Page 21 of Endangered Species
Webster frowned. “That’s not how I remember it.”
Cy gave a gruff, humorless laugh. “Yeah, well, that day is burned into my brain forever. I promise you, you tried to tell the truth. When you got off that stand, you looked so small and so sad. It broke my heart. I was so afraid she’d hurt you.”
“I don’t remember much of that day. Just flashes,” Webster admitted.
There was a long silence, and then Cy asked, “What happened to you after…after the trial? Did she hurt you?”
Yes.But it didn’t serve either of them to dredge it all up again. “It doesn’t matter. It was a long time ago.”
“It matters to me,” Cy said quietly.
Webster sighed, rolling onto his side. “She mostly ignored me. She was doing that thing she always did with a new man, trying to convince them that she was everything they wanted, the perfect woman, worth killing for. She didn’t realize she’d met her match with Dooley.”
“What do you mean?”
Webster made a noise. “I mean he killed her. I thought you knew. I’m not saying she didn’t deserve it. For all I know, he was telling the truth and he killed her in self-defense. She did kill your dad, after all. I didn’t really care. I just wanted to be away from both of them.”
“So, you got away? Where did you go?” The relief in Cy’s voice made Webster ache.
“Foster care. A group home mostly. Sometimes, they’d stick me with a family for a while, but it never lasted. The good families wanted babies to dote on, and the bad families just wanted a victim. By the time I was twelve, I was really good at not being a victim. But then, they labeled me as a troubled kid. I did a stint in juvie for petty crimes and was pretty sure I was going to end up homeless when I aged out, but then I started going to this youth center that had a computer room. The guy who ran the center saw I had an affinity for it. He helped me get my certifications. I got a job at a computer repair place, worked in retail computer stores. Eventually, I got recruited by Jackson, and then I was put on my friend, Linc’s, team.” He sighed. “Then I got arrested and tossed in here with you for our little family reunion.”
“Did they hurt you? The bad families?”
Webster shrugged. “It comes with the territory. When you’re a foster kid, you get used to the innuendo, the touching, the beatings, the…other stuff. But it was a long time ago. I just put it in a box and locked it up, pretended it happened to somebody else. It’s probably not the healthiest coping mechanism, but I could be an alcoholic or a drug addict. Instead, I’m just a single guy with a few unhealthy kinks.”
“Like wanting to be your stepbrother’s prison bitch?” Cy asked, his voice laced with humor.
Webster smiled. “Yeah, like that.”
“We need to find a way to get you out of here, Nicky. We need some kind of bargaining chip. Your friends need to figure out what you found with that computer program.”
“Yeah, I’m working on it. In the meantime, I need to make sure I don’t become somebody else’s prison bitch.”
“I’ll die before I let that happen,” Cy vowed.
“Yeah, that’s what I’m afraid of.”
The next week passed without incident, but that only made Cy feel more on edge, not less. In prison, the only thing worse than outright hostility was the appearance of peace. It was only the calm before the storm. Thor wouldn’t just leave Nicky alone. He’d set his sights on him almost from day one. But it wasn’t just Thor watching; the guards kept a close eye on Nicky, too. They monitored his behavior, wanting to see him cower, looking for the signs that said Nicky was no longer a person but just another thing to be owned, another number on the books.
It did tell Cy something, though. The guards didn’t know everything. Rogers seemed to want to push Cy to off Nicky, but the other guards seemed content to just think he was suffering. It put Cy in a weird position. If he appeared to shelter Nicky or comfort him in any way, the guards would remove Nicky from Cy’s cell, maybe ship him to a different pod to let somebody else play with him. They didn’t seem to think getting rid of Nicky was the goal, which Cy supposed was smart. Too many people involved in a murder and one of them was bound to crack. Instead, one person—Rogers—was tasked to amp Cy up until he snapped, leaving him holding the bag.
But that only provided the bare minimum amount of protection. Eventually, if Cy didn’t snap, they’d let the guards have Nicky. Make up some story about him attempting to escape. The lie didn’t even have to be a good one. The guards had all the power. The world saw anybody in prison orange as an animal, and nobody cared when another rabid animal was put down. But it was funny in that way that was never really funny at all. The guards were just as much like animals as the animals they watched. They were wolves watching over sheep. They liked inflicting pain, flexing their power, making inmates beg for any shred of humanity. Cy couldn’t let Nicky be their next victim.
Nicky didn’t look good. They’d replaced his glasses with ugly black frames, so at least he could see again. But he had bags under his eyes, and he wasn’t eating. His hair was starting to grow out, curling at his collar, making him look a little like a mad scientist. His body was covered in bruises—Cy’s bruises. His fingerprints marred Nicky’s flesh, his throat, his thighs, his ass, making Cy look like a monster, no matter how much Nicky begged for it each night. And he did beg. Nicky had a bit of a pain kink, and when he was on his back with Cy on top of him, he would unleash a string of dirty talk that made Cy feel like a prude, or worse, a deviant, because no matter how filthy Nicky’s request, Cy acted on it without hesitation.
Just thinking about it had his dick stirring. This was definitely not the time or place for that. Cy pulled himself from his thoughts, forcing himself to concentrate on the task at hand. While working in the prison laundry didn’t require any real skill, the two industrial metal cylinders before him—used to flatten the starched white hospital sheets—could easily cost him his arm if he didn’t give the machine the attention it deserved. He wouldn’t be the first to lose a limb or worse in the large warehouse-like structure.
“Cyclops. You gotta minute?”
Cy cut his gaze to the newcomer. “What’s shaking, Lawson? It’s been a minute,” Cy said in lieu of a greeting. “This about Gertie?”
Lawson’s reddish-brown eyes lit up at the name of his dog, but he shook his head, shoving one hand into the pocket of his orange coveralls and shoving the other through the shaggy russet hair falling over his face in a way that would have annoyed the fuck out of Cy while working. “Nah, man. This is about your boy.”
Wasn’t everything. Unlike Preacher, when Lawson said ‘your boy’ it sounded more like he meant a friend, even though the awkward pause in his phrasing made it clear he knew they were much more than that. He took his place at the machine beside Cy, gesturing with his head to the other guy currently working the machine to take a hike. The guy shrugged and walked away as Lawson began to feed his bundle of sheets through the machine.
“What about him?” Cy asked, tensing but still not looking in Lawson’s direction.
“You know my second cousin, Travis?” Cy gave Lawson a quick head shake. “He runs with Thor and his group.” At Cy’s shrug, he looked embarrassed, scratching at the back of his neck. “He’s got a tattoo of a naked girl straddling a cannon and holding a confederate flag on his neck.”
