Total pages in book: 168
Estimated words: 159420 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 797(@200wpm)___ 638(@250wpm)___ 531(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 159420 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 797(@200wpm)___ 638(@250wpm)___ 531(@300wpm)
Beating up a low-life criminal like John Walker every now and then helps keep me sane.
Anyway, the more I beat him up, the more he screams. It would be annoying, but I’m used to it. He’s no different than the others that come here to live out the rest of their prison sentence. He wants to know how long I’m going to beat him up; how long he will stay tied up in this cabin, on rationed food and water, without even a bucket to piss and shit in. And then, he says, he’s done. He wants to leave. He wants to go back to prison.
Again, I don’t know why because he already knows that’s not an option. He knew that when he volunteered to apply for our program: Rawhide Redemption. He also knew if an inmate is chosen to join the reformation program at Rawhide, their prison sentence will be curtailed and they’ll receive a check for fifty thousand dollars at signing. Along with a lifelong job at Rawhide if they survive. In exchange, they swear their loyalty to the Graysons and do whatever we tell them to. Most people like the fact they don’t have to do time; others like the job security. Some also like that when we induct someone into our fold, we protect them with our lives too. Them and their families.
But first, they go through an initiation period. To repent for their crimes and to see whether we made the right decision in accepting them. As in whether or not they’re Rawhide material. The initiation period can last anywhere from a week to a month, depending on how much work is needed to “reform” the convict. No, it doesn’t say what the initiation entails, but the terms are clear: When you agree to join the Rawhide Redemption program, there’s no going back.
In the midst of the beatdown, I think I hear my name being called, but I can’t be sure. Then it gets louder and before I know it, I’m being yanked away from my target. I come back to the moment and realize that John is slumped to the side, unconscious, his face completely unrecognizable due to more injuries and the blood. A bone sticks out the side of his face and the man who pulled me back, Marsden, is bent over and inspecting.
Panting, I ask, “He breathin’?”
Marsden straightens and turns to me, his face stern. Nine years older than me, Mars is my cousin and very much the patriarch of the Grayson family. He wears his Stetson and his authority well. Nothing happens at Rawhide without his say-so and I respect him for that. I respect him for the way he took over the ranch and the upbringing of his two younger brothers, Arsenal and Axton, when their parents died. He also kept me around, helped me through my parents’ deaths and all the bullshit that came after it. He had no reason to. Yes, I was family, and Arsen and I were thick as thieves growing up. But I’m not a Grayson, and the Graysons like to keep their business to themselves. For good reason. What with century-old land feuds and a prison reformation program that isn’t exactly on the books. More than my cousin, Mars is the man I owe everything to. Making him unhappy isn’t something I like to do and something Arsen likes to give me shit about. So he’d be proud to know that for once, Mars’s anger doesn’t bother me.
“Barely,” Mars replies with a grunt.
Without a word, I start removing the blood-soaked gauze from my hand.
Mars turns back to peruse the damage I caused. “You broke his fuckin’ face.”
Since this doesn’t need my response either, I stay silent.
“We’re gonna have to get Dr. Harris up here,” he continues, referring to the old doctor that we use for stuff like this, making sure the damage from their beatings isn’t lasting so they’re still standing on the other side of the initiation week. Finally, Mars turns back to me and watches me take the gauze off. “You wanna tell me somethin’?”
Again, not something that requires words, so I simply shake my head.
He studies me for a few seconds. “I know you think every criminal deserves to rot either in prison or in hell, and I get that. But this is extreme, even for you, boy.”
I finally find my words and growl, “He fuckin’ killed someone for a pack of gum.”
“He almost killed someone for a pack of gum,” Mars reminds me.
“The kid was fuckin’ nineteen,” I say, dragging in an angry breath. “He was the sole guardian of his younger brother, and now ’cause of this pissant, he won’t be able to hold a job. Ever.” I take a pause to gather myself, arrange my words in my head so they don’t sound like a garbled mess because of the burning anger in my veins. “How many guys around these parts want to hire a guy in a wheelchair? His brother was about to be thrown in the fuckin’ system.”