Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 81597 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 408(@200wpm)___ 326(@250wpm)___ 272(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81597 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 408(@200wpm)___ 326(@250wpm)___ 272(@300wpm)
“You don’t.”
“Are you fucking him? Why does he mean so much to you?”
“Because he’s family, and it seems we have different perceptions on what that word actually means.”
“Why should I trust you?”
“Because I’m leaving you with no other choice.”
“I can’t just get him out, you know. You say it like it’s so easy.”
“I believe Detective Superintendent Turner owes you a favor. Now is his time to repay it.”
“How do you…Who are you?”
“I want Ryder out of that hell hole by the weekend, Mr. Richardson, then, on Sunday, meet me back here at one PM and I will give you all the incriminating evidence I have against you.”
“I…I’ll see what I can do.”
Holy freakin’ shit.
“It’s been a pleasure doing business with you,” Jake said condescendingly, his confident smile never faltering. He offered his hand out to shake, but naturally Malcolm simply sneered at the gesture and turned his head. “You can keep those,” Jake tacked on, nodding toward the envelope in Malcolm’s hand. “I have plenty more.”
“Son of a…”
“Come on, Mason. Time for us to go.”
I felt some pathetic need to smile awkwardly at Ryder’s father as I stood up from the table, almost feeling sorry for him for what Jake had just put him through. Then I remembered Ryder and what the sick motherfucker had allowed, no planned to happen to him and I scowled instead.
“Holy shit!” I practically sang when we stepped out onto the sidewalk. “You did it!”
“Nothing has changed yet, Mason. Don’t get your hopes up until you receive that call from Ryder telling you he’s free.”
“But…but he will though, right? Get him out? The look on his face when he saw those photos, he was petrified.”
“Time will tell. But do not tell Ryder any of this. The last thing he needs is optimism when there’s no guarantee it will happen.”
“Okay, okay, got it,” I agreed, yet still I couldn’t stop the feeling of my heart fluttering back to life. We may not have had a solid guarantee, but for the first time since Elle got Ryder’s call, we had hope.
Chapter Twelve
~Ryder~
PRISON COMPLETELY FUCKS with your head. The white walls, the steel bars, the artificial light… Sometimes it was kind of surreal, like I wasn’t really there. I’d often just sit on the edge of my hard mattress in my cell watching prison life go by through the door. There were all sorts of people in prison, not just the bald-headed, scowling hard-nuts you imagine. Some were young, some were old. Some were scary, some were timid. And some were just natural born arseholes.
Overall, I kept myself to myself. There was one guy – Al – who recognized me the second he saw me. He was a creep. He would rub up against me in the dinner queue, wait for me in the showers, show up in my cell when I was alone. He intimidated me. Every time he came near me goosebumps erupted on the surface of my skin from the discomfort.
Everyday I’d tell myself it would get easier, yet each day my fight faded a little more. I honestly didn’t know how I was going to make it through. I’d lived this persona of being cocky and confident for so long, yet now I felt like a frightened little boy. They’d stripped me of everything that made me who I tried to be – my clothes, my jewelry. Material things granted, but they were what helped me put on the show. They were what hid the demons clawing away at my insides, leaving me with nothing but my torturous thoughts and a baggy grey tracksuit.
I didn’t call Mason last night like I said I would. Hearing his voice hurt too much. He would’ve asked me how I was and I would’ve had to hope he didn’t hear the quiver in my voice as I lied to him. He was suffering too, I knew he was. He would try to hide it, just like I did. He’d force his voice a notch higher, talk about trivial shit, and purposely avoid telling me about his day, because that would entail him discussing his freedom, but I knew. I knew he was hurting and I knew I was the cause.
With little else to do but think, I was slowly starting to believe I deserved this. Sure, I wasn’t actually guilty this time, but I’d done bad shit in the past. I’d used, stolen from and hurt people I loved. I was lucky enough not to get caught those times, but they say everything catches up with you eventually, and now this was my time.
For the past two days I’d had a cutlery knife tucked into my sock. I grabbed it one lunchtime, using the sleight of hand maneuver I’d perfected from buying pot in public places so many times. I got it because I felt the stirrings of ‘the itch’, but as yet hadn’t done anything with it. I didn’t even know if it would cut anything firmer than cheese. It sure didn’t feel sharp when I ran my finger across the length of the serrated blade.