“Everyone at the fight is in solitary.” He let out a sad laugh. “They ran out of cells.”
“Shit,” I muttered.
How would the guards explain so many of us being thrown in solitary overnight to the day crew? “Surprised they didn’t just call the cops and have us carted off to jail.”
“I think they have more creative punishments in mind for us.”
The metal door creaked and swung open. Ollie hobbled into our cell. Someone obviously went at him after I got knocked out. He held something long and black in his left hand.
I wrapped my hands around the chains tethering me to the ceiling and tugged. Nothing.
He raised the instrument and it made a buzzing sound. “Try anything, and I’ll fry your ass,” he warned.
I nodded once and relaxed my grip on the chain. He approached slowly. Keys jingled as he pulled them from his pocket.
“We had a good thing going and you ruined it, Roman.”
“Good for who?” I asked.
A white-hot jab of stinging needles exploded against my side. My entire body twitched.
Ollie laughed. “That was the lowest setting.”
There was a click and the pressure on my wrists eased. I fell to the ground still twitching and drooling on my chest.
“You got anything smart to say?” Ollie asked Eraser.
Eraser remained silent.
A few seconds later, he landed in a heap next to me.
Two soft thuds hit the floor in front of us. I cracked open an eye. Two red and green apples rolled our way.
“You two fight over the mattress. Share it. Kill each other for it. I don’t give a fuck,” Ollie said as he backed out the door and slammed it shut.
I snatched the apples off the ground and rubbed them on the cleanest part of my sweatpants.
“Here.” I held out one of the apples toward Eraser.
He smirked at me. “Fucking apples again?”
“I’ll eat yours if you don’t want it.” I crunched into the fruit and immediately winced. My jaw fucking hurt.
“Give me that.” He snatched the other apple out of my hand.
Our bodies were battered beyond belief.
But they hadn’t broken our spirits—yet.
“How long you think they’ll keep us here?” I asked.
He tore another chunk out of his apple and chewed loudly. “I’d keep your expectations low, brother. We ain’t gettin’ out any time soon.”
“My expectations couldn’t be lower.” Goddammit, I really didn’t want to die in this filthy imitation of a horror movie dungeon. “Life’s taught me one thing—expectations only lead to suffering.”
Chapter Forty-Five
Roman
Eighteen.
Happy birthday to me.
Once we were mostly healed, Eraser and I returned to our room.
The guards seemed wary of us now. Everyone seemed to avoid us.
Eraser got his walking papers a few days later. We barely had time to hug each other goodbye and promise to catch up on the outside.
Then it was my turn.
The guards seemed more than happy to see me go.
I was lucky to be leaving on my own two feet and not in a body bag.
Like a prisoner who’d served his full sentence, I walked out of Castle Correctional Center with nothing but the clothes I’d been wearing the night I arrived. The pants no longer fit right, leaving my ankles exposed to the winter air. But I was free and didn’t give a shit what I looked like.
Ms. Simpson met me in the circular driveway.
No wonder the guards had gone easy on us after the big brawl. They didn’t want me leaving the place looking too beat up.
“Can I drop you off somewhere?” she asked in a soft voice.
I snorted and shook my head. Now she’s concerned.
Since Castle was in the middle of nowhere, I didn’t have much of a choice. I accepted her offer and folded my aching body into her small sedan.
“Where do you want me to take you?” she asked.
I rattled off the address for Mrs. Shields’ house.
Juliet’s house now.
I didn’t know where else to go. I hadn’t written to her in so long, she might not welcome me at all.
But being with Juliet was the closest I’d ever felt to home, so I had to start there.
I watched the crumbling building fade away in the side mirror and felt nothing.
Pain sizzled over my bottom lip. I flipped the visor down and stared at myself in the small mirror. My battered face was the least of the injuries I’d come out of that place with.
“Roman—” Ms. Simpson’s concerned voice grated my last nerve.
“Don’t.”
“What happened in there?”
“Why do you care?” I slammed the visor into place and glared at her. “Are you going to do something about it? Can you even do anything about it?”
“I can try.”
“That’s great. I’m sure your efforts will be appreciated.” I didn’t bother hiding the bitterness in my tone. I was done playing good little foster kid.
I was finally free and in control of my life.
“I’m so sorry.”
“You should be.” She wasn’t the only person who’d fucked up my life, but she was the most convenient one to take my anger out on at the moment.