Right now, for example.
The kid couldn’t be over twenty, and he felt a stab of pity. That was how old he’d been when he entered Devil’s Rock’s hallowed walls. Twenty and scared shitless but determined to protect North and himself. Of course, this kid had enough swastikas and shamrocks covering him to crush any notion of youthful innocence. He was a full--fledged White Warrior, and given a chance, he’d shove a shank between Knox’s ribs.
“Now don’t crumble it,” Knox warned. “I’m not eating any fucking crumbs off this floor, you hear?”
Knox knew it was just a biscuit. In another life, years ago, he’d probably left many a one uneaten on his plate, but this was a different life now. He couldn’t let such a thing slide. Food was a commodity. No one gave it up without a fight. To do so would mark him weak. Not just him, but his brother, too. Hell, their entire crew.
And Reid wouldn’t have anyone in his crew if they were weak. It didn’t work like that in here. Eight years had taught him that. Hell, the first week had taught him that.
Reid was as merciless as they came. The scary motherfucker had been in here only a few years longer than Knox and North, but he ran one of the biggest crews. The day he let Knox and North into their midst had marked their survival. Only the strong ran with Reid.
Inmates gathered around Knox, spitting and growling like beasts hungry for blood. Guards would be on them any minute. His brother stood by, his deep brown gaze scanning the crowd, watching Knox’s back, making sure none of the White Warriors decided to jump into the fray.
Reid and the rest of their crew looked on, too. No emotion bled from their stone--cold faces. In here, emotion got you killed. Or worse. And there was definitely worse than dead in Devil’s Rock. If Knox had to live like some of these poor bastards, enduring what they did every day, he would gladly take a shiv to the ribs.
The scrawny skinhead writhed against the manacle of Knox’s bicep, his brethren hovering close. One move from them and Reid would intervene. They knew it. Everyone did. The hatred between Reid’s crew and the White Warriors was mutual and ran deep, but they weren’t interested in dying today, so they held back.
Knox stretched out his hand. “Give it up.”
Spit flew from the guy’s lips. “Fuck you, man.”
It wasn’t about the biscuit. It was more than that. It was about Knox’s continued survival in this prison. He couldn’t back down.
This shit never changed. But it sure as hell got old. At least there was an end in sight. He’d already served eight years of his eight--to--fifteen year sentence for manslaughter. He wasn’t granted parole at his first hearing four months ago—-not with his frequent trips to the hole—-but maybe in another year or two. If he didn’t fuck up too much more.
When he and North went to prison for killing their cousin’s rapist, their lawyer said it could have been worse. They could have gotten a more severe sentence. The jury had sympathized with them. Or more importantly, they sympathized with Katie, who had taken the stand and shared what Mason Leary did to her.
They killed a man. It hadn’t been their intention, but they did it. Knox accepted that he deserved to be here, but it still didn’t make it easy. Every day in Devil’s Rock sucked a little bit more of his soul away.
With an inward sigh, he did what he had to do. Curling his hand into a fist, he crashed it into the guy’s face, surrendering to the violence that governed his existence.
He felt a ripple surge through the crowd. A current of air behind him. Before he had a chance to turn, pain exploded in the back of his skull. He and the kid went down. Ears ringing, he shook himself, shoving away the pain as he pushed back up from the concrete.
Warm blood trickled into his eye as his gaze locked on another skinhead charging him, his face lost beneath a myriad of ink. The skinhead lifted a tray, presumably the one he’d already struck Knox with, ready to bring it down again.
Still no one intervened. Two against one were odds Reid expected any member of his crew to easily handle.
Knox sent a quick glance to his brother, telling him to stay with a warning look. If he didn’t, North would intervene—-screw what Reid wanted. Blood before all.
Knox lashed out, kicking the other inmate in the knee as he charged. A satisfying pop cracked in the air. The crowd hissed, knowing how much that had to hurt. The inmate went down with a howl. Knox snatched up the discarded tray and swung it into the face of the punk who first grabbed his biscuit and started all this shit in the first place.
Four bulls burst through the crowd, pulling up hard at the sight of the two skinheads groaning at Knox’s feet.