Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 98561 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 493(@200wpm)___ 394(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98561 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 493(@200wpm)___ 394(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
Just as he pulled the jumpsuit up over his arms, I saw something I recognized. Without thinking, I grabbed hold of the fabric, stopping him. He looked round at me, first confused, then with a flirty grin.
Then he saw what I was looking at and his face darkened. He jerked the fabric out of my fingers and pulled the jumpsuit up.
But I knew what I’d seen. An eagle, perched protectively atop a globe and anchor. “You’re a Marine,” I breathed.
He zipped the jumpsuit closed. “Not anymore.”
“You saved that kid,” I said quietly. “My grandfather was a Marine. He used to say, once a Marine—”
“Yeah, well, not me.” Gabriel nodded to the guards that he was ready to go and they stepped forward to collect him.
“Why are you so scared of being a hero?” I blurted.
“You’re in the wrong place, Doc,” he told me as they led him out. “There ain’t no heroes in here.”
2
GABRIEL
Push.
The steel bar, chipped and scratched with use, rose towards the sky, weight plates clinking. I brought it down to my chest, the muscles shining with sweat, then pushed my feet into the dirt, ground my shoulders into the bench and—
Push.
The wound on my abs hurt every time I moved. It had only been two days since my trip to the infirmary and I knew it was dumb, lifting weights with fresh stitches. But I also knew that the wound wasn’t bad, that Olivia’s stitching would hold, and that it would be more dangerous to show weakness in a place like this.
Push.
There were two reasons I lifted. One was the old military routine: you always try to stay in some sort of shape, so you’re always ready. I didn’t have anything to be ready for, not for the next seven years and nothing I had planned after that involved anything more strenuous than reaching for my next mojito. But I couldn’t seem to shake the habit.
Two: lifting put me in the center of the yard, right where everyone’s paths crossed. It made it easy for people to stroll over and talk. And even in prison, information is power.
I’ve always been good at talking to people. Understanding their problems. Figuring out a deal. Back in the Marines, when they needed someone to negotiate with one of the local warlords, or convince a village elder to let us use their well, they’d call on me.
In here, I was one of the few people who managed to get along with all of the prison gangs. Some didn’t like me talking to the others but all of them needed me, so there was an unspoken agreement that I was like Switzerland, neutral and protected. They needed me because I was the guy who could get anything…for a price.
Anything except drugs. I’d seen enough guys get hooked, after they left the Marines: it didn’t feel right. Drugs were controlled by an asshole called Packard, a former bodybuilder who’d used steroids for so many years, he’d lost all his hair and was prone to mood swings. He’d killed two guys since he’d been here. He should have been in solitary, but everyone knew he was giving the warden a cut of the drug money. I stayed away from him…until yesterday, when I’d had to stop his goons killing that scrawny kid.
I paused in my lifting and shifted uneasily on the bench. Saving him had just been good business. That’s what I’d told Olivia. That’s what I told myself. But…
But she’d looked at me like it meant something. Like I was a hero. And just for a second…I’d wanted to be the guy she thought I was.
Olivia. The thought of her unleashed a flood of adrenaline and I heaved the bar up again.
In the days since I met her, I’d been finding excuses to be near the infirmary, in the hope of catching a glimpse of her. I’d taken work details there, volunteered to run errands over there, and when all else failed, I’d just sneaked over there. I’d been bawled out three times by guards and once I’d almost landed a trip to solitary. That had made me question what the hell I was doing, hanging around like some lovesick teenager.
But when I’d finally seen her from down the hall, it had all been suddenly worth it. She’d been telling the warden how she desperately needed more money for drugs, or some of the older prisoners were going to run out of their heart medication. The warden had got right up in her face, snapping that he really didn’t give a shit if a few of the old timers croaked. But Olivia had stood her ground, glaring up at him, unafraid, and finally the bastard had cursed and muttered that she could have the money.
I’d stood there leaning on my mop, burning her image into my memory.