Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 71179 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 356(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 237(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71179 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 356(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 237(@300wpm)
The moment comes in the cafeteria.
I know it, because I feel the tension thickening in the air, like an electric current that prickles my skin. The shiv is with me, of course. I've spent the last week sharpening the plastic against the rough concrete walls of my cell. It isn't much, but it'll do the job.
Zion sits alone at a table. His lunchmates have left, and he’s still working on his fruit cocktail.
I’ve finished my lunch, and I’ve told my men to leave and get outside for their recreation time.
I don’t want them involved in this. This is between Zion and me.
I’m still sitting when Zion finally rises, takes his tray to the counter, and shoves it on the conveyer back to the kitchen.
He turns, and his gaze meets mine.
It’s time.
I rise, stand tall, showing him the height I have on him. I take a deep breath, steadying myself for what comes next.
I won’t go to him.
He has to come to me.
And he will.
He stalks toward me until he stands just inches away, his breath enough to make an alley cat gag. “We’ve got unfinished business, Savage.”
I say nothing.
“You’re going to just stand there?” he says. “Go ahead. Take your best shot, Savage.”
But I won’t strike first, and Zion knows it.
"Let’s settle this right here, right now," he challenges, cracking his knuckles.
I can’t help a chuckle. These criminals are all the same. They think cracking their knuckles is some kind of power play.
Again, I say nothing.
He lunges forward, and I react, swinging the shiv in an upward motion toward his throat. Time seems to slow down as I watch the sharpened plastic edge slice through the air, heading straight for its target.
Zion’s eyes widen, but he quickly regains his composure, narrowly dodging the attack. He grabs my arm and twists it behind my back. The toothbrush shiv clatters to the ground, now out of my reach.
"Is that all you got?" Zion taunts, tightening his grip on my arm. “A makeshift weapon? Can’t use your own fists to defend yourself?”
Oh. Hell. No.
All that time I spent making a weapon to use against this fucker, and now it’s useless on the floor. But he’s right. I can take this shithead out in my sleep, and it’s about time I proved it. I don’t need the shiv when it’s only him against me.
He won’t take what’s mine. He won’t take control of my cellblock.
I wrangle free from his grasp with little effort, slamming my elbow into his stomach so he lets me go.
I turn, face him, but he’s fast. I ready myself, but instead, he scrambles to the floor and goes for my shiv.
Bitch!
Now he’s got the weapon I made, but no way will he use it against me. I slam into him until his back is against the concrete wall. “You fucking son of a bitch. Thought you didn’t need a weapon to take me out, you greasy cunt.”
His eyes fire up, and he pushes at me, but I hold fast, knocking his bald head into the wall.
“Fuck you, Savage,” he grits out.
“You wish.” I knock his head into the wall once more.
Where are the guards? Usually they don’t let a confrontation go on this long. I don’t dare look away to see where they are or what they’re doing.
I won’t take my gaze from Zion’s.
Until—
“Hey!” a guard rushes toward us.
Zion uses the split second my attention isn’t focused on him to thrust the shiv against my stomach, but I’m too quick for him. I grab his hand, twist it, and shove it into his own flesh instead.
He squeals like a fucking pig as the guard grabs me by the arms and pulls me off him.
The guard grabs the toothbrush. “This yours?”
I blink. “No, I took it from Zion. He was about to fucking shiv me. Self-defense.”
The guard looks me up and down, frowning. He then grabs his walkie-talkie from his waist. “Can I get medical over to Zion’s block? He’s been in a fight and is bleeding bad.”
Some staticky response from the walkie talkie.
The guard looks at me. “You sure this wasn’t your shiv, Savage?”
If I tell him the truth, it’ll mean more time. Besides, he was using it against me. Not the other way around. In a way, I’m not even lying.
I swallow. “No.”
The guard looks unconvinced. But then two medics come in with a stretcher. They hoist Zion onto it and wheel him away.
That was close.
Too close.
“Mr. Bellamy, I have it written here that you claimed that the weapon used in your altercation with Mr. Zion Flegler was his and not yours?”
I lean my face down to the microphone in the hearing room. “Yes, that is correct.”
The woman cross examining me, a short-haired blonde named Ms. Waters, looks at me from across the space. “Mr. Bellamy, are you aware that the toothbrush in question was purchased from the prison commissary?”