Chapter 2

Keelan

Burbank State Penitentiary, One Year Later

T he cool wind brushed softly against my lightly tanned, inked skin, and the California sun warmed my cheeks. I had to enjoy it now before I was back to looking at the world through a tiny window at the end of my cell.

I spent most of the morning studying the image my cousin, Gavin Sanderson, had drawn for me and mailed to the prison. Before the signal to head outside came for my cellblock, I sat on the bed and stared at it intently before shoving it under my mattress.

I’ll look at it again in a few hours.

It was my cellblock’s turn to spend time in the yard, getting fresh air and exercise. The drawing was safe for now, but even if found, the guards would never figure out what it meant. Gavin and I shared the same talent in art, and the clues within the drawing were a signal only I understood .

The drawing was something I had created years ago when I sat down to work on my first client, but when I looked further, I saw he had altered it—just as we had discussed before they locked me up. It was my signal; I had about forty-eight hours before leaving this prison—the drawing, instructions, and who to trust for my escape.

It was about fucking time.

If the guards were to find the drawing, as far as they would be concerned, my cousin thought I’d enjoy a lovely little painting of a blue Morpho butterfly to hang on the wall.

Everything was in place––the three correctional officers on my uncle Byron Sanderson’s payroll and the carefully scheduled roadblock. Of course, that also included the unmarked getaway car stashed in Wildwood Canyon to get me the hell out of the city.

Byron was married to Gavin’s mom, Serena Blake, who was my dad’s younger sister. When I started drawing as a kid, Serena was my mentor, passing on the tattoo shop Gavin and I now owned once we turned eighteen. Byron was a high-ranking investigator with the Los Angeles County’s Internal Affairs department, but he moonlighted as an art dealer for my father’s more “coveted” pieces. He had connections throughout law enforcement, including those he hired from within the prison system, and it wasn’t hard to get a couple of officers to aid in my escape, especially if he had the power to wipe away their discrepancies.

When your family can grease the right palms, you don’t stay imprisoned for very long. My family had a talent for collecting scandalous details on corrupt cops and politicians. Though we had a long history with the warden, he was careful with his secrets. He knew the moment we got access to his sick world, we could twist and pry, making him do whatever the fuck we wanted. Unfortunately for him, the warden hired men who were easily manipulated by money or promises of secrecy, weakening the security of his prison. By exploiting their fetishes and lewd affairs that could taint their reputation, we soon had several officers in our back pocket. That included the most recent recruits through Uncle Bryon, who had ties to the hiring process. After he assigned them to work at the prison, we manipulated them into becoming little puppets in our twisted game.

Serve the Blake family, and we’d protect your image.

Fuck us over, and we’d bury you six feet under.

A movement in my peripheral broke my train of thought, and I looked over my shoulder. Andrew Wright, my cellmate, was holding a dumbbell out to me. I shook my head and returned my gaze to the guard pacing outside of the gate. The yard was a small dirt lot on the southern side of the prison, with thirty-foot-high barbed-wire fences and a single patrol tower equipped with two snipers at all times.

I noticed a subtle change in Andrew’s expression as his lips contorted into a frown. “Come on, Keelan,” he urged, his rich brown skin catching the afternoon sunlight as sweat beaded across his forehead. “You have two sets left, and we only have a few minutes before we go inside to the showers.”

The guard heard Andrew and glanced at me briefly before another guard came over to talk to him and switch shifts.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Andrew whispered, lowering his hand and dropping the weight on the dirt. He knew something was up, but he couldn’t tell what. That made him nervous .

“What time is it?” I asked, not answering his question. I continued to scan the yard and the perimeter of the prison itself. They only gave the inmates an hour a day out in the yard, a respite that I was going to lose in a few minutes. Not that it mattered . By Wednesday night, I would be long gone from this shithole.

“I don’t know. I’m guessing about noon,” Andrew replied, his dark brows pinched together.

Judging by the shadows on the worn concrete walls and pillars and the glinting metal of the wires, I’d say he was correct.

“Why?”

I shifted to look at him. “I’m done lifting for the day.”

Andrew opened his mouth to speak when an inmate, Greg Donovan, came into the yard along with three of his dickless cronies. I rose to my feet, but Andrew pushed a hand against my bare chest, his palm covering the face of my grim reaper tattoo that climbed to my throat, the scythe pressed against my Adam’s apple.

“Don’t be a fool, Keelan. If you beat up Greg now, everything will go to shit. I know you have something on your mind that’s agitating the fuck outta ya. Why don’t you tell me what’s going on in your head?” he said sternly. “This isn’t just about the––”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” I cut him off. “I’m still two seconds away from snapping that fucker’s neck and adding another life sentence to my name. Drop your hand, or I’ll break it.” I wasn’t going to, not to Andrew. He was the only person I could call a friend in this dump, and I didn’t want to break his bones. But the threat did its job, and Andrew pulled back.

“That magazine has been making the rounds for almost a year. It’s not like you didn’t know about its existence until now. Are you more upset because of who is in it, and it slipped into the prison? Or that almost every inmate has likely jacked off to it, and Greg keeps rubbing it in your face?”

I jerked my head at him and scowled. Rightfully, he glared back.

“Easy,” Andrew said. “Unless you plan to pluck out every eyeball who has seen that photo, you need to let it fucking go. You can’t change what’s happened. No one knows where she is, not even you.”

Veins of red filled the borders of my vision. I was half tempted to burn the prison to ashes and charred flesh, but considering what I had to do, I shelved the idea … for now. My plans for Greg were enough to take the edge off. That pasty-looking fucker had been a thorn in my side for months now, and there were only so many warnings I could give before my patience wore out. Greg was on his last fucking strike.

It also didn’t help that the bastard was a woman beater. A jury had found him guilty of attempting to kill his ex-girlfriend and her daughter. The sick fuck even laughed about the night they’d caught him, bragging about how he “was going to teach those bitches a bloody lesson if the neighbor hadn’t stuck his nose in personal business.”

I may be a ruthless murderer, but he was something far, far worse.

I glanced back at the rookie guard. Even if Andrew disagreed with me, I knew I could count on him to have my back in a fight. “Just make sure Donovan and those three motherfuckers who cling to his pockets don’t come within two feet of me right now. I need everything to go smoothly so I can get out and find my wife.”

Andrew chuckled. “You still call her your wife, huh? Even after she testified against you and got you locked up in here?” he asked. “I mean, you guys never walked down the aisle ....”

I smirked as I imagined how shocked Sadie, my little princess, would be when she discovered I had found out where she had been hiding and stepped back into her life. The look on her beautiful face would be priceless. She was my prize —a gift from her father. It’s what’s been my motivation to keep surviving in this dank, godforsaken place.

“It’s complicated, but what can I say? Obsession is never easy.”

It was true we never actually got married. We didn’t even like each other. Since childhood, we had fought like cats and dogs. I bullied Sadie relentlessly, and she grew up despising me. However, our parents made a deal to unite our families. What better way to tip the scales in my father’s favor against his enemies than an arranged marriage for his youngest son to the daughter of the most powerful man in Los Angeles? He needed her family’s empire; for that, she and I were the bargaining chips.

Sadie, of course, hated the arrangement, avoiding me like the plague unless it was in bed. Fucking is how we managed to tolerate each other’s shit. We didn’t have to fall in love, but we had to get something out of the messed-up deal. Even her mother’s parents forced Sadie’s mom into a marriage with her dad, and they hated each other. Sadie didn’t want to hate me. I think part of her believed that if she gave her body to me, we’d somehow connect and create a relationship that wasn’t so bleak.

We never got the chance.

There had been a glimmer of hope at one point, a chance for us to like each other. But that went to shit when Sadie saw me do the one thing I knew would send her over the edge; slicing open a man’s throat and letting his blood pool at my feet.

Like a scared little mouse, she stood at the doorway, gripping a magazine between her fingers, trembling ... and then ran away from me.

“You’re even more delusional than I thought, Keelan,” Andrew scoffed. His hands were the only sign of nervousness as they fidgeted at his side. I knew he would follow through with my plan, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t question every decision I made going forward. He was a good man who didn’t belong in prison. His wife was all alone, raising their two-year-old son, Ben. I’d promised Andrew that if he helped me with the escape, I would do everything in my power to ensure my family took care of them for life and get him out.

If not, I would do what I do best: use violence and threats to ensure my will is obeyed. Andrew was an ex-FBI hostage negotiator who had worked with the Bureau for ten years. He claimed his fellow agents framed him—dirty operatives who wanted him out of the way. They had set him up to take the fall for the murder of their director—who had found out about their deceit. The dirty agents silenced Director Rodrigo by tying his legs to a cinder block and tossing his body into the Hollywood Reservoir. Andrew took the fall. No, he didn’t deserve to be in here, and someday soon, I would help him get out and put the real criminals behind bars.

“Alright,” Andrew sighed heavily. “Make sure the message gets passed to your connection here.” He wiped a bead of sweat dripping down his forehead. “Oh, and Keelan, don’t forget me when you get out.”

I gave him a single nod. “A promise is a promise.”

After dinner in the mess hall, Andrew and I headed to the chapel. This was part of our “normal” routine; the guards weren’t the wiser. We sat in the sagging wooden pew near the front and looked up at the cracked painted cross above the pulpit. The scent of old wax candles and dust made my nose itch, and I tried not to laugh at the irony of a holy place falling into neglect.

We waited.

“How much longer?” Andrew whispered, keeping his voice low.

“It took me a while to decode the painting, but my cousin has three officers ready. I’m just responsible for making the illness look believable enough.” I smiled, feeling a flicker of hope. Fuck, I couldn’t wait to take a hot shower without seeing three to four dicks next to me while I washed. There was a price to pay for that simple pleasure, and I was ready to pay it.

“I’m not going to hold back, Andrew. If I can’t trick them, I will kill someone to get out of here. Are you okay with that?”

His face was unreadable. Andrew had been my cellmate for close to a year. He knew some of my secrets and what I had done to get put away, but he never judged me for it. After seeing countless people locked up for shit they didn’t do, his views had changed. While I did do it , I told him the reason why.

He also had a particular understanding of those who commit crimes under a family name, especially mine—one of the most prominent mafia families in Los Angeles. Our wealth protected us … well, not me. The feds were practically feral over the evidence and perfect testimony to put me, the heir, behind bars. They wanted to tie up loose ends and send a warning message to my family to stay in line.

Message received.

No one from my family tried to get me out of here a year ago––not even my goddamn father. He’d pay for that, though. They all would, one way or another. The only people in my corner were Andrew, Uncle Byron, and my cousin Gavin.

Someone cleared their throat behind us, and Andrew immediately dropped his eyes and began mumbling some prayer. Only I turned around to look at the officer. Andrew wasn’t allowed to see who the guard was that my source paid off. Those were my instructions—for his protection, of course.

The officer handed me a Bible and gave me a brief nod. “You have fifteen minutes; then I expect both of you back for the lineup at the cells,” the guard said, his tone low and thick with a fake Southern accent, keeping his identity secret from Andrew’s ears. “There’ll be another officer to escort you back to the cell block. Am I clear on that?”

I quickly nodded before placing the Bible on my lap. “Yes, sir.” The sound of leather boots on the worn carpet faded as the guard left the chapel room. That was when Andrew lifted his head and looked at me. I cracked open the leather spine to the middle of the book. There was a thicker page with something solid bulging, a slit at the center. I wedged my fingernail into the paper and pried it apart like an envelope, revealing what lay hidden within it.

“A hacksaw blade, huh?” he asked. “That’ll get messy.”

I shrugged, turning the blade in the dimmed light, the tarnished silver gleaming. “You’ve known me long enough to know I never do anything easy. But if all goes as planned, I won’t have to spill blood.”

We got up and exited the church. An officer immediately met us and escorted us back to the second floor of our poorly lit cell block. I looked around the entire wing, taking in the decrepit scene. The place deserved to be burned to the fucking ground. Decades of rust, dirt, and blood were embedded so deeply into the walls that no cleaner could get them out. The air was rank with the smell of male bodies, shit, and piss. There was no fresh air aside from our one-hour rotation in the yard. Simply put, it was a cage for monsters.

And I was going to break free.

As the guard radioed to open our doors, I saw another officer escorting Greg and three of his loyal followers to their cells, only a few spaces down from mine.

Although I wanted to kill the asshole, I had to be smart about this, or the plan wouldn’t work, and I’d be fucked. It wasn’t necessary to overcomplicate things, so I had to rein in my boiling temper.

“Officer Johnston,” I heard Greg say as they approached. “Mind giving us a second before you lock them up?”

Johnston snapped his head up to look at me, and I shook my head. If Greg pushed me, I didn’t have the control to walk away.

The officer smirked and gave Greg a quick nod, ignoring my protest.

Now, I can’t promise I won’t spill blood. Goddammit, Johnston.

With a broad smile forming on Johnston’s lips, he casually leaned back against the wall and folded his arms. The second guard followed suit. The prison staff was well aware of Greg’s crimes and knew he was due for some prison justice. Though this was the wrong fucking time, they just made me the executioner.

“Andrew, will you put this on my bunk?” I asked, handing him the Bible. The whirrs of the cell doors echoed in the block.

“Walk away, Keelan,” he pleaded. He didn’t want to deal with this shit, not now. That was what made us so very different.

He was a man wronged. I was the wrong man.

“Come on,” I purred, holding my hands out wide. “Where’s the fun in that?”

Andrew shook his head and entered the cell, sitting on the lower bunk’s mattress. I’d rather he stayed clear from this unfolding chaos.

A high-pitched voice broke my thoughts. “Oh, is the little pussy scared of me?” Greg sneered. The sound of raucous laughter filled the air from the cells and his devoted followers. We were already drawing an audience with the other inmates, their ugly faces pressing against the bars, ready for a show. I saw a single drop of sweat roll from Greg’s bald head to his expansive forehead. He was a few inches shorter than me and about fifty pounds heavier, yet he felt entitled to think he owned the prison.

I turned on my right heel to face him, a sinister smile plastered on my face. “Greg, up until this point, I’ve spared beating your face in. Unlike last time, I don’t think I have as much self-control as you think I do.”

Greg advanced a few steps. “Easy, boy,” he said, holding up his hands. An ugly smile crossed his pale face, making him even more hideous, which I didn’t think was possible. “Actually, I have a gift for you.” He reached behind him and pulled something from his belt loop. It was a half-folded magazine, and he handed it to me. Before unfolding it, I knew what magazine it was and who was on the pages. But what was surprising was a disgusting cloudy white substance oozing from the folded pages. It took little brain power to know what that was, too. That sick cunt had the audacity to cum all over Sadie’s images.

I tossed the soiled magazine into my cell, landing near Andrew’s feet.

Give me another reason, you motherfucker. I needed one push—one excuse.

It physically hurt me to hold my tongue, but I had no choice. I shook my head while fury gripped me and turned on my heel, heading into my cell. Unfortunately, with Greg’s ego and blatant stupidity, he had to open his fucking mouth.

“God, Sadie’s so stunning, isn’t she?” he said, and I turned slowly to face him again. “Last night, we passed it around. You know how it is. We share things, and we don’t mind it when things get a little messy. That present right there,”—he pointed toward the cum stained magazine—“that’s from me and the boys, just for you. Some of the other guys with only a few months left said they planned on finding her and paying her a visit. Get a close look at those beautiful tattoos and then force her pretty mouth on their fat cocks. Hell, I’ll visit her too, teach her how to be a good, submissive whore .”

My spine locked up, blinding rage trickling down my limbs as I digested those vile words. A cool darkness painted my vision.

When I was a child, my father said I was a loose cannon, a feral beast of rage. I always got into fights, even shattering a few bones in elementary school. Having older brothers and cousins taught me the harsh reality of surviving in my family; it was them or me. I was the enforcer who left others quaking in fear of my family name. We were unstoppable— no one could touch us, especially not Greg or the officers watching us. Sure, they wanted to see Greg get his due, but they wanted me to fight, to punish me for my family’s sins. We were everyone’s worst fucking nightmare.

Without blinking, I threw my right fist out, connecting with Greg’s jaw, relishing the sound of bones and teeth shattering upon impact. When his head shot back, I lifted my leg and slammed my foot down on his shin, right below the knee. I was met with another satisfying crack. Greg fell to the ground, blood spewing from his ruined mouth as he screamed. His body knocked into the other spectating guard, and he, too, fell over.

It wasn’t enough. There was no way I could refrain from killing him. The tether on my control frayed close to snapping. I wanted to strangle the bastard until his breath was crushed in his windpipe and then seek vengeance on anyone who dared to even speak about Sadie in such a vile manner.

As I sprinted toward Greg’s prone body, I was able to deliver a few sharp kicks to his ribcage before a pair of hands grabbed my elbows and yanked me back. I felt the press of something hard before a Taser dropped me to my knees. Suddenly, I found myself thrust forward, my face slamming into the grated floor, while they swiftly restrained my wrists with cuffs. The guard, a third unnamed man, leaned down, pressing his lips near my ear, and whispered, “Have fun in the Hole for thirty days, you piece of shit.”

Seeing another opportunity, I snapped my head back, connecting with the guard’s nose. When I flipped onto my back, I kicked both feet into his gut, sending him flying. Before I could leap on him and bash his skull to pieces, Andrew yelled for me to stop .

These men are lucky sons of bitches.

I allowed myself to go limp, letting Johnston and the other two men seize me and drag me away. Greg’s shrieking echoed off the walls, and it was music to my ears.

I had been in isolation for over three days, waiting for someone to check in on me as I sat on a concrete floor in the corner of the cell. No one came. No one cared.

But that was what I wanted to happen once plans had changed. It was easier to deprive myself of water and force myself into dehydration while in isolation than it would be if they poked their heads into our cells.

By now, my skin had become dry, brittle, and pale.

“Come on,” I whispered as footsteps came down the hall. My window was rapidly closing, so it was now or never.

Clutching my stomach, I shoved my finger down my throat, inducing vomit. I strained as I puked, making the sound as loud as possible. There wasn’t much coming out, but it was enough to paint the scene.

Footsteps paused, and I hurried over to my door. I hastily moved backward as the door swung open. As soon as the guard entered the room, the officer’s eyes darted downwards, and the pungent smell of bile assaulted my nostrils.

“What’s going on, Blake?” he asked, but when his eyes met my face, he pressed his lips together. “Fuck, are you sick? ”

I scrunched up my face. “It’s my stomach,” I lied, pressing down on my right side. “It fucking hurts, and I haven’t been able to eat or drink while you animals neglected me for the last three days.” I put on the show, looking disoriented and keeping my hand on my lower stomach. I swayed a little and fell on my knee for added effect.

“Shit. Alright,” he cursed. “Just give me a second.” The guard pressed down on his two-way radio. “This is Officer Farmer. I need to transport Keelan Blake to the infirmary. Send someone up to clean his cell.” He released the button and gestured for me to stand. I struggled, keeping my hand on my lower right side as I clambered to my feet.

He escorted me to Medical, and I dragged my heels, moaning weakly.

“Come on, Blake. It’s not that bad. You’re probably just a little dehydrated or have some damn stomach bug. Take a painkiller, and I’ll put you back in there to ride it out.”

The walk to the infirmary was quiet, except for my loud groaning every thirty seconds.

Nurse Rita Martinez was sitting at the desk, typing something on her computer and brushing her straight black hair behind her ears. Her back was turned away from us when Farmer cleared his throat.

“He needs something to drink,” the officer said .

The nurse turned on her swivel chair and then stood, gesturing to the bed while she hurried to the fridge to grab me a bottle of water. Only one other inmate was inside the room by the back wall, and another medical professional was tending to him.

“What’s going on, Keelan?” she asked, placing the water on the table beside the bed.

I gripped my stomach again. “Sharp pain,” I said, keeping my intense gaze on hers. She gave a subtle smile as the officer released my arm, and I walked over to the bed, propping my feet up.

“Right there?” Rita asked, pointing to my lower right side where my hand pressed. Once I lifted my hand, she pulled up my shirt, and her fingers grazed over my bare torso. “Lie down flat,” she instructed. “I’m going to apply some pressure. Alright?”

Once flat on my back, she slightly pressed down and released quickly. “Fuck!” I cursed and scrunched up my face. “That hurt ten times worse the moment you released that pressure.”

She lowered her brow. “Let me take your temperature. What other symptoms are you having?”

“Nausea.”

“He puked in his cell,” the officer added.

The nurse grabbed the thermometer and ran it over my forehead, then reached behind her, grabbed a blood pressure cuff, and wrapped it over my right bicep. “A hundred and two,” she said, placing the thermometer on the table after clearing the number so the officer wouldn’t see. “How long have you been having abdominal pain?”

I shrugged. “It started yesterday—a couple of days after they threw me in the Hole, but this is the worst. ”

“Did you guys not bother to check on him?” she accused, glaring at the officer. “I don’t have the equipment to know for sure, but I think we need to transport him to St. Peter’s Hospital.”

The guard lowered his brow. “Are you serious? What for?”

“Well, if this is appendicitis, it could kill him if we don’t. He needs a CT scan to know for sure. I don’t even have enough supplies to do a blood and urine test. We can’t have a potential lawsuit from the Blake family for negligence.” She let out a breath. “You know what they’d do.”

I gave Martinez a look when she turned back to face me, and though the nod was minuscule, it was there.

And hopefully, the guard didn’t see it.

“Alright, fuck. I’ll call it in.”

As the correctional officer made the call, I met her eyes again. “Sorry. I got a little sidetracked with another inmate. Is everything still set?” I asked in a whisper, then followed it with a wink.

She gave me a tiny smile. “We figured there might be a mishap. I’ll let them know you’re ready, handsome. Give Byron my regards.”