Page 71 of Consequences

Summer’s pregnancy isn’t Brock’s only motivation. “I have a plan, but I don’t know how I’m going to get it carried out. But there’s something else Summer told me that you need to know. Something you’re not going to like.”

His head snaps up. “Shannon?”

“She’s gone.”

“Gone?”

He feels terrible for the panic in his friend. There’s nothing either can do from the inside, and his girl has just disappeared. Panic is really all there is left.

“She slipped out the other night. No one thought she’d voluntarily leave because she refused to come out of your apartment unless she had to. Lex has a theory, though, so they’re trying to track her down.”

“What’s her theory?”

“That she’s going to try and make a trade with Ramsey. Her for us.”

Closing his eyes, Beckett balls his hands into fists. “Fuck!”

“So, since I’ve just emotionally punched you in the nuts, now I gotta physically punch you in the face.”

They stand, and Beckett swallows. “Knock my ass out. I don’t want to think about any of this right now.”

Brock shoves him, and Beckett shoves him right back. Swinging with all his weight, he delivers a solid right hook to Beckett’s jaw, laying him flat on the ground.

Witnessing what Beckett did in that first fight, it’s clear he let Brock do this. And he just sighs as he looks at his friend. “Lights out, bud. Hope this isn’t a big mistake.”

Tony grabs him and yanks him backwards as a couple of other guards hurry toward Beckett. “Will he be okay with them?”

“I’ll make sure of it,” Tony assures and drags him to his new cell for the night and tossing him inside.

Before the door shuts, a notepad and pencil are tossed on the ground. This is definitely not typical, and Brock feels more at ease in his ability to trust Tony.

“I’ll be back down at dinner. We’ll talk then,” Tony says.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Griffin’s Beach

Brock

“Here’s your meal,” Tony says after he opens the door and sets a tray down on the floor.

Looking behind him, he makes sure no one’s around before leaning against the doorway. The food is beyond inedible, but Brock forces himself to choke down what little he can. If nothing else, he needs strength. He has no appetite sitting on the floor.

“Not hungry?”

“Would you be?” Brock asks.

“Because of where you are or the food itself?”

He lifts the mush that is the unidentified meat mixture on his fork and lets it drop back down onto the tray. “Honestly, it’s atoss-up at this point. I don’t even know what this is supposed to be.”

“I think it’s sloppy joe without the bun. Or maybe chili? I don’t really know, either,” he admits.

Leaning back against the wall, he looks up at the guard. “What’s with the special meeting?”

Tony checks once more to make sure no one’s paying attention, and he crosses his arms over his chest. “You got a plan to get out of here? Short of tunneling out with the plastic spoons we give you, that is.”

This could be a trap. But what purpose would that serve? He could simply be the good cop to the rest of the bad cops. In the end, the good cop is still a cop. Tony’s the law while I’m the outlaw.

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