Page 20 of Rio's Release

He shoves it into his briefcase, then moves to the door and taps on the metal.

The door opens, and he steps through.

The guards return me to my cell. I’m grinning the entire trip.

I’m sorry as hell that Storm is gone. I wonder who took him out. But I’m glad his son is stepping up for me.

I have big plans, and it’s starting to look like they may work out.

Once I get out of here and put my plan in motion, Las Cruces is going to be mine, and I’ll be its fucking King. I’m coming for every single one of those motherfuckers. No one will ever mess with me again, because I’ll own that town and everyone in it.

I sit on my cot, and my eyes shift to the one picture I have taped to the wall.

Shelby.

I stare at her pretty smile.

She stopped coming to visit me five years ago, but I don’t blame her. It’s what I always wanted—for her to go on with her life. To forget about me.

Until it happened.

I stare at the ceiling and think about the future. I get out of here next summer, and I’ve got big plans. I’m going to blow that fucking town up. I look back at Shelby’s photo.

“And when the dust settles, I’m coming for you, too, sweetheart.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

Release Day

Rio—

My elbows on my knees, I sit on the side of my bunk, staring at the concrete floor, rubbing my palms together, my foot bouncing a mile a minute. Today’s the day I max out of the system. By completing my full prison term, I won’t have to worry about being stuck under the rules of probation. That’s the way I wanted it. This way, the Bureau of Prisons has no say over my life for one more goddamn day.

Footsteps approach, and I look up. A guard comes to stand on the other side of the iron bars.

The cell door swings open with a clank, and I stand, sweeping up my meager possessions—the photo of Shelby and the small stack of letters she wrote me. I turn and shake the hand of the man who has been my cellmate for the last nine years.

“Take care of yourself, Pete.”

“You, too, Rio.”

I follow the guard down the row of cells and through several doors until we come to processing where a prison guard hands me a bag. It contains the items I picked out yesterday from the prison clothing room which contains a bunch of second-hand items donated by charities. I dress in the khaki pants, white t-shirt, and black sneakers.

The paperwork I have to fill out seems endless, then I sit in another cell for what seems like hours until they come to get me.

I’m led into the warden’s office. He gives me a spiel about staying out of trouble, not associating with known felons, yadda, yadda, yadda. It’s the first time I’ve seen him in the nine years I’ve been here. He looks as bored reeling off the memorized statement as I am listening to it.

Finally, I’m led out and down a hall. The smart-ass guard smirks. “We’ll leave the light on for you.”

I grit my teeth. He’s baiting me, and I don’t dare risk reacting. I’m not letting anything fuck up my release.

At last, I’m led through a series of doors, a loud buzzing sound ringing each time one is opened, until I’m through the last door and stepping outside. A narrow path surrounded by chain-link fence leads to the last guard, who verifies my identity, then unlocks the last gate, and then I’m out.

For real. I’m out.

My entire body slumps with relief. It’s done. It’s over. Finally.

I spot the club just the other side of a guard post about fifty yards away on the road leading in, and I start walking. I want to run, but it wouldn’t be wise. As I get closer, I see they’ve got four bikes and a pickup truck.

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