Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 108709 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 544(@200wpm)___ 435(@250wpm)___ 362(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108709 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 544(@200wpm)___ 435(@250wpm)___ 362(@300wpm)
Call me cocky, but I put myself above their shit. But, every now and then, some moron comes along with a pair of balls bigger than Texas and a brain smaller than a fucking pea. I have to show them exactly why I’m serving four life sentences. But I get it, they want to be seen as a threat within these walls, want to be seen as someone that’s not to be messed with, but stepping up to me isn’t the way to do it. They will lose their lives, and I won’t lose a wink of sleep over it.
“Blackthorne.”
My head snaps up when my name is hollered across the yard, and I find Jensen, one of the guards, waving me over.
“Fuck’s sake,” I mutter to myself, pushing up from the bench, only to watch Knox Mercer, otherwise known as Hartley Creek’s most notorious rapist, rush in to steal the bench, ignoring the line of men who’ve been hovering since the moment we got outside.
My hands ball into fists as I make my way over to Jensen. This guy is an asshole. He’s the first to pit prisoners against each other, making bets with the other guards to see who’ll crack first. And while I usually don’t give a shit about what the guards do to keep themselves entertained, there’s just something about Jensen that makes my skin crawl.
“Visitor,” he informs me.
“Who?”
“How the fuck should I know?” he spits, already reaching for a set of chains to begin restraining me, you know, just in case I felt the overwhelming need to slaughter him where I stand. Which I could, by the way. These fucking chains aren’t going to stop me. But luckily for him, I don’t feel like having the rooftop sniper overlooking the yard put a bullet through my brain today.
A second guard, Rourke, comes to join us for transport, and the moment the chains are secured around my waist, ankles, and wrists, I’m shoved in the back. “Get moving,” Jensen says, always braver once the chains are in place. Though the second they come off, he’ll shrink away and have some reason to be somewhere else. I’ve never seen anybody so fucking terrified just to be in the same room as a prisoner. And it’s not just me, it’s everybody. It’s almost comical watching the way his sweaty little hands start to shake when one of us gets too close. Jensen talks a big game, but deep down, he’s not cut out for this. He should be working mall security, not as a prison guard at Hartley Creek Maximum Security Penitentiary for Men.
I’m pushed through the halls, past the main cell block and bathrooms, and two more guards flank us as we walk. Two in front, two behind, and honestly, I’m flattered they think I require this much security getting from the yard to the conference room.
I let out a sigh. Already bored.
There’s only one person who’s ever come to visit me over the past seven years, and it’s always my lawyer, Charles Wentworth. He’s nothing but an overpaid, overhyped, and undereducated dumbass. He took my case for the publicity, thinking he could win the public vote, but my reluctance to play along with his bullshit only made him look incompetent in front of the whole country, and since then, there’s been a mutual distaste.
I can’t fucking stand the guy, and it’s clear he doesn’t care for me either, but for whatever reason, I haven’t bothered to fire him yet. Probably because no other lawyer would be dumb enough to take me on. Not that I need one anymore. I’ll be locked up here until my dying days, and I really couldn’t give a fuck what happens to me until then.
I’m buzzed through doors and security checkpoints, and after what feels like a lifetime, I finally reach the conference room. I’m escorted right to my seat, and while I wait for the chains to be released from my ankles and wrists, I settle a hard stare on Charles Wentworth.
He looks smug as ever, sitting before me, and I’ve never wanted to knock the look off someone’s face so badly in my life. “The fuck do you want?” I question.
Charles lifts his gaze from mine, watching the guards as they file out of the room, waiting for the door to close, not that he actually gives a shit about protecting my privacy.
The moment the door closes behind the guards, he looks me up and down, his face a mask of indifference as he scans the tattoos winding up my neck and covering my arms. “You seem much . . . bigger than the last time I saw you.”
I clench my jaw, sure as fuck this asshole didn’t come here and disturb the only two hours I get outdoors to comment about my workout routine. “Why are you here, Charles? I haven’t seen or heard from you in almost two years. Why the fuck are you showing up now?”