Bang. Bang. Bang.

The sound of vibrating metal sent a chill up my spine. My entire body constricted, my muscles tightening and preparing for a fight.

“Get up, motherfucker,” Kent called through the door.

I cracked open one eye, just enough to see his stupid smug face in the little window, with that stormy look in his eye that told me he was looking for fucking trouble today. Of course, he was, when was he not looking for fucking trouble.

“Your date is here.” The asshole chuckled as I dragged myself from the piece of shit bed—if it could even be called that. A few bits of wood and a mattress less than two inches thick. Oh, and throw on a couple of dirty blankets that feel like they’ve been knitted out of damn plastic.

All the makings of a torture chamber.

I wasn’t being sarcastic either.

These guys wanted me to feel bad. They wanted to drive me crazy and push me to my mental limits. The physical shit I could handle, a couple bruised ribs and a split lip every other day were things that would heal. It was the lack of food, the sleep deprivation, the isolation, and the way they made you feel like you were already a little fucking crazy.

That’s what you get when you kill a cop.

At least, that’s what you get when cops think you’ve killed a cop.

Like my club, they had loyalty to their own people.

I backed up to the door and pushed my hands through the small slot so he could cuff me before he opened the door. I was so used to it now and it had almost become second nature. With the metal encasing my wrists—almost cutting off the circulation—the door then creaked and groaned as it opened. I stepped out and onto the balcony.

Having Kent behind me wasn’t my favorite position. Not being able to see what he was doing and knowing his love of ‘surprising’ me when I wasn’t able to protect myself, all made me nervous.

These past two months—they’d been hell and honestly, I was starting to lose it.

I wanted to tell these guys all about the man they were fighting for. How better off the world was without him in it. There were times where I wanted to fight back and not sit on the floor of my cell bleeding while Kent and his buddies tried to break my arm.

I’d watched them do the same to other inmates. Anyone who had charges for assaulting an officer or who wasn’t afraid to speak up. These guys were bastards, and they got off on it. They fed on the power, and in their own minds, convinced themselves they were doing the right thing standing up for their people.

That wasn’t it at all. They were on some fucking crazy power trip, and the longer they got away with it, the worse things were getting. Kent and his handful of lackeys were starting to think they were invincible.

I guess that’s what happened when you spent most of your time locked in a building with two hundred criminals. It was contagious. It started to seep into your skin, and you suddenly found yourself feeling like you needed to fight fire with fire.

They’d made a mistake, though, because I was getting out of this shit hole. Not as soon as I would have liked, but sooner than they ever thought I would be. And if I saw one of them walking down the fucking street at night. Well…

My feet slipped with each step—the assholes letting me keep a pair of sneakers but taking the damn laces.

They ain’t ever heard of Velcro shoes?

That question earned me two days of ringing in my ears and no pain meds to help me fix it.

Everyone was locked up during visiting hours, so the guards could move the inmates who were having visits easily around the jail. Some of the inmates stood at their doors as we passed, staring at us through the small barred window, while the others called out tormenting and threatening remarks toward Kent, who seemed to ignore them or let them flow off his back.

He was an asshole, and frankly, I think he was pretty damn lucky to have not been shanked or had his head kicked in yet because when you were on his bad side, he made sure your life was hell. I wasn’t the only one he decided to have a hard-on for.

I didn’t speak much to the other inmates. Most of them stayed pretty far away from me once they’d seen my back patch in the showers. These guys were mostly thugs, drug addicts, and thieves. Apart from a handful of gangbangers, who had something to prove and learned pretty quickly that they didn’t want to use me to prove it, I hadn’t had many issues. I chose to just keep to myself, do my shit and get the fuck out of here and back to my family.

Back to Meyah.

Fuck this shit had been hard without her.

I felt like a drug addict going cold turkey.

When you’ve been wanting something for so long, to finally have it in your hands and then have it suddenly torn away from you again—yeah, that was hell. Even more so because I knew she was out there thinking I’d betrayed her, and she was probably cursing my name.

Did I want to tell her the truth? Of course, I fucking did, but I just couldn’t bring this down on her.

This place was a cesspool, full of scum, rapists, addicts, and abusers.

There was no way in hell I wanted Meyah anywhere near this place and these assholes. I didn’t want to see them leering at her, eyeing her like their next meal. And I knew if I’d fought for her like I should have, and told her the truth, she would have been here every single week visiting.

If that had been the case, I was pretty sure I wouldn’t have been getting out of here any time soon because I probably would have murdered more than one of these bastards for looking at her sideways.

A palm slammed against my back, forcing my body into the door in front of me, knocking the breath from my lungs and forcing my forehead to slam against it.

“Oops,” Kent scoffed, forcing me to the side and turning the handle, pushing it open and holding it as I stepped into the small meeting room. “Sorry about that, buddy.” He patted me on the back, chuckling to himself.

“More bruises,” my lawyer Matt hissed as he stood from the small desk in the center of the room. That and two chairs were the only décor. When we had lawyer visits, we were always given a private room—client confidentiality and all that. “I thought I expressed last time I was here I’d have to take matters further if I suspected you weren’t looking after him like you should be.”

Kent scoffed and rolled his eyes as he yanked me around so that he could uncuff me. “You know these inmates. They’re rough. There’s not much we can do about it.” He took the handcuffs, leaving me rubbing my wrists. “I could always put your boy here in isolation.”

Matt wasn’t one to take any bullshit, but he also knew when to stop because these guys could make my life a living hell—more than it was already—and at this point, it wasn’t worth his breath to try and fight them.

“I’ll let you know when we’re done,” Matt snapped, his lip twitching in anger as Kent sauntered toward the door without a care in the world, slamming it shut behind him. “You think you can keep yourself from killing that asshole until I get you out of here?”

I dropped into the pathetic little metal chair and huffed out a laugh. “It’s gonna be touch and go, but if you can promise to get me out soon, I might be able to hold out a little longer.”

He shook his head and lifted his briefcase on to the table, working on the latches. “I could have their asses for this, you know. Once you’ve been proven innocent, I could haul each and every one of them into a fucking courtroom and have their badges taken for the way they’ve treated you.” He looked up and studied my face. I knew he was looking at the black eye which was beginning to yellow, and what I imagined was a big red mark on my forehead from being slammed into the door just outside. He wasn’t stupid, he’d been doing this for longer than some of these fuckers had been alive. I didn’t doubt that if Matt wanted to take them down, he could do precisely that.

“I’ve got other plans for Kent.” I couldn’t stop the smirk that pulled at the corner of my mouth when I thought about what I was going to do to that little bitch when I got out of here. Sure, some of these guys in here deserved to be treated like trash for what they’d done, but there were also guys in here who needed help, and someone who gave a shit about turning their life around so they didn’t end up back here. They didn’t need some punk on a power trip treating them like they weren’t worth the shit on his shoe.

I was gonna take this shit to the club.

When I was done, there would be changes.

And my buddy, Kent, would more than likely be a missing person who they would never find.

“Good,” Matt agreed with a sharp nod. “Now, I’ll pretend like I didn’t hear that. Let’s talk about your court date. It’s set for next Thursday.”

I pressed my lips together as a shock swarmed through me. “Okay. And how’s it looking?”

He reached into his suitcase and pulled out a couple of photos, placing them on the table in front of me. They were dark and a little grainy. I squinted and leaned in closer to view them as he explained what I was looking at. “At every entrance to the national park, they have cameras. They’re important in case of damage to the cabins, and things like arson so they can keep track of who’s going in and out because, for the most part, people use the vehicle tracks and walking tracks.” He said the last part with emphasis, knowing that Romeo had, in fact, walked in using the walking track to the cabin and that the sheriff would have too.

My brothers and I, we had not.

I sat a little taller, picking up one of the photos in my hand.

You couldn’t see the person’s face. A dark, plain black hoodie pulled down over it, casting a shadow which stopped his facial features being identifiable. As he moved past the camera, the left side of his body was completely visible. He held a gun in his hand, one they would easily be able to prove was mine given the photos were taken right by the cabin where the sheriff died.

“Okay, so these are going to help?” I questioned, not quite understanding.

Matt grinned. “Compare your left hand to the left hand holding the gun in the photo.”

I looked down at my hand, rolling it over, so the palm was flat on the table while I held the picture in my right hand. Looking between them, I started to smile. In the photo, you could clearly see clean skin from just above the wrist. It was completely untouched. But mine? Tattooed.

I had ink that came down and covered my wrist and the top part of my hand. If this picture had been of me, my tats would have been clearly visible in the photo.

Romeo on the other hand, he had a sleeve too, but on the opposite arm, the one that couldn’t be seen on camera.

I sat a little straighter. “Fingerprints?”

Matt shook his head. “The gun was pulled from a burning building, for one. And two, there were multiple sets of fingerprints on the gun. Some that were in the system, others that weren’t, and a few partials which they couldn’t do much with.”

I nodded. “We used it recently when we were shooting out back of the clubhouse. There would have likely been over ten people use it that day.” Matt instantly dropped his head and scribbled down a few notes on a pad, taking down what I was saying. I was starting to feel the tension in my body release. “So this is looking good?”

Matt’s grin told me just how confident he was, as he pulled more papers from his briefcase. “Autopsy report.” He placed the paperwork in front of me.

I started to read, but then just shook my head. “Just tell me what the fuck it says. You know I ain’t gonna understand this medical jargon bullshit.”

He chuckled and sat back like we were just having a lazy Sunday chat. “Basically, Sheriff Visser didn’t die from a gunshot wound.” My eyes grew wide, and I leaned forward. “Autopsy says he had the presence of gas in his system, and even smoke in his lungs.”

“Holy shit…” I cursed, slumping like the weight of the world had been lifted off my shoulders.

I knew Matt would find a way—at least, I managed to convince myself he would.

“So when the cabin exploded, he was still fucking alive?”

A grim look crossed his face, the smugness gone. “Yeah, momentarily. It might have been less than a minute, but it was enough time for him to get smoke into his lungs from the fire.”

I should have probably felt worse for him than I did, knowing there was a brief moment where he was burning alive—not something you’d usually wish on anyone. But he tried to fuck with my family, and I didn’t have sympathy for anyone who hurt the people I cared about.

“They also found the lighter in his hand. And I’m petitioning for his credit card details and phone records because I have a feeling he bought the gas which was used, and had it put up there,” Matt added. He sat forward and pulled all the papers together, shuffling them and placing them back inside his briefcase, closing it with the most satisfying click. “I’ll convince the judge that you weren’t the guy in the photo. I’ll prove that Visser planned out this shit to hurt whoever this guy is in the photo. And he’s no longer the victim, but the aggressor. And essentially, he killed himself.”

I couldn’t help but laugh and shake my head. “Damn, man, I was starting to get scared. Since when do they remand anyone for two fucking months?”

He sighed. “The assholes running the show are doing every fucking thing that they have in their power to hold you as long as possible. I think they knew from the start you hadn’t done it, but they don’t want the news to get out that a member of law enforcement had been responsible.”

These guys, they did what they could to protect their own.

You had the good guys—who were actually good, who stood for the law, who wanted inmates to be better people and who fought to just make the world better. Then you had the other good guys—who were so tainted they saw criminals as criminals, not even people. These guys no longer fought to see the gray area or help someone change their life around. They were two separate species of cop.

“Your court date is Thursday,” Matt explained as he stood. I followed suit. His eyes darted to the door where I knew Kent would be waiting to torment me some more. “Don’t do anything stupid before then.” The warning was sharp. He knew I’d done pretty well so far, but I had a breaking point, and honestly, it was getting very fucking close to snapping.

“Five days,” I announced followed by a deep breath.

Matt nodded and pounded his fist against the door. “Five days.”

I just got to keep my head down and my fists to myself for five more days. Then I could get the fuck out of here, have some real food, put on some real clothes, and get my fucking woman back.