Gray enjoyed working in the kitchen. It gave him purpose inside the prison, and it allowed him to keep moving. And ever since seeing a photo of his twin sister alive and well with a kid, he needed to keep moving or he’d go nuts thinking of ways he would torture her when he got his hands on her.

She had faked her own death while in the process of leading the local cops and the FBI straight to his motorcycle club’s laboratory for creating carfentanil, an incredibly powerful synthetic opioid that was making them money hand over fist. She had betrayed the club and her family. And she would pay for it.

He placed dishes in the sink of sudsy water while looking on from the kitchen into the cafeteria where other inmates were eating.

Officer Moody entered the cafeteria and stood against the far wall next to a coworker. When Moody made eye contact with Gray, Moody shook his head and lowered his eyes, indicating that something had gone wrong.

Gray grabbed a rag and a spray bottle and entered the cafeteria where he sprayed and wiped down stainless steel tables.

After several minutes, the correctional officers began circling the room, eyeing the remaining inmates who were eating—just routine hovering.

“Packstone,” an officer called from the kitchen. “Time to eat.”

Gray nodded. With a glance at Moody, he returned to the kitchen, put his rag and spray bottle away, then made his way through the chow line. Once he was seated with a tray, Moody walked over to him.

Other inmates sat close by, so Gray and Moody couldn’t speak openly.

“Well, Packstone,” Moody started. “Looks like one of your own is on the loose.”

Gray stopped chewing and looked up at Moody then back to his plate. His pulse sped up a bit, wondering what Moody was talking about.

“That’s right. Jake Boone landed himself in the infirmary. Someone showed him something, or said something, he didn’t like, and he attacked an officer and a doctor. The doctor is in critical condition. The officer will live. But Boone? He broke himself out of prison somehow.”

Gray began inhaling deeply and letting out each breath slowly while he processed what this meant. Jake must have been shocked by the news that Charley was alive… And with a kid? Maybe the kid was Jake’s, but maybe not. Either way, Jake was mad enough to find a way out of prison.

Gray stood, grabbed his half-eaten tray of food and delivered it to the cleaning station. He completed his kitchen shift, biding his time until he could make a phone call.

* * *

Donna Packstone had aged ten years in the four years since her husband, her son, and several other high-ranking members of the motorcycle club—including Jake Boone—had been incarcerated. She sat on the other side of the glass from Gray, looking at him with tired, old eyes. She’d added blonde streaks to her hair that were probably supposed to make her look younger, but instead made her look like she was trying too hard. Her skin looked like leather from too much sun.

When she lifted her hand to grab the telephone, Gray noted her chipped nail polish. His mother was not taking care of herself.

He pulled the phone from the wall. “Jake busted out,” he said.

“I know. A cop already came by the clubhouse. They think he had help.”

“Did he?” Gray asked.

“Not that I know of.” She glanced at the guard behind Gray. “The cop said that Jake had a visitor the day he broke out. Someone—a woman—gave him the photograph that I brought you last week. You wouldn’t know anything about that, now, would you?”

Gray knew that Moody had called in a favor from a friend with no connection to Jake or the MC to deliver the photograph. He’d wanted Jake to know just how deep Charley’s betrayal had run. “She made a mistake,” Gray said, and Mom had to know he was talking about Charley.

“I know. And she’ll be punished. But Jake will kill her. And the kid.” Mom almost sounded remorseful about what might happen to her only daughter and grandchild.

Charley’s offenses were punishable by death. Mom knew that full well. “Is the kid Jake’s?” Gray asked.

“I have no idea. She turned her back on all of us when she ratted out the family.” Her voice was back to sounding harsh and unforgiving.

“When she escaped the life? Or when she hid your grandchild from you?”

“When she put my husband and son in jail.” Mom’s voice lifted an octave before she reined it in. “She’s a rat, Gray. She deserves whatever she gets.”

“Do you know where she is?”

“Yes. And I know how to deal with rats.”