Page 64 of Consequences

“There are people in this place loyal to the Drifters, and if you kill one of us, it’ll be the end of you. A painful end,” Brock says.

“Yeah? We got friends in higher places,” says the one who appears to be the leader of this sad little gang.

“How high of a place can he be in if he leaves you in prison? Shouldn’t a friend like that get you… I don’t know. Out of here?”

He laughs. “I don’t give a shit who calls the order. The warden is the one who tells me what to do, and he’s as high up as they come in this place. I get rewarded well for doing what he asks.”

“Oh, so you’re the warden’s bitch boy. I bet everyone else inside would love to know you’re a snitch,” Brock says.

The exchange feels strange. Wrong. Why is Brock bringing the attention onto him when he should be trying to defuse the situation? Especially when they have knives.

A fist flies at Beckett’s face, and he dodges to miss it. Fight or flight has always had him swinging before running, even when fleeing was the better of the two choices. And he knows without a doubt none of these guys have the training he’s had. They have no idea what he’s capable of doing.

Kicking the man in the knee, he knocks him to the ground as a man runs with the knife outstretched. He grabs his wrist, breaking it, and takes the knife to threaten the first attacker. Instead of getting up, he crawls away with a broken wrist and settles some way behind him to lick his wounds.

Yeah, retreat, motherfucker.

The other three attack Brock, pulling him away from Beckett. To his credit, he holds his own. Until he cries out in pain that has Beckett kicking it into high gear and rushes towards their enemy.

“That went in just like butter,” the leader says with a sneer.

Dropping the knife, Beckett grabs the man and punches him so hard, his skull breaks a knuckle on Beckett’s hand. At least he knows the asshole’s cheekbone is broken, too. He’s rewarded with the sight of the leader’s eye drooping before he falls to the ground.

“He fucking stabbed me,” Brock says, pushing a man off of him.

Beckett takes the guy reaching for the knife in Brock’s side and picks him up before slamming him onto the cement pad they’re standing on. A poor makeshift basketball court with no netting on the hoops. Instead of bouncing like wrestlers do when they’re body-slammed on TV, this guy gives only a tiny rebound, which makes Beckett smile.

The fifth and final guy thinks he can take out the man who just destroyed his buddies, but Beckett stops him with a swift kick to his throat. He flies backwards as he gasps for air and clutches at his neck.

Guards finally rush out to them, and Bill looks almost terrified.Good, motherfucker. You should be scared.

“What the hell are you doing out here?” a new guard asks. Tony, he thinks is the guy’s name.

Pointing at Bill, he nods his head. “Ask him. He took us out here and supplied two of them with knives. A hit on us from the warden, according to their ringleader. He probably won’t be too happy when he learns five men couldn’t take out two, huh?”

Tony turns to the floundering guard. “Bill, get the fuck inside. Hank, get this one to the infirmary. The rest of them can get treated in solitary. You, too, Cohen.”

He doesn’t fight the decision. He did just take out the five men the warden views tough enough to take out a couple of bikers.

“I’ll watch out for him,” Tony says, his voice quiet, as he puts Beckett into riot straps. “You’re Drifters, right?”

He just nods as the leader stands up. “No, he doesn’t get to leave here with nothing broken!”

Lunging towards them, Tony reaches for his baton, but Beckett gives him a solid kick to the chest and lays him down flat. “Fucking idiot. Too stupid to know when you’ve been beaten. Sit down and shut up.”

These guys and Bill may be in the warden’s pocket, but it doesn’t appear that Tony is, too. And based on the math, it’s best to have an alliance with the guards over the warden.

The warden’s only here forty hours a week, and he doesn’t live in the house on the grounds from what Beckett’s overheard in the cells around him at night. That leaves a hundred and twenty-eight hours every week with only the guards and the prisoners. A lot can happen outside those forty hours clocked by the man in charge.

“It’s mostly superficial,” Brock says as Hank helps walk him towards the building. “I’ll be fine with a few stitches.”

“Change of plans, Hank. I’ll take Bradshaw to make sure he makes it back to his cell safe. Then I’ll be down to check on Cohen in solitary,” Tony says. “Slow and easy now.”

Tony’s Beckett’s best bet to find a way to get out of here. To get a plan in place. He seems to respect the Drifters, and he might be willing to make them a deal. On the outside, Beckett will do just about anything necessary if he can help them in here. Now, he just needs to figure out a damned plan.

Chapter Twenty-One

Griffin’s Beach

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