Page 2 of Priest

Riot is one of the good guys. Maybe when I get out, I might look at joining his MC.

He holds his hand up. “My mama always said if I can use humor to get out of any situation, I should do that, before resorting to violence.”

“That’s why you’re known as Riot?” I shake my head, picking up the switchblade and placing it under my mattress. Of course, it can’t stay there, but it’ll do for now.

“Hey, not my fault I also inherited my father’s temper.”

I grunt and give him a chin lift. “We’re gonna need it if we ever plan on walkin’ out of here.”

He taps his nose. “Leave it to me.”

“I hate it when you say that.”

He grins. “Say, Shadow, you ever met a holy man?”

I frown. “Nope, and I don’t plan to.”

“I really think you and Big Apple might hit it off.” Big Apple is the spiritual counselor who assists inmates in finding God, as well as listening to their concerns and fears. He’s respected in here, though. They leave him alone because he’s an old man. Even the Brute and the other miscreants. I’d say Big Apple holds a lot of secrets, and to me, that means he’s a liability.

I snort. “You think I can pray my way out of this hell?”

Riot shrugs. “Maybe. He doesn’t just pray, though. He’s taught me a lot; how to control my anger and seek guidance when I need it.”

“Sounds like he’s pussy whippin’ you. What’s next, do we all sit around chanting?” I don’t need saving, cringing at the thought I brush it off. Maybe it’s a deflection because this isn’t the life I wanted, but it’s the life I carved out for myself.

“Just sayin’. It’s only a matter of time until you get jumped again.”

“And how is Big Apple gonna help with that?” I turn to face him, annoyed.

“You have an advantage. You’re known as the Shadow. When Fat Harry gets back to his cell, they’re all gonna know you’re a dark horse. They’re gonna come for you, and you gotta know when to pick your battles. When to cause havoc and when to lie low.”

I point in his face. “You think I haven’t been doin’ that? How do you think I got my nickname?”

He shakes his head. “That’s not what I’m sayin’. Trust me, I didn’t get my name by bein’ the quiet one amongst these four walls. But I’m still here. Still breathin’. There’s a lot of guys who just wanna do their time, but the system is fucked and you know it,” he says.

“What has any of that shit gotta do with me?”

He shrugs. “Big Apple will be gettin’ out soon enough. He’s gonna need a successor.”

“I’m here for three more months, big shot. Then I’m gone.”

“You really think you’re gonna keep your nose clean in here and you’ll be out in three months?” He holds in his laughter. Asshole.

“I don’t think it — I know it.”

“What about on the outside?”

“Speak English, brother.”

“When you get out. You know you can prospect, but I know a way you could get in the NOLA Rebels and fast track all that bullshit.”

This piques my interest. “So speak.”

“Cash has been talkin’ about lookin’ for someone to guide the club, spiritually. He used to be one percent; you know what that is?” He gives me a chin lift and I nod. “Well, now he’s legit. The whole club is. But obviously some of us go off the rails and get mixed up in bad shit from time to time. Havin’ someone in the club like Big Apple, who tends to the needs of the members has worked in lots of other clubs. A chaplain, or spiritual guide.”

I laugh. “Chaplain? I prefer Priest. Believe it or not, I grew up Catholic, not that I practice any of that now. I don’t even know what I believe anymore.”

“Is that why you have that cross tattoo?”

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