Page 2 of Revenge

My vision is still swimming in and out of focus, but I manage a slight nod. “Eddie? Where is she? Where’s Lauren?” Each word comes out as a slow wheeze.

Eddie’s blurry head shakes. “She didn’t make it.”

At his words, my world dies. Everything goes black. I’m numb and lifeless—a hollow shell that ceases to exist.

Nothing they say from that point on penetrates my hollow exterior. Not during my interrogation. Not during my trial. Not when they strip me of my badge. Not the pain on my brothers’ faces. Not the words ‘voluntary manslaughter’. Not even the word ‘guilty’ sinks in.

* * *

5 months later

Piss seeps out of the concrete, burning my nostrils. The clock on the far wall ticks by as it taunts me. Time is irrelevant here. Every second that passes is another that they own you—own every decision you ever make. You don’t piss or shit without their permission.

No one has come to see me, but I prefer it that way. My brothers are waiting for me on the outside and that’s all the assurance I need. Having them see me locked up in a cage would be an ugly reminder of everything I’ve lost, and I’m not ready to face that reality just yet. It will happen in time but on my terms. Everything will be on my terms.

The bars to my cell open and one by one we get in line, like ants marching off to the slaughter. We grab trays and take whatever slop they plop on our plates, eating it without complaint or we starve.

I take my share and sit at a nearby table without a word. In the months I’ve spent here, I’ve learned the hierarchy of things. Keep quiet and keep your head down, but take no shit either. The first day I proved I wasn’t to be fucked with and I’ve been left alone ever since. I keep to myself and speak to no one except for my cellmate.

Carl has shared a cell with me for months and enjoys my silence, so we sit together as a united front. His dark skin is covered in tattoos that tell a story of the hard life he’s lived. Out in the real world, we would never have been friends, but here we’ve forged a bond brought on by the need for survival. We have each other’s backs and always will.

A loud noise interrupts my thoughts and my chin lifts to find Cyrus—the one pain in my ass—at our table. He flashes me a toothless grin but doesn’t speak. His eyes never glance in Carl’s direction nor does he acknowledge him. I’m not surprised. He’s never cared for Carl because he’s a racist piece of shit.

“You two fucking fags sit here thinking you’re better than us, don’t you?” He licks his top lip and laughs. “You want to suck cock, I’ll pull out my dick right here.”

My teeth grind together as my fists clench the sides of my tray. This bastard’s been taunting me since day one and I’ve had just about enough of his shit. The whites of my knuckles should serve as a warning, but Cyrus has never been accused of being smart.

“Ignore him, man.” Carl speaks for the first time since Cyrus sat down.

All eyes are on us and I know they’re waiting, picking their moment to strike, like animals hunting for the weakest link and ready to pounce.

My attention focuses back on my tray and I shove a handful of what I think are mashed potatoes in my mouth. Ignoring him will piss him off more than me breaking his jaw. He’s pushing to get a rise out of me, but I don’t give him the satisfaction.

Cyrus grins like he’s won. He knows he’s getting to me and he thrives on it like the parasite he is. “You’re a pussy. I bet your wife put up more of a fight than you.”

“What the fuck did you just say?” My voice is low and hoarse from not speaking in so long, but the threat in my tone is clear.

He groans and the next words out of his mouth are my undoing. “I bet she had a hot, tight cunt, too. It’s just a shame I can’t fuck her myself.”

I leap out of my seat and hit him in the face with my tray, knocking him on his back. Down it crashes, harder and harder. Blood coats my face as I hear his nose crunch underneath my weight. The rest of the prisoners take advantage of this distraction and attack each other. A riot breaks out, but amongst the chaos, I never lose sight of the fucker in front of me.

Months of anger and pent up rage are unleashed and there’s no holding me back anymore. I keep slamming it down, over and over. Images of the bastard with the scar who shot Lauren replace Cyrus, and I bring it down even harder. The final crack of his skull snaps the last shred of humanity I was hanging onto. There’s nothing left. I’ve succumbed, become the monster they’ve made me—one that’s only satisfied by blood and pain. And make no mistake, I’m coming for every last one of them. Diego may have won this battle, but I’m winning the war. Vengeance will be mine, even if it takes my last breath.

Chapter One

6 years later…

Asher

Every muscle in my body tenses the closer I get to the door. My fingers squeeze the strap of the bag that hangs by my thigh, reminding me that this is real. I’m not dreaming. I keep waiting for them to stop me and drag me back into Hell, but they don’t.

The second I step through the metal gate, all tension leaves my body. Fresh air hits me in the face, washing away any lingering stench from inside. Sunlight beats down on my skin—a welcome invasion. I tilt my head back and squeeze my eyes shut, letting it etch its way inside me. Freedom has never felt so good.

Footsteps sound nearby, causing my eyes to snap open. Instinct has me reaching for my shank, but then I remember where I’m at and drop my hand back to my side.

“Savage.” A pair of familiar hazel eyes meet mine, causing my upper lip to curl as bitterness settles in my stomach like dead weight.

“Rosenberg.” His name sounds like sandpaper on my tongue.

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