Chapter 2

Newt blinked the world back into focus. He was lying down with a pillow that smelled of someone else supporting his head. It wasn't unpleasant but unfamiliar. The duvet hadn't been tossed over him by a considerate older brother; he pinned it to the bed beneath.

"You back with us now?"

Newt didn't answer immediately. He frowned at the metal slats supporting the mattress above him. The walls were too close. A tiny window glowed orange with the setting sun. Thick steel bars kept it from reach.

"Newton?"

He looked towards the voice, taking in the man in the white shirt and black trousers stooped over him. The man clutched a radio in his hand, and a large loop keyring shone from his belt. Wrinkles marred his face, and his wisps of hair looked like smoke. His brown eyes were glazed over with uninterest, and he sighed as he straightened to full height.

"Jenkins?" Newt croaked.

"It's Sir or Officer Jenkins, not just Jenkins. You're fine," Jenkins said before stepping away.

He left the cell, pulling the door shut. It didn't latch, though. The bustle of the wing bled through the cracks, filling the cell with mocking laughter.

The walk-on.

He'd thrown up and then fainted. He couldn't have messed it up more if he'd tried.

Newt groaned as he rubbed his hands over his face. The more he relived the moment, the more heated his skin became until he thought spontaneously combusting might be possible.

"That was rather spectacular…"

Newt flung himself upwards, twisting his body as he pressed his back against the wall. He grabbed the closest thing to him to defend himself.

A pillow.

"Stay back," he hissed, brandishing the weapon.

"Oh, I'm staying well back, but not because of that. I'd rather not have two loads of sick down me in one day."

Newt lowered the pillow. He peeked his head out from beneath the bed. He'd been able to see the prisoner's legs and stomach from against the wall, but only when he leaned over, did he catch sight of the long low-cut vest and the tattooed chest. The man didn't look angry despite having a valid reason to be.

"Remember me?"

Newt did, although the memory was vague, and he couldn't recall the man's name. He'd been treated by Stone in the back of the bakery, and upon waking he'd almost strangled Newt to death.

"You almost killed me," Newt said, disappearing beneath the bed again. "And I don't remember your name."

"It's Leo," he replied, then he crouched, forcing Newt to take in his broad chest and muscles. He was a giant, no doubt about it, even when he tried to make himself seem small and unintimidating, Newt zeroed in on the thick ropes of his neck muscles and his round shoulders. "And I'm sorry about what happened in the back of the bakery."

Leo had looked a lot different back then, not just because he'd been unconscious, but his eyes had been badly swollen, and the tip of his nose had been almost bent to a right angle.

Newt could tell Leo had broken his nose multiple times with it shaped like an S. Without swollen cheeks, and with Leo actually awake, Newt took in his amber eyes, flecked with gold.

His hair had the same gold flecks as his brown strands, catching on the light coming from their small window. Leo smiled. His lips were marred, scarred with white lines, but it was still a nice smile, one that lit up his eyes and did the job the crouch couldn't do.

Leo didn't look intimidating when he smiled.

He looked, in a word, nice.

"You were hot," Newt said, wiping the smile from Leo's face. "No." He shook his head. "What I mean is, you were really hot."

"Were?" Leo said, getting to his feet. "First you throw up on me, then you insult my looks…"

Newt gripped his hair. "I'm messing this up, rule number four."

"What are you talking about?"

"It doesn't matter. What matters is you were really hot when we first met; that's how I knew something was wrong. You were too hot, and Stone managed to cool you down, and then you strangled me."

"I was disorientated."

"Mickey broke your arm, and you still didn't let go."

"Shall we call it even now?" Leo said, ducking down again. He smiled, and his eyes were all gold.

"Even?"

"Yeah, you threw up on me."

Newt scrunched up his face. "Do you think anyone noticed?"

Leo laughed. It bounced off the walls, loud in Newt's ears. He snatched up the pillow again and held it to his chest. The cell didn't feel big enough for the both of them.

"Yes, Newt. Everyone noticed. It was bright fucking orange and smelled like marmalade. The whole wing saw you do it, and the whole wing saw you faint immediately after."

Newt buried his head in the pillow, holding back a scream. The bed shifted. Leo had sat down beside him and pried the pillow away from his face. "What was that about rules?"

"Mickey made me memorise them. They're to help me while I'm here. I've been on the wing for less than ten minutes, and I've already broken two."

Leo smirked. "Stone also had an idea of how to help you…"

"I know, but he never said what, and now it's a little late."

Leo stared at him blankly. His brows pushed down on his eyes until he was full-on squinting. It took Newt a few moments, but then he understood.

"You?"

"Me," Leo agreed. "He wrote to me, then we talked on the phone. He pulled a few strings, bribes and what not to make sure you got put on this wing, and I got my cellmate transferred to another cell, freeing the top bunk up in here for when you arrived."

"Why?" Newt asked.

"I wanted to help."

"Leo…"

Leo averted his gaze. "Stone's a mate?—"

"Why really?" Newt repeated, narrowing his eyes.

Leo swept a hand over his hair, chuckling softly to himself. "We came to an arrangement."

"What arrangement?"

"Newt…"

"Tell. Me."

"Stone's going to put money in my account each week."

Newt blinked. "He's paying you?"

"Yeah, but I would've looked out for you anyway. You're Stone's little brother after all, but Stone insisted, and I don't have any family to pay into my account, so I thought…" Leo shrugged. "What the hell, right?"

"What is he paying you for exactly?"

"To take care of you, make sure you get back to him in one piece."

Newt pursed his lips, turning away from Leo. "You're…my bodyguard?"

"If you like."

Newt whipped his gaze up and down Leo. "I like."

"Phew." Leo slumped into the wall. "There was me thinking there would be this big thing between us where I keep your brother paying me a secret until it all gets revealed at some pivotal moment into your sentence and shit hits the fan."

"No." Newt shook his head. "That's not what's going to happen here. Stone has hired you to be my bodyguard, and that's perfect because Bull said the top dog on the wing is going to kill me. Tonight. Possibly. So maybe you could…I don't know, talk him out of it."

Leo folded his arms. Newt watched his muscles bulge and thought yes, yes his bodyguard stood as a giant and would be able to talk down the top dog.

"Shaw's a reasonable guy," Leo said. "Why the hell does he want you dead?"

"No idea."

"Wait…" Leo whispered. "Hold on a second?—"

They both turned at the sound of a knock to the door. Newt snatched up the pillow, only for Leo to tear it from his grip. "You don't need that, you've got me."

The door opened on a blond prison officer. His black tie hung loose around his collar. His eyes were bright, hazel, and his smile was sunshine-yellow warm, and he was looking at Newt.

"I've been assigned as your prison officer. Officer Riley."

Leo turned to Newt. "Riley is one of the good ones, if not the best."

Riley lifted his chin, looking pleased. "I hear you had quite the entrance, Newton."

"You could say that," Leo mumbled.

"I'm disappointed I missed it, but I had other duties to deal with." His cheeks glowed a vibrant red. "Anyway, I've got a few things to go through with you." He lifted the clipboard pressed to his chest. A plastic bag crinkled, pinned in place. "And once we're done, you'll be able to meet your fellow inmates during association."

"I think I might just stay in my cell today…"

"That's not uncommon for first-timers." Riley glanced at Leo. "Do you mind if I talk to Newton alone?"

"What if I do mind?"

Riley's lips parted. He frowned. "I don't know."

Leo sighed. "I'll be right outside the door, Newt. Scream if you need me."

"What should I scream?"

Leo shook his head as he walked out. He pulled the door shut after him.

"I've got you down as Newton, but would you prefer Newt?"

"Newt," he whispered.

"Great. I'm Officer Riley, but everyone just calls me Riley. A few of the officers prefer you to call them officer or sir, but I'm not a pretentious prick like them."

Riley sat down on the bed beside him. He rested his clipboard on his knees, then offered the crinkling clear bag to Newt. "Jenkins always has a habit of forgetting to add this to new prisoners' welcome packs."

Newt took the bag, shifting around the contents. There were tea bags, sugar sachets, long-lasting milk cartons, coffee, and a few digestive biscuits wrapped up in plastic film.

"Thank you."

Riley beamed. "You're welcome. I'm your personal officer. I've been assigned to you and Scott." He sighed. "And reassigned to Reymond, or Bull as he prefers. What that means is, I'm to oversee your emotional and physical well-being during your stay at Brixton. Any problems, with prisoners, the regime, even the food, you can come to me, and I'll do my best to assist."

Riley lifted the clipboard. "We've got a few questions to go through. Dietary requirements, medication, religious belief, preferred pronouns?—"

"Pronouns?"

He smiled again. "Yes. I added that one to be more inclusive, but not all of the officers comply."

"Because they're pretentious pricks?"

"Got it in one." Riley snorted. "Shall we?"

Newt nodded, and Riley began firing off questions. His pen scratched on the page as he ticked the relevant boxes. He hesitated, chewing on his lip, pen hovering over the medication tick box.

"I'm not taking anything."

Riley startled like he'd been caught out. He ticked the ‘no' box, then shot Newt an apologetic glance.

"As your personal officer, I'm allowed access to your medical records, and I know that for a portion of your life, you were taking medication," Riley shifted as if he felt awkward bringing it up. "You were on what I can only describe as a cocktail of anti-anxiety, antipsychotic and sedatives. You were being treated at a mental health facility after being found in a comatose state by your foster parents… Is that… Is that correct?"

Newt looked to the cell door. It had opened slightly, and through the gap, Newt saw Leo's arm as he rested his back against the wall.

"That is correct. I was sectioned there from the age of eleven. My oldest brother got me transferred to his care, and I no longer needed to take the medication prescribed by my doctor, Isla Bell."

Riley sighed. "I'm only bringing it up because part of your defence in court, and the leniency of your sentence, was due to a relapse in your condition brought on by shock. Would you like an assessment from the doctor here? He'll be able to prescribe you?—"

"No." Newt hugged the pillow to his chest. "No drugs."

Riley jotted something down in the notes section. He didn't hide it from Newt, but Newt didn't look over to see what he'd written.

"There's other things we can try if your symptoms persist."

Newt stared at Riley until his cheeks started to blush.

"I'll be honest, this morning when I got given your file, I had no idea what dissociative disorder was or how it presents itself. I did a little research, and there's alternatives we could try if it helps."

"Like what?"

"Like talking therapies."

"You have a psychiatrist?"

"Yeah." Riley's face fell. "Well, she calls herself a psychiatrist…but I wasn't referring to her, not really. I'm not a professional, but if you ever want to talk about it or talk in general, away from the other prisoners, know that you can find me."

Newt nodded.

"We've discussed prescription drugs, but do you need any help with recreational ones?"

Newt frowned. "Recreational?"

"Polite words for ‘are you addicted to anything you shouldn't be?'"

"Oh. No."

"There's a few schemes we run to help prisons kick their habits, but…"

"But?"

"They're unpopular, and unsuccessful."

Riley rearranged the papers on the clipboard, bringing a fresh page to the front.

"You're down for two years, but you have the opportunity to shorten your sentence by joining a group therapy course"—he sighed—"run by our psychiatrist, Dr Melody Fawks, but I'll be there too, and as a group we discuss crimes, the impact on the victims, the victims' families and the wider community, or that's what we're supposed to do. The sessions get a little chaotic…but it shortens your sentence. You could be out in eighteen months rather than two years." He hovered the pen above the form. "Can I put you down for it?"

"Yeah, surely everyone jumps at the chance of getting out of here quicker."

"Not everyone." Riley turned to the door. It had opened even wider as they'd been talking. Riley dropped his voice to a whisper. "If you can convince Leo to attend, I'll be one happy personal officer."

"He doesn't go to the sessions?"

"No. The last few weeks have been the most animated I've seen him, and I can't work out why."

He handed the clipboard over to Newt. "I need your signature."

Newt signed, then added cat whiskers to his name and a few stars here and there. Riley's eyes crinkled at the edges as he smiled, taking the clipboard back.

"And I've saved the best till last," he said, smile climbing even higher.

He arranged the papers again, bringing forth a clear plastic sleeve. "This is a phone card." Riley slipped out what looked like a credit card. "You push it into the phones adjacent to the gate, and you can add more time to the card in the prison shop, open once a week on Friday. This one already has fifteen minutes worth of call time." He flipped the sleeve over the top of his clipboard. "You need to fill out this, and once checked and verified, they will be your approved numbers. Do it now, and I'll sort it tonight, and by association tomorrow, you'll be able to call home."

Newt gawped at Riley. His eyes began to sting. "You mean I'll be able to speak to my brothers tomorrow?"

"Yep."

Newt's hands were shaking as he took the clipboard and pen from Riley. Through blurry eyes, he managed to write in Stone's and Mickey's details. He wanted to add Jude's too, but Jude had said it was too risky.

Riley shifted back on the bed to lean against the wall. "And beneath that form, you'll find a visiting order. If you fill that out, I'll be able to send it off today."

"What's the earliest my brothers will be able to visit?"

"Realistically…" Riley hummed. "Two weeks."

Newt nodded, filling in the visiting form and the address to send it. He handed it over to Riley with a grateful smile. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Riley said, taking the clipboard.

He looked down at the form and then froze. A sharp hiss left him, then he gnawed his bottom lip, brushing his thumb on the form like he wanted to rub something out.

"What is it?" Newt asked.

"You're a Briggs."

Newt frowned. "Yeah, my name is on every form."

"You're a Briggs," Riley repeated slowly. His complexion paled. He rubbed his thumb over the form again, and Newt leaned over to see what he was attempting to scrub out. It wasn't Newt's name. It was Stone's.

"I knew your surname was Briggs, but I didn't realise…" Riley trailed off. "Who the hell thought it was a good idea to put you on this wing?"

"I—"

"I need to talk to my dad," Riley said, springing to his feet.

"Your…dad?"

Riley scrunched his eyes shut. "The prison governor. I need to talk to the prison governor. There must be some mistake. You can't be on this wing. Not with Shaw."

"Shaw?"

"Shaw Porter."

Newt blinked. He knew of a Kyle Porter. The man Stone accidentally killed with a single punch, and he knew Kyle had a brother, an older brother who had sworn revenge on Stone no matter how long it took.

Newt squeezed the pillow tight to his chest. "I'll be dead by dinner."