Nick schooled his face into what he hoped was no expression.
He had been expecting a row of locked cells, like the prisons he’d seen on TV. But D-pod in the county jail was one big concrete room. Men walked around the pod freely. Open doorways lined one side of the room. The cells? Nick glanced in as he walked by. Each tiny cell contained two metal bunk beds separated by three feet of concrete, clearly designed to hold four men. Inmates stood in the openings, assessing the newcomers. Nick could feel their predatory scrutiny.
The cells must have all been full because more metal bunks lined one wall of the main room. Every one of those already held a bedding kit, and more mattresses were lined up on the floor. The center of the space held metal tables with attached benches.
Some quick math told Nick that the space was designed to house forty men, but he counted at least sixty inmates. Other inmates in the SFPD holding cell had complained about overcrowding at the county jail, but Nick hadn’t considered the ramifications. So did that mean no one was locked in at night?
Instead of the possibility that three cellmates would try to kill him, Nick had to worry about the whole pod? He’d expected order, discipline, even claustrophobia, but locking sixty criminals in a room together with nothing to do was an experiment in pure chaos.
He tried not to flinch at the comments emanating from the doorways as he passed by.
“Look at that tight white ass.”
“I’m gonna get me a piece of that.”
“Mm. Mm. Mm. Fresh meat.”
Were they referring to him or the skinny kid? Selfishly, Nick hoped it wasn’t him.
Another hairy white guy bumped fists with The Man, and he was welcomed into a sea of beards and scary-looking tattoos, like a Viking warrior’s homecoming after a successful pillage.
Someone scurried to move his mattress and blanket, and The Man was given a top bunk. Nick didn’t know much about jail protocol, but The Man garnered respect—and fear.
Nick watched the black inmate get absorbed into a group of African Americans. He seemed to know his way around.
The kid was trembling like a scared kitten.
Instinctively, Nick put some space between them. The kid was fodder, and there wasn’t anything Nick could do about it. He had no room for guilt. Assessing the danger and his chances of survival was eating up every bit of his attention, and he was hardly in a position to protect anyone else. This group of men had gone all Lord of the Flies times a hundred. Being an accused sex offender, Nick already had one strike against him.
He eyed the floor. Unlike the holding cells, the concrete appeared relatively clean. Not knowing what else to do, Nick set his mattress on the floor at the end of a row. No one gave him any shit about it, so he figured he was good.
He sat on it, keeping his back to the wall.
The kid had already been singled out as a weakling. Who knew what would become of that, but at that moment, everyone seemed to be eyeballing Nick. He’d come into this situation with a game plan of keeping his head down and blending in with the cinderblock walls. But obviously that wasn’t going to work. He needed a new plan.
For the first time, the full weight of the charges hit him.
Unless there was a serial killer amongst the inmates, there probably wasn’t anyone in this pod accused of more serious crimes.
How could this have happened?
He hadn’t even had the chance to mourn Tessa. Her image popped into his head, and sadness pressured his sinuses. He shut that down and channeled some healthier anger. Crying would put him in the same category as the skinny kid.
Deep inside Nick’s chest, rage and frustration boiled. He was stuck in here while whoever killed Tessa was running free. Who had done it? Jacob? He wouldn’t put it past that arrogant prick.
A wolf whistle brought Nick’s thoughts back to the present.
At this point, Nick was an accused rapist and murderer. Hopefully the serious and violent nature of those charges would give the other inmates pause. But in reality, if they wanted to beat Nick’s ass, rape him, or even kill him, there wasn’t much he would be able to do about it.
There were sixty of them, and he wasn’t even in a cell that locked.
At that moment, every gaze was directed at Nick. He wanted to run and scream and pound on the D-pod door.
I didn’t do it.
I’m innocent.
The Man’s comments rang in his mind: The guards don’t give a fuck.
His gaze strayed to the door, as if it would open and he’d be escorted out while everyone apologized for locking him up by mistake.
But that didn’t happen. Shit, he didn’t even have a lawyer who gave a fuck. The one they’d given him for the arraignment read the charges against him exactly three seconds before the hearing and hadn’t protested when the judge had set bail at one million dollars. His dad didn’t have that kind of money.
Nick kept his eyes on the group of men, his ears tuned to the conversations around him, and his mouth shut. In his head, he played his imaginary chess game and forced his posture to relax.
He contemplated his options.
Play badass. Stupid idea. He was a middle-class white kid from a nice neighborhood. He was about as far away from badass as he could get. The only tattoos he’d ever worn were temporary SpongeBob stickers. With no ideas, he settled on staying put and minding his own business. Sooner or later, the other inmates would come to him, and Nick would have to do the best he could. For now, he’d watch and wait.
But night was coming. Would he make it until morning?
Chapter Fourteen
Everyone looked guilty in an orange prison uniform.
Friday morning, Morgan sat at the table in a cell-sized interview room at the county jail. The cobalt blue of her suit was the sole spot of color in the gray-on-gray color scheme. She’d tried to see Nick the previous afternoon, but his official transfer from the SFPD and intake into the county jail hadn’t yet been completed.
Nothing was more important to the law enforcement system than paperwork.
A guard escorted Nick into the room and removed his handcuffs. Rubbing his wrists, Nick slid into the chair opposite Morgan. His face was expressionless, and a bruise darkened his chin. He stared at the wall as the guard retreated.
“He hasn’t said much since we booked him,” the guard said.
Good. He’d listened.
“I’ll be outside the door.” The guard shot Nick a warning look.
“We’ll be fine, but thank you.” Morgan waited for the guard to withdraw to the other side of the door.
Once the door had closed, Nick’s gaze shifted to her face. “Are you really going to be my lawyer?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I know you.”
He leaned back. “They all think I’m guilty.” He inclined his head toward the door.