Chapter 7

Jenkins leaned against the wall, picking dirt from his nails. Newt parked his arse at the table closest, intent on doing as he'd promised Leo and staying in sight at all times. Inmates passed his table, coughing out, "Baby Briggs," before breaking out into laughs. Newt grit his teeth, doing his best to block them out, and then the three skinheads from the laundry room appeared from a cell.

They elbowed each other, smirking and snorting when they spotted him alone.

"Where's the bodyguard?"

The inmate that spoke stood a few inches taller than Newt. He walked into the table, shoving it with the tops of his thighs. It knocked into the wall with a bang, startling Newt up straight.

"Greaves," Jenkins muttered. "Watch where you're going."

"Sorry, Sir," Greaves replied. He wiped his nose on his arm with an audible snuffle. "Was just asking after Leo. He looked awfully pale when he left his cell, and was that his blood I saw dripping all over the floor?"

"You know it was," Newt whispered.

"Lenard Nori is going to be fine," Jenkins said. He grimaced as he flicked something from his thumb. "Nothing but a scratch."

"Looked a pretty deep one to me," Greaves said, "Ah well, there's always next time."

The trio smirked, jostling each other. Newt pushed to his feet and brushed by them, only to pause in front of his cell door.

It was a bad idea.

The worst idea, but Newt changed direction and pounded up the steps to get to the first floor. Greaves and his friends called out behind him, shouting the nickname Shaw had given to him.

Baby Briggs.

Newt didn't stop.

He slapped both palms on Shaw's cell door and pushed it open.

The radio blared, masking his presence.

Shaw stood with his back to the door, shirtless, one elbow in the air and free hand rubbing ointment into his red raw skin. The mark snaked down from his hand, along his forearm, and the worst of it, the part with thickened edges and a shiny yellow patch, was around his armpit.

Newt baulked, watching.

"Christ," Shaw hissed, and Newt heard the pain in his voice, the agony as he rubbed shaking fingers against the skin. He shivered all over, and his breath hitched. "Holy fuck. I can't…"

He snatched his fingers away and shuddered violently. Newt tracked a glob of ointment dripping down from his shoulder. It hit the floor with a splat.

"Do you need some help?" Newt whispered.

Shaw whirled to face him. His red eyes watered, skimming from Newt to the open door at Newt's back. He yanked Newt into his cell, slammed the door, then surged at him using his forearm against Newt's throat.

Shaw pinned him to the wall, pressing a hand over Newt's mouth to mask his scream. The impact knocked the back of Newt's head against the brickwork, and pain radiated through his skull to his temples. Shaw's palm smothered Newt's face, and his long fingers scratched Newt's ear.

Newt dug his nails into the grout between the bricks.

Shaw pulled his top lip over his teeth and spat his words. He shook, with rage or pain, Newt didn't know, but his bottom lashes were wet. "What the fuck do you think you're doing in here, Baby Briggs?"

Newt parted his lips, mind whirling with something to say back. It would come out muffled and with a sob, but he still had to try. Shaw put more force behind his forearm.

"You don't just come into my cell when you goddamn please!"

Newt attached his wide, tearful eyes to Shaw.

His brothers referred to it as the Bambi look. Right then, Bambi looked a mess with dribble smeared to his chin and snot touching the edge of Shaw's hand, but it was worth a shot.

Shaw frowned in response but didn't relax his forearm or remove his hand from Newt's mouth.

He'd used his A-game, and it didn't work. Newt bit back a whimper and tried something that definitely fit into the category of stupid.

He stuck his tongue out and wiggled it against Shaw's palm.

"What the actual fuck?" Shaw said, stepping away while studying his hand like it might melt. "Did you just lick me?" His deep voice pitched ten alcoves higher. "Why the hell would you lick me?"

Newt dropped down the wall, wheezing at Shaw's feet.

"I read it somewhere," he choked out.

Shaw raised both eyebrows. "You read it somewhere? You read that if you were being threatened, you should lick your attacker?"

"Do the unexpected. Break the tension. It can save your life…"

Shaw wriggled his fingers before wiping his hand on his joggers. He stared at the wall, expression twisted with anger as his eyes tracked back and forth. Then he sighed, retreating to his bed. He grabbed a long-sleeve top from the pillow. One arm went in with ease, but he winced and shuddered with the other. Then he pulled at the armpit, keeping the fabric away from his skin for a few seconds while he cursed under his breath.

Newt recovered his breath as Shaw slipped on his glove. He flexed his fingers while Newt took the opportunity to look around. Shaw's cell was double the size of his and Leo's. It didn't have a bunk in his cell. It was a single bed, with a blue tartan duvet cover and two pillows instead of the standard ones. His TV was bigger, thinner, and an old PlayStation sat beside it, controllers tangled up in wire. He didn't just have a kettle, but a coffee machine too, and there was a table with four chairs tucked beneath.

Photographs decorated the wall by Shaw's bed. Newt recognised the woman as Shaw's mother from the visiting room.

His eyes jumped to the next picture: two young boys wearing matching blue football shirts, smiling with gaps in their teeth. There were other photographs, and the three of them together, but for some reason Newt's gaze lingered on the two boys.

The slightly taller boy had his arm around the shoulders of the younger one.

They both had ice creams.

"Is that Kyle?" Newt whispered.

Shaw didn't look at the wall. "That's him. That was taken outside the stadium. The first football match we'd ever been to. We won. Four-one." His lips pulled into a half smile. "It was a good day. We went to lots of matches over the years, not all of them good, but…but we should've gotten the chance to go to many more."

Newt bit his lip. "Shaw, I'm sorry about?—"

"I don't want to hear it, Baby Briggs. Words are meaningless." He eased himself back on the wall, and once he rested against the bricks, he exhaled a slow breath. He closed his eyes, breathing deep. "Is there a reason you burst into my cell?"

"Leo got hurt. He got hurt because of me, because you hate me."

"And?"

Newt's brow twitched. "What do you mean and?"

Shaw exhaled another slow breath. He opened his eyes. "Leo's a grown man. If he's stupid enough to get between you and a shank, then that's his problem."

Newt gaped. He fought to find words, but there were none.

Shaw clacked his tongue. He snorted softly. "You don't like my answer, do you?"

"No, I don't. It's stupid." He gestured between them. "This is stupid. You don't know me. I've done nothing to you?—"

"But your brother has."

"He regrets it. He regrets it every single day."

Shaw's nose tugged with a snarl. He showed his teeth. "Sure he does…"

"He does. Hurting me, or getting others to hurt me, it's not going to bring Kyle back."

"No." Shaw narrowed his eyes. "But it will punish the person whom I hate most in the world. The one who took Kyle from me and my mother. Can I ask you something, Baby Briggs?"

"What?"

"Why did you kill him? Why did you kill Jeffery Sharpe?"

Newt blinked. "It was an accident."

"Cut the crap." Shaw leaned forward. "You did it because he hurt your brother. He was in that building, right? The roof came down on him, almost killed him."

Newt pressed his lips together in a firm line.

"You took your revenge on Jeffery for almost killing him. Now, can you understand my dilemma? I can't get to your brother, but I can punish him. I can make him hurt in the same way he made me and my mother hurt. I can even the score, get my revenge. You're a hypocrite if you tell me I shouldn't."

"Then why not do it yourself?"

Shaw displayed all his teeth in a broad smile. "Like I told you, I no longer have to do my dirty work. I get to sit back and wait?—"

"Why wait?" Newt asked, slipping his hand into his shoe. He pulled out the shank used on Leo. The plastic end of the toothbrush had been melted to incorporate a razor blade.

Shaw's smile vanished. His gaze snapped to the glint of metal.

"You want revenge on my brother. You want to hurt Stone, then do it." Newt held the shank out to Shaw. "At least Leo would be alright. And you'd be…relieved you finally did something."

"Is that what you felt when you killed Jeffery? Relief?"

"Yes." Newt lowered his gaze. "He'd hurt my brothers. I didn't want to give him the opportunity to hurt them again."

Shaw shifted to the edge of the bed. He tilted his head, studying Newt, and reached for the shank. He plucked it from Newt's fingers. "Come closer then."

"What?"

"I can't slit your throat if you're all the way over there."

Newt shuffled forward on his knees until he got to Shaw's legs. He sat on his heels and lifted his chin.

"Ready?" Shaw asked.

"No."

But Newt didn't move, and he didn't close his eyes.

He trusted his plan.

"Dumb kid," Shaw growled and hurled the shank. It hit the mirror, then dropped into the sink. "You can't go round in here like a pig to slaughter because some wacked-out idiot will take you up on the offer."

"You didn't do it."

"Of course I didn't. Fuck me, Baby Briggs, what's wrong with you?"

Newt shuffled forward on his knees. "You…you don't want me dead?"

Shaw looked away. "No."

"But—

"Maybe I wanted you a little scared, maybe I wanted you to tell your brother I was going to kill you and freak him out, unsettle his life, get to him, but no…no, I don't want you dead."

"Those other prisoners, Greaves and his friends. They stabbed Leo?—"

Shaw cut him off with a sigh. "I'll have words."

Newt widened his eyes. "Really?"

"Yes."

"But why?"

"Several reasons." Shaw chewed his lip as if considering revealing them to Newt. "I knew people that died in that explosion at the old roller rink. Jeffery Sharpe deserved what he got, and…and you were right. You dead won't bring Kyle back, and seeing you on your knees like this, throat at the goddamn ready, well…" He smacked his lips. "It's left an unpleasant taste in my mouth. You're not my little brother, but you are someone's and this…what just happened here was not okay."

"Stone really does?—"

"No," Shaw interrupted, lifting his hand. "If we're going to live together in perfect harmony, there can be no mention of your brother, understand?"

Newt nodded. "Okay."

Shaw glanced at the sink. "Damn, kid. Were you serious?"

Newt looked at the sink too. "I hoped you wouldn't be able to go through with it."

"Hoped? You offered your life up on a hope?" Shaw murmured. "You had a shank. Could've got me from behind while I had my guard down."

"I had the shank on me in case Greaves and his friends cornered me. I was never planning on using it against you."

"Instead of stabbing me in the back, you asked if you could help." Shaw's tone was wistful. "You're odd, Baby Briggs."

"You were in pain."

"I am in pain." Shaw lowered his head. "It's a burn, in case you were wondering. The worst of it is my armpit. I've had skin grafts, taken from the tops of my thighs, but the armpit is a tricky bit of skin. I get regular infections." He smacked the tube of ointment on the bed. "Sometimes the pain feels never-ending."

"What happened?"

Shaw looked away. Newt didn't know if he would answer.

"That top dog I told you about. He was a mean bastard. He'd ordered a napalming on a prison officer."

Newt frowned. "A napalming?"

"Boiling water and a hell of a lot of sugar. The inmate was going to pour it on the officer from the first floor. I tried to stop him. We fought. The kettle opened, and the contents ran down my hand and arm, mostly pooling in my armpit."

"That's horrible."

Shaw nodded. "As horrible and as painful as it was, and still is…it was well worth it."

The cell door flew open, startling Newt into Shaw's legs.

It wasn't Leo but Riley who flew inside and rushed over. "Fuck, Newt, are you okay?"

"He's fine," Shaw answered, lifting his hand in a small wave.

Riley pulled Newt from the floor and checked him over. Once satisfied, he dragged Newt behind him and shouted at Shaw, "I told you to leave it!"

"I know."

"I told you what happened to your brother wasn't anything to do with Newt."

Shaw folded his arms. "I know?—"

"I told you to drop this ‘King of the Wing' bullshit."

Newt cocked his head and muttered beneath his breath, "King of the wing?"

Riley wasn't done. "I told you not to hurt him!"

Newt scrunched his face, leaning away from the shout. His ears were ringing.

"And look," Shaw said. "He's fine."

"He's wincing!"

"Because you're shouting."

Riley spun back to Newt. He gripped him by the shoulders. "What did he do to you?"

"We just talked," Newt said. "He told me about his arm."

"What about his arm?"

Shaw smirked. "That I played the dashing hero and stopped a napalming of an officer…"

Riley released Newt. His anger vanished. "Is it hurting again?"

"Nah. It's okay."

Riley stepped towards the bed. He snatched up the tube of ointment. "That damn doctor."

Shaw shrugged. "He's doing his best."

"Well, his best isn't good enough," Riley snapped, studying the label. He rested his other hand on Shaw's shoulder, gently squeezing. "What even is this?"

"Not a clue, but it burns like a bitch."

"You were supposed to wait for me. I was going to…"

His voice trailed off at Shaw's raised eyebrows. Shaw darted his eyes to Newt. Riley turned, then jumped at Newt stood in the doorway. "Shit."

"Yeah." Newt swallowed awkwardly. "I haven't left."

Riley dropped the tube back to the bed. He stared at Shaw, then the wrinkles in his sweatshirt where he'd been rubbing. "I…Why are you even in here?"

Shaw gave him a crooked smile. "This is my cell, Riles. Keep up."

Riley looked around. His face turned red. Even his neck started to turn patchy. "Right…yeah."

"Newt came in here to sample my hands." Shaw smirked. He only had eyes for Riley, gazing up at him as Riley squirmed.

"What?"

"Came in here, licked one." Shaw shrugged nonchalantly. "How did it taste, Newt?"

Newt's cheeks started to warm. "Erm. Salty."

"Salty?" Shaw repeated with a grimace. "I think I need a second opinion." He held his palm out. "Officer Riley?"

Riley looked at his hand for a few moments before snapping to his senses.

"You're an arse." Riley huffed, slapping Shaw's hand away. Shaw grinned wickedly and licked his hand himself. "Mmmm, you're right, Baby Briggs. That's a good salty palm. Sure you don't want to try?—"

Riley pointed to the door. "Get out of here, Shaw."

"But this is my cell," Shaw replied.

Newt felt the heat radiating off Riley. He even began blushing on his behalf.

"Whatever. I'll speak to you later." Riley turned to Newt and gestured for him to leave first.

"Looking forward to it already." Shaw laughed, and it didn't sound hysterical or sinister; he sounded normal.

Newt stepped out onto the wing. Riley chaperoned him down the stairs, missing a step before getting his composure back.

"Leo?" Newt asked.

"Is agitated, desperate to get back to you. He's had a blood transfusion and needs to have some X-rays. The doctor wants to keep him overnight, but Leo isn't being the most cooperative of patients." Riley sighed. "Most inmates love the hospital wing. There's better food, nurses to fluff their pillows, tea and coffee on tap, unlimited supply of rich tea digestives…"

"He's looking out for me."

Riley hummed. "I can see that… Are you sure you're all right?" He glanced up at Shaw's cell. "I kept telling him to give you a chance. You're not your brother."

"I think we're good." Newt smiled shyly. "But Riley…"

"Yeah?"

"When I stepped into his cell, Shaw really was in a lot of pain."

Riley slowed to a stop. His wide eyes searched Newt's. He had the same look of worry in them that Stone sometimes did about Robin, that Jude did about Luck. "But he said?—"

"He was lying."

Newt carried on to his cell. Riley spun around and rushed up the stairs, two steps at a time. His feet clanged, ringing out along the metal railings.

Riley disappeared into Shaw's cell, pushing the door shut after him.