Page 1 of Priest

PROLOGUE

Priest

10 years ago

New Orleans Correctional Facility

I wrapped my hands around the man’s throat, and not for the first time, I wondered how it would feel to choke this piece of shit for real.

I may only be twenty-one years old, but the men in here fear me. If not for my size alone, standing at six-foot-four inches, I’m also wide set and muscled with a mean streak some call vengeful. My mother once said I had the face of an angel, but the mind of a little devil. Then again, she didn’t turn out to be much of a mother to begin with, so maybe she got it wrong. I can’t deny I’ve used my looks to my advantage, but it isn’t like the chicks I’ve been with don’t know what we’re there for.

Women seem to like me — or they did until I wound up in NOLA Correctional Facility on a bullshit charge. I swear the fuckers around here have it in for me, but that won’t exactly help me now. Then again, beating my stepfather, Eric, to a pulp was what got me locked up here in the first place. As it was ruled self-defense — and I didn’t manage to kill the fucker — I got a lesser sentence of six months with probation. Still. The correctional facility isn’t Disneyland. You’ve still gotta watch your back. There are slimy fucks everywhere.

I’m known on the streets of New Orleans, and not for anything good.

The cops locked me up for selling drugs here and there — luckily I didn’t have shit on me when I beat Eric, or I know I’d be suffering a worse fate than I am now. Still, two months into my sentence, and I’ve made allegiances and allies. That’s how you win in prison. I didn’t come here to be pushed around by other inmates, but survival is key, and this facility is no walk in the park. I guess that’s why I’ve lived in this low down place for as long as I have.

“You’re doin’ it wrong,” Riot says from behind me. My cellmate, as well as resident yapper.

I turn around. “Fuck off.”

“He’s turnin’ blue, better give him air unless you got a plan?”

Riot got his name for obvious reasons, but since he’s part of the NOLA Rebels MC, he has a price on his back which is why a lot of the cell mates protect him. They want in at the club, and the MC holds a lot of weight around here. They accept ex-cons, but their prez, Cash, is notorious for being a hard ass. I guess he took my cell mate in, and Riot is a good guy when all’s said and done. He may be shorter than me, and far too cocky for his own good, but he can fight. The little shit is dirty though, like all street brawlers are. I’m glad I have him as my cellmate and not the motherfucker who just jumped me.

“I’ve got a plan.” I punch my cell mate in the ribs and he gasps for air when I let him go. “The question is, do you, motherfucker?”

He gasps and sputters, trying to catch his breath.

Riot keeps guard while I fuck him up a little. “The fuck was he thinkin’ jumpin’ you here?”

“Judgin’ by the state of him, he’s cooked.” Most of the inmates here are big-time drug addicts. Me? I don’t touch the stuff, only to deal. “What I wanna know is who wants me dead, shit head.”

I slap him around a little. “You think I’m some fish who hasn’t been here before, asshole?”

In here, they call me Shadow; because I possess the ability to go reasonably unnoticed. Keeping to myself, silently observing the intricate dynamics. But now I’m thinking they should change it to Cobra. Because when I strike, I’m deadly.

He shakes his head.

“Who was it?” I ask. Of course, I know who it was; The Brute and his crew who think they run shit around here. Sure, he’s thick as fuck, but I’ve watched his fighting skills, and he’s just solid. He has no skill at all. In a fight, I know I could take him. But they fight dirty. Every last one of them.

“The Brute?” I prompt.

He nods. I punch him again and again and again. It’ll send a message, not before I handle the Brute myself. I knew I had it coming, but his time is gonna be up soon.

“You know they’re gonna retaliate.” Riot leans against the wall, unaffected by my actions. He’s seen it all before.

“I don’t give a fuck. They wanna come for me? Come for me. I have nothin’ to live for anyway.” That’s mostly true. Staying alive just to drink and get pussy is getting pretty old.

Coming in here again has made me realize that.

Riot chuckles. “Whatever you say, bro.”

I lean toward the asshole's ear. “Next time, that blade will be spurting your blood all over my feet while I mop it up with your lifeless corpse, understand?”

“Y–yes,” he gasps. I shove him toward the bars and kick his ass to help him out. “Fuck. I wouldn't mess with you,” Riot chuckles after he’s gone.

I glance at him. “Luckily I like you. Fuck knows why — you whine like a little bitch.”

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