Page 2 of Strictly Forbidden

I noticed something reflected in the single dingy streetlight still working and carefully headed toward it. It was a metal bar of some kind. A weapon. Oh, dear God. I’d been lucky enough to find a weapon. Snatching it, the cold metal felt solid in my hand, like the only lifeline I might find. No one knew I was here. I wondered if anyone was even looking for me.

The rain began to fall in torrents. Within seconds I was drenched but nothing would stop me. Nothing. I was almost gleeful when I noticed I was close to the forest. If I could reach the safety of the trees, I had a chance. One chance. A stitch formed in my side and I had to stop and catch my breath.

Go. Go. Now.

I followed my little voice, rushing forward.

And straight into the arms of my captor.

My eyes snapped open as I was jerked from restless sleep. My conscience had pushed me to awaken, protecting me against the horrific images as it had done so many times before. I jerked up, making a terrified sound like that of an injured animal. The images had been so real, more so than usual. Why? Why couldn’t I let them go?

So many years had gone by, enough that I should be over the paralyzing fear, but it wasn’t happening. What was wrong with me?

Even now, I played out how I’d managed to escape his grip, using the metal prod as a knife, jamming into his face and neck several times.

Only he hadn’t died.

I scanned my bedroom, hating the darkness even more. As I quickly fumbled to turn on a light, I heard a rumble of thunder and almost toppled the lamp. A slight shriek erupted and I was certain the boogeyman would leap from the shadows.

As warm light flooded the room, I yanked the covers up to my shoulders, still whimpering. There was nothing there. No monster. No villain. There never was. My brain remained fuzzy and I dropped my head into my hands, allowing the sobs to consume me tonight.

I thought I’d gotten better, that I could handle living and being very much alone. But nothing was okay any longer.

The bastard had won.

He’d won.

Just like he’d promised to do.

Florence supermax prison

Kage

Some experts said monsters were made, not inherently evil.

They were fools.

The bastards I’d spent years with were pure demons, the worst of mankind. Not that I was too far removed but at least I believed I still had a conscience.

Not these fuckheads.

As I snatched a towel from the prison attendant, I almost laughed seeing how threadbare the clinically white mistake for terrycloth was. Budget cuts. So I’d heard. The truth was that no one gave a shit about the monsters left to die in the only supermax prison in the United States. We were considered the worst of the worst.

Here I was, a former decorated Marine.

That had been a lifetime ago. I was no longer that man.

As I sauntered into the group shower, I knew instantly this morning was that day, the one most inmates dreaded. There were gangs inside the prison walls, affiliations with powerful outside organizations and crime syndicates. The guards, although highly trained, could do nothing to stop the beatings.

Or the bloodshed.

I’d been labeled a killer, taking out the son of the man I’d worked for, which was a fucking lie. I’d taken the fall out of loyalty instead. But it didn’t matter now any more than it had then. The fucking prosecutor had needed a win, especially over a brutal cartel.

So here I was, a caged animal with no rights. If I said a goddamn thing in my defense, my tongue would be cut out as a first strike. The rest would be worse. I had no real affiliation inside the joint, although there wasn’t a soul who didn’t have a clue who I was and where I’d come from.

Those had been the only details they’d gotten correct.

I was considered dangerous, unstable. It was best for the other thugs to think that way. My deranged and brutal actions were the sole reason they’d mostly left me alone. That and the fact I’d crushed two hands, broken six arms, and damaged a fucking kidney since I’d been here. But I sensed everything about this morning was different.

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