Chapter 1

Chapter

One

DIGG

I close my eyes and focus, tuning out the muffled sobs of the new guys who haven't come to grips with their reality. I barely hear the sound I'm listening for. The soft grunt of the inmate in the cell next to mine as his spit-slicked palm shuttles over his cock. He tries to keep it quiet, but there's no privacy here. We may have no idea what's going on in the world outside, but with only metal walls separating each cell, every sound has an audience.

For five months, I've been sitting in this depressing eight-by-ten foot box, serving my time. The only thing keeping me sane is the information I'm gathering for my brothers and the nightly audio reward for enduring another cursed day. It's the only time I'm glad for these windowless walls denying us the visual sense of companionship. When sound is all there is, my mind is free to wrap the pleasure of it around myself like a blanket in the winter.

A final drawn-out groan and the wet slap of the dude's hand through the mess he's making ends the show for the night. I roll onto my side and peer into the eerie low light of jail after dark. Above me, the thump of my cellie getting comfortable reminds me that I'm not alone, not really.

"Fuckin' weird how you always listening to other dudes pettin' the one-eyed snake. Never hear you waxing your worm, though. What's the matter? Shit broke?" Hyram Holt, my cellmate for the last three months, does not have a poet's tongue.

His whisper is quiet enough it won't carry beyond the box we share, which is the only reason I answer him. He's not the brightest bulb in the chandelier, and he's absolutely a criminal, but he's not a bad guy.

"I like to listen. That's all," I murmur to answer his question. It's the truth. At least, part of it.

"Listenin' and not doin'?" he drawls. His habit of dropping off the closing sound of many of his words grates on my ears. I mentally supply every missing letter before I consider my response.

"It's called auralism when a person gets off on sounds. When I listen, I can enjoy the feelings without the tangle of emotions or the mess that guy's gotta clean up."

Hyram goes quiet, but given my experience, I know it won't last long. It never does with the guy.

"That's some brainiac shit you got goin' on, my guy. Weird, brainiac shit. Makes no sense how a nerdy fuck like you wound up in here. No offense." Unlike Hyram, I don't talk about why I'm here. Or much of anything else.

Talking means less listening. Not only is sound too precious to me to bury it under the noise of my own words, but it gets in the way of ferreting out information. My brothers are depending on me to obtain names and connections to the trafficking ring that's caused so much drama for Ghost Born MC this year.

I'm closer than ever to learning what my brothers need to know to shut down the shit and make the fuckers responsible for it pay. Fuck knows the cops in this city aren't gonna do it. We aren't exactly the ones anyone would look to for law-abiding behavior and playing savior. We also ain't gonna sit on our asses while vulnerable kids and people get bought and sold like disposable toys.

"You gonna tell me ‘none taken' or what, man?" Hyram's whisper actually sounds offended.

"Why would I say that?" I ask.

"On account of bein' polite, motherfucker. Shit, didn't your mama teach you how to have conversation?" Hyram blusters. I know all about his mama. His mama, his gramma, his sister… Damn, I practically know everything about everyone he's ever met. Because all the man does is run his mouth.

Works out to my benefit. So many of the people he knows are the people my club's looking for information on. So as much as I want to ignore the twerp, I have to play nice. Besides, of all the cellies I could wind up with, a guy pending a bid for beating the shit out of his sister's abusive boyfriend is fine by me. At least, he's here for a reason I can't be pissed at.

Just the thought of someone hurting one of my brother's partners is enough to have a haze of red creeping into my eyes. I might be uninterested in a female of my own, but for damn sure, I wouldn't ever let anyone hurt any of the women that belong to my brothers.

"My ma was a sex worker who caught life on a three-strike before I could drive. Most she taught me was get paid up front and how to take a punch. Any other commentary or can we go to sleep now?"

Hyram's snores start up soon after, and though I don't allow myself to sleep as deeply as he does, I rest. There's sixteen days left on my six-month sentence for ‘refusing to comply' with an officer of the law. A little more than two weeks to find out as much information as I can about the trafficking group using our city before I'm released to face the wrath of my brothers.

Because my little sojourn into state custody wasn't planned. One night, we'd been discussing suspected corruption in the ranks of the local cops and prison guards, and the next, I was handed the perfect opportunity to test out our theories. Pulled over for a burned-out taillight on my bike, all it took was some carefully worded backtalk, and I was in cuffs and facing charges.

My brothers are pissed as fuck, and I get it. Any one of them would have done the exact same thing. Well, except maybe Jaxon, but that's because he's already done his time in lockup. I think he'd rather be under dirt than behind concrete again. This time hasn't been a waste. I've learned plenty, passed along that intel when I could, and I'm hoping to learn more before I'm sprung.

Cops and criminals are a profane alliance, but it takes a man more na?ve than I've ever been to be surprised by it. Gathering enough information to shut it down demands sacrifices I don't want my brothers to pay. So they can be pissed all they want. In the end, all that matters is shutting down that shit and keeping my family safe.