best in me.
Prologue
Before I ended up here in Delta Zeich I had only heard of the place. The other kids in juvenile detention used to tease the ones getting released around legal age—tease them that next time they broke the law they’d end up here.
I always knew it was my destiny. Not like those other snot noses and spoiled brats who went in for a short sting because Daddy wouldn’t buy them something new, neat, and expensive, so they stole it. Felt it was their right and duty to rebel against their parents’ power over them. They cried when they found out that in life outside their cozy mansions was something called consequences. They probably didn’t even know the word before the day they were locked up in juvie. Those snotties kept me awake long into the nights. But in a dorm that big and with a ceiling that high, it could have come from any of the twenty-odd boys sleeping there.
I had stopped crying years before. I had learned the word consequence and the meaning thereof in an orphanage run by a religious couple.
Mr. and Mrs. Churchburrow.
There were girls back then, too, but the Churchburrow Institute had a fence through it. In the great hall, there were two staircases—one for girls and one for boys, because what awful things could happen if we accidently grazed the hand of someone from the opposite sex? We ate separately, went outside separately, and of course, we slept separately.
After fifteen years at that home, I had never touched a girl, but that was also the time my hormones began telling me what I could do with them.
It wasn’t an orphanage as much as it was a slave farm. We’d work our knees to the bone from hours of scrubbing the floors, and then we’d spend the next few hours on our knees praying to God and thanking Him for the gifts in our lives. I spent my prayer time cursing Him. I already knew He didn’t like me so unless He actually intended on showing some of all that mercy he was so famous for He could at least just strike me dead.
But of course, He didn’t do that.
Instead, He sent Alice—a new girl, a rebel who had been orphaned only weeks before. At that time she hated life as much as I did, and for the first time in many years, I felt lucky.
We had scrubbing duty on each side of the fence in the great hall, and she must have seen it too, that she and I were alike—kindred spirits, if you believe in all that crap. We found a way around the fence and spent two hours exploring each other’s sinful fantasies, touches, smells, sensations... at that moment I knew there was a God.
Of course, we got caught.
They nearly beat the life out of me. I never did find out what happened to her. That was the episode that had me sent to juvenile detention. Fifteen years old. I don’t even know if the charges held up or if they just threw me in there because there was room.
I only learned two useful things at that religious home. I learned not to cry, and I learned how to kiss a girl. That beating was worth it!
When I turned sixteen, troubles began in earnest. I was still in juvie when one night I woke up to the sensation that something was off. I knew I had changed, but I couldn’t put it together.
And I was scared. Don’t think I’ve ever been that scared since.
But that was only the beginning of my problems, because the guards came storming in and two of them went at me. They beat me with batons.
The rest is unclear.
Just screams and the smell of their blood.
And that I ran.
For three days I ran around in the Mining-steps—the poorest and biggest building complex on Verion four—to escape Brad Dorsey, the bounty hunter they sent after me. On the third day, I collapsed from exhaustion in the Mining-steps’ maze-like pathways. I actually think I fainted.
When I woke up, everything was back to normal. But the guard’s blood was still on me.
Dorsey caught me eventually. It took him a couple of months, because I got out of the Mining-steps and hid on Red Turf, but when he finally caught me, he took me away from Verion four. I ended up on an institution on Orlani in the Svennika System.
The others teased me too when I was released at the age of twenty-one. A few months later I was back on Verion four and back behind bars. Problems seemed to be my only companion through life, and since I hadn’t learned anything useful about the society I was supposed to be a part of, it just went downhill from day one.
I don’t even understand why society expects us to try. It never let me feel like I belonged anywhere else—as anything other than something that can be discarded, used as a slave, or is supposed to be behind bars.
Even the rules are different depending on which side of the bars you’re on, so how can they expect me to play by their rules when the only rules they taught me were the ones that allowed me to survive behind the bars?
A couple of fights on the streets and someone died... again. That wasn’t part of their rules, so I got sent here.
Delta Zeich.
Here it’s allowed to fight and kill each other. Actually, it’s demanded if you don’t want to go out feet first and up some chimney or get stuffed in a hole with no name.
At least I’m good at fighting. So good that everybody knows. So good that I don’t have to fight... often.
And that’s how I ended up here. As the cellmate to a mercenary and the lackey of Rainer—the prison’s most power-horny prisoner. One I even managed to piss off because I killed one of his followers.
He should have kept his nose out of my secret hideaways. That close to the escape, I couldn’t risk anything.
Chapter One
Keelan stood by the railing and looked down at the center hall illuminated by the faint light from the guard’s bridge. The guards sat behind the big window under the un
even ceiling of the cave. From there, the expansive corridors of an old mine made up most of the prison. The guards were reading, chatting, and drinking coffee, not taking any interest whatsoever in anything happening on the other side of the window. Not many prisoners were out at that time, and it sounded like the two fighting on the floor below him were almost done. They had stopped yelling, and one groaned nasally.
Silence fell upon the prison.
From his place two floors up, Keelan had a good view of the auction podium and the prison’s only entrance and exit—two heavy iron doors with a lot of dents. And not all the rust red patches were rust.
Soon the doors would open again. Another batch of lost souls for the strongest inmates to entertain themselves with would be shoved through the crack. The railings, both here and down the long, wide staircase, would once again be packed with curious prisoners and the ones in desperate need of entertainment. Even the guards would watch on those days.
He didn’t know if they had watched the day he came in. He’d been too busy watching the others and trying not to get knocked over as they were pushed through the doors and led onto the stage. An overfed colossus of a guy had tried to win the rights to him. Had won a fight against another slighter guy right in front of the podium. Keelan had spent the time during the fight studying the two men. He’d have to try to kill the guy who won because there was no way he was going to spend his time there with his pants around his ankles and his ass in the air. His planning and fear had almost distracted him to the point that he hadn’t heard the auctioneer ask if he wanted to fight for his freedom in the arena.
His opponent, the winner of the fight, had been huge, at least six foot seven, and despite his size, he was fast and hit extremely hard. Keelan was six foot four and thought he could hit pretty hard. At least he did until he met that guy. Most of that fight was gone from his memories—pushed back and dimmed by either pain or the massive amount of adrenaline dumped into his system. He didn’t know for sure, just that it wasn’t anything new. Four fights in his entire life had ended that way. Two of them in Delta. The first time it had happened was actually his first real fight ever. Against the guards in juvie.
What little he did remember from the fight in the arena consisted of kicks and blows which seemed to come from everywhere and at the same time, even though there was only that one opponent and an overwhelming noise from the cheering and yelling spectators. And of course, the clear voice of the auctioneer commenting on the battle. Keelan didn’t hear what was said.
Until after. And that people stepped aside as he was led from the arena to the dead opponent’s cell—his prize. It had felt like half his face was missing. Too stubborn to let anyone see how hurt he really was, he managed to stay on his feet. His legs felt like they were made of pudding, but he made it. He’d won his freedom.
It had never been his intention to go see the new batch of prisoners arrive. Fish, as they were called. But curiosity had won in the end. Mostly he was curious about how it looked... from the other side.
Keelan smiled as he remembered his first meeting with a prisoner who just didn’t fit the role as one of the strong prisoners. Black-eyed Burton. The smile disappeared at the thought of the meeting with Rainer shortly afterward. Keelan actually stood the exact same place as they had back then. Rainer had stood at that very spot when he spoke to Keelan for the first time.
Black-eyed Burton stood in the middle of the corridor blocking the way, so Keelan poked him in the back. Black-eyed Burton turned and stared with what was probably supposed to look like a fierce killer gaze. To Keelan it made the man look like someone with trouble passing gas. When he saw Keelan, he stared wide-eyed and disappeared—still limping from his attempt at jumping Keelan in the food line. Even that day Keelan had pitied the man enough to only hurt him a little, but enough for him to know the boundaries of contact between them in the future.
“You wanna learn, fish? With the paws on you, you deserved it.” A man came into view as the surrounding men stepped back and Keelan already regretted having gone to the center hall. He’d seen the prisoner before. And heard even more. Rainer, a prisoner with connections to everything from the maggots in the shower rooms to the warden. Or... that was what the rumors said. And that he was ruthless in his way of obtaining what he wanted. He was roughly Keelan’s size, a bit taller maybe, and at least ten years older. Something about him made Keelan uneasy, but other than that, he didn’t know enough about the guy to have made up his mind about him.
“You do know that once those doors open and the fresh meat comes in... you’ll no longer be a fish.” Rainer said.
“What, I get promoted to shark?”
Rainer’s laughter was loud and rusty. He shook his head and patted Keelan on the back. “Even an ocean like this, fish, has more carnivores than sharks. Continue the way you have the past three months, and you might get there. But there’s still a long way. A lot to learn, too.”
Keelan nodded and looked at all the prisoners waiting by the walls and banisters. The biggest and meanest looking waited by the doors, ready to round up the new fish and guide them onto the podium.
“Are you here to buy or browse?” asked a man standing close to Rainer. He had a bright green armband around his upper arm, and Keelan recognized him as one of the five men who always followed Rainer around and sat at his table in the canteen.
Keelan’s cellmate had explained that they were Rainer’s followers. Unless one wished for a painful death, they were left alone.
“Depends on the goods,” Keelan said, but the follower continued to stare at him. “Browse.” Keelan noticed that Rainer was eying him discreetly.
“I’ve been meaning to talk to you.”
As if told to, people backed away, leaving Keelan and Rainer alone by the banister. Keelan didn’t like the situation.
“I could use a man of your talent,” Rainer continued, and that sounded even more alarming to Keelan.
A long pause followed. Long and uncomfortable enough for Keelan to feel the need to fill it.
“What do you mean? A job?”
Rainer turned to stare directly at him. “Sounds like you have a brain.”
Keelan didn’t know what to say so he didn’t say anything.
“What do you say?”
“Do I get a job description?”
Rainer snorted. “There are a lot of people in here who wish I would give them the same offer.”
Keelan felt trapped and tried to find a suitable answer. Instead, he raised an eyebrow, not really considering how disrespectful Rainer might find it.
Rainer gritted his teeth and looked increasingly annoyed. “Either I have to retract my previous statement about you having a brain, or I’ll have to add balls. Which is it, fish?”
Keelan thought for a moment of all he’d heard about Rainer. He’d soon find out if any of the sources were reliable. His only regret was that they were on the second floor. A long way to fall if the answer was wrong.
“I’m not running drugs. Other than that.” Keelan shrugged.
Rainer stared at him for a long time without giving any hint as to what he thought about that answer. Just as Keelan’s palms began to sweat, Rainer smiled. “Congratulations, brains and balls it is,” Rainer said, and returned his attention to the many prisoners below them.
The sound of the heavy iron doors opening on dry hinges reverberated throughout the hall, and all the prisoners howled. Rainer watched silently and leaned casually against the banister, but something in his eyes told a different story. He was a predator, and he was searching for the best pray.
The unwilling mass was shoved through the door and maneuvered onto the podium. It didn’t look as chaotic as Keelan remembered it.
“Is that who I think it is?” one of Rainer’s followers exclaimed. Rainer stood up straight and had his follower point out a man. Keelan tried to follow their line of sight, but it was impossible.
“Really?” Rainer smiled and found his relaxed position against
the banister again.
“Maybe you should get down there,” another follower said.
Rainer gnawed at his lip and looked around at the many followers on the floor.
“They’re gonna kill him,” the follower continued. “He could be worth something to you.”
“As what? A piece of ass for sale?” Rainer spat. The follower didn’t answer, but Rainer finally nodded and pointed to the podium. “Keelan, win me that prisoner.”
Keelan followed his finger, but the new fish were still being pushed around, so it was impossible to guess which one he was pointing at.
“The mercenary, I want the mercenary,” Rainer declared. “Sal, go with Keelan and show him who it is.”
Keelan turned away from the hall and the memories of how he’d met Mike—the young blond beauty as he’d called him to Sal’s amusement.
He’d been wrong back then, when they’d stood there and Keelan had thought that the look in Rainer’s eye was that of a predator. No, Rainer was something a lot more dangerous. He was a coward. An egocentric coward with delusions of grandeur and the connections to secure his own ass. With a predator, you’d at least know what to do. If it was hungry, stay clear. If it was full, just leave it alone. But a coward? No rules. No code. No morals.
He didn’t know whether he should feel lucky that Rainer didn’t have enough room for Mike in his cell or... okay, that was what Rainer had said was the reason. But Keelan had come to know the man so much better since that day, and he couldn’t rid himself of the thought that it hadn’t been the reason at all.
Mike had collected the bounty of at least four of the prisoners in Delta Zeich, and he was wanted by them. One of Rainer’s followers had been one of them, as far as Keelan knew. Keelan thought that Rainer in his twisted mind had expected Keelan to abuse and beat Mike for the simple reason that Keelan had a problem with authority. A fitting revenge, if one asked Rainer.
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