Chapter 13

CHAPTER 13

Knox

I drop my letter into the box then make my way back down to my cell. I’m hoping my girl will get it before she comes to see me next weekend. I’m dying to know her answer to my question. And I’m praying like hell, it’s a yes. But if it’s not, I’ll understand. Nine years is a long time to wait for someone.

“Raid! Warden wants a word with you.”

I turn and see the smirk on Burbank’s face. Shit. Maybe he did catch me kissing Myr or rubbing that irresistible tit of hers and ratted me out after all. I swear, if they take away my visitation, then I’m fucking making a run for it. It’s one thing to have to resort to written communication and only one single hour of seeing her beautiful face each week; it’s another to be deprived of the only thing in my life keeping me sane. If they keep me from my girl, I think my heart will actually stop beating.

Burbank leads me down the hall, past two security points and back into the warden’s private hallway. I’ve never been back in this part of the prison before. Not sure many have. Dread gets heavier in my stomach the closer we get to the door marked Warden’s Office. I feel like I’m heading to my death and am about to receive a lethal injection. Bet they’d claim to the media that I’d died in my sleep from a heart attack, or maybe they’d pin it on another guy they’re trying to screw over.

For the first time since the day I walked in here, I’m fucking scared shitless. A feeling I promised myself I’d never allow again.

“Right in here, Raid,” Burbank barks, gesturing for me to enter.

I take a heavy step forward through the doorway and Burbank’s right at my back, practically shoving me the rest of the way inside before he closes the door behind us. Locking me in. The warden, a man in his late thirties maybe early forties looks up from his desk, pointing his stare right over my shoulder. “You can unlock him now.”

I’m not sure what the fuck that means, but when Burbank starts unlatching my cuffs and removing my chains, I’m not sure whether to shit my pants or thank the man. I still don’t know what their intentions are. This could be the calm right before the deadly storm hits. I could be sitting in the eye of the hurricane for all I know. They could be making me comfortable just to fuck with me, and then before I know it, there will be a gun pointed at my head and boom—I’m gone.

“Take a seat, Knox,” the warden says, tipping his chin to the empty chair in front of his desk. “Stand guard, Ambrose.”

I glance behind me and Burbank takes his place by the door, only he’s not facing me, making sure I don’t try anything; he’s looking out through the small glass pane. Another fucking indication that something bad is about to happen and they want to make sure they’re not caught in the act.

“Guess you’re wondering what the hell is going on?” the warden asks. I tip my chin as I take a seat in the brown leather chair. “Well, a buddy of mine sent me something that I found to be interesting. Would you like to see it?”

Again, I nod. Not sure what trap they’re leading me to, but I have no choice but to play along. I’m not the one with the loaded gun here.

He turns his computer screen to face my direction and then clicks the button in the middle of the screen. A video starts playing. But it’s not just any video, it’s the dash cam footage from the night those cops pulled me over. And just as I recall, it shows me getting the shit kicked out of me.

The cops are laughing once I’m passed out on the ground, refusing to stop their abuse. Then after they get their anger out on my beaten body, Ferguson turns toward Diaz and points to his eye. Diaz then punches him in the face and they both start laughing again. Once they settle down from their amused fit, they pick me up off the ground and shove me into the back seat of Ferguson’s cruiser. Giving each other a knuckle bump before they both get in their vehicles and drive away. Motherfuckers .

The video stops and I turn my attention back to the warden, wondering what his next move is going to be. Wondering if he’s going to make his own video as he puts me down, then share it with all the other dirty pigs over coffee and donuts in the morning so they can all get a good laugh. Or maybe…he’s finally going to right this injustice and punish the real criminals. The latter being fucking doubtful.

“I’m sorry, son.” The guilt in his voice may be leading me down a path of false hope, but I stupidly let the feeling take root. “I wish there was a way to get you back the last six years of your life, but all I can give you right now is your future. Those two officers have already been picked up, and Ryker’s hauling their asses in as we speak.”

No way. This has to be some kind of joke. They have to be punking me and the two officers are going to come walking in at any moment and say, “Psyche! Got ya’ again, you stupid shit.” But he said Ryker. That’s the officer that’s involved with Myrah’s friend. The one she told me was working on this undercover case in order to clean up the pigsty and get rid of all the dirty swine at his precinct.

“Now, the question I have for you is: would you like to handle them yourself, or let me and Ambrose do the honors?”

I’m still unsure whether I can trust him or not, or whether the rug’s going to be pulled out from under me again. Either way, my answer is the same. “I didn’t have blood on my hands when I was sentenced, and I’m not going to leave here a criminal, sir.” Whether they plan on sending me to my maker or home, I want my conscience to be clear. And I sure as hell don’t want to spend eternity in the same realm with Ferguson and Diaz.

Now is the point where I’ll learn the truth and whether this is all some kind of sick joke and they’re going to burst out laughing at my answer. My stomach is heavy with that dreaded feeling, like I’m back in that courtroom waiting for my fate to be decided.

“Fuck me,” Burbank sighs. I turn toward the door and see him shaking his head. “Have to say, son, ain’t no one going to judge you for wringing the life out of their necks, but I have mad respect for your choice. And I’m sorry I had to play tough cop with your ass, but we have a prisoner in here that needs to believe I’m as dirty as Ferguson and Diaz.”

I think my jaw might actually hit the floor. Burbank is one of the good guys and is undercover. I’m guessing the prisoner he’s referring to is Bugano. The man I’ve heard various rumors about being some kind of evil genius. They must be trying to gain his trust so they can get information out of him. Damn. I thought for sure Burbank was running game on TJ and his girl in the visitation room earlier. But apparently, he was just playing a part. If he ever needed a career change, he’d make a damn good method actor.

“Ryker is on his way in, and as soon as he hands off those two fuckers, he’ll give you a ride to wherever you want to go.”

Hold the fucking phone. They’re just going to let me go? Tonight? I thought there was a procedure to this. “Doesn’t a judge have to pronounce me innocent?” I ask. “Isn’t there going to be a trial to review the footage in front of a jury?”

The warden shakes his head. “Not going to be necessary. We have some pretty powerful people in our court and they’ve already signed off, expunging your record, and filing the necessary paperwork to get you compensated for the crimes made against you. And when the media gets notified, they’ll be under the impression that everything was done by the book and you won the lawsuit against the men who wronged you.”

Holy fucking shit. They’re working the damn system too. Just like the shady cops. Only…in this case, it’s for the right side of the law. Can’t say I’m too upset by the fact that the men in this room are as dirty as Ferguson and Diaz.

“There’s one last thing I need to share.” His voice drops low, eyes looking like he doesn’t want to share this next part. My stomach sinks, waiting for the “BUT” to come.

“When we dug into the officers’ bank accounts,” he says. “We found that both men had received sizable payments the day before your attack. Then another of equal amount on the day of. Smaller payments were also made on both days you had your parole hearings. All coming from the same offshore account.”

My gut twists tight. This is the moment of truth I was waiting for. “Also traced payments from the same account to the judge who presided over your case, and to all the members of the parole board.” Motherfucker . “We knew it wasn’t a coincidence so we dug real deep, sending a guy into the bank, and found out who owns the account.” He shifts in his seat, looking uncomfortable about what he’s about to reveal, but I already know who it is.

“Let me guess: my dad?”

“Sure as fuck was.” He shakes his head on a sigh. “Any chance you know the reason why?”

I didn’t at first. But once I realized that my dad had taken over my trust, I had an attorney get me a copy of my grandfather’s will. And written in it was a clause that if I was ever arrested and charged for a crime, my trust and all the assets left to me were to transfer to my father. Lloyd, the man I once looked up to, set me up. The madness of his greed finally took over and turned him into a complete monster.

Once I get out of here and set my plan into motion, he’s going to learn exactly what it’s like to fall from his mighty throne. He’s going to find out what happens to men who care more about money than their own blood. And then—he’s going to get the joy of experiencing life behind bars. He’ll know exactly what I’ve been through over these last six years. Only, it’s not going to be as easy for him because he’s puny and arrogant, and those two traits get you into trouble in here.

“Ten million dollars and company shares,” I answer the warden’s question. “My grandfather’s will stated that my father would get all of my inheritance if I ever went to prison.” Gramps was worried my dad’s wife would spend every dime, so he gave the majority of the fortune he built to his responsible grandson. But if I turned out to be irresponsible and commit a crime, then everything would revert to my father’s control. And dear old dad, apparently, needed another ten million to add to his vast fortune. In truth, I think he was bitter over my grandfather’s decision.

“Greedy bastard,” the warden grits out, his fists clenched on his desk. “Well, just so you know, we’ll be bringing him in as soon as he returns from Barbados. In the meantime, we’re going to hold off on the media announcement. So that means you need to lay low until we get your father into custody. We don’t want him making a run for it.”

I can’t help but smile. That won’t be a problem. I’ll be locked in bed with my girl, making up for six years of sexual deprivation, so they can take all the time they need before releasing the news. I wonder what dear old dad is going to think when he gets back from his island getaway and finds his entire world turned upside down. Can’t wait to see his face as they haul his ass away to the slammer. I also can’t wait to see my girl’s face when I show up on her doorstep.

The warden starts giving me the rundown of how I should handle the reporters when the news finally hits. Once we’re done going over all the details as to what happens next, the warden offers for me to use his private shower and gives me some of his clothes to change into. As soon as I’m dried and dressed, he informs me that it’s time to head out.

Have to say, until I see the prison in the rear window, I won’t believe this is happening. There’s still a tiny shred of doubt lingering in my tainted head that this is still all part of a grand prank and they’ll be leading my ass back to my cell once we leave this room.

But once we’re past the two security checkpoints, they’re leading me out of the prison’s front entrance and right down to a cruiser that’s just pulling up. When I see the prisoner sitting in the back, the fear starts to truly recede. Ferguson looks like he’s had the shit kicked out of him, and he’s looking at me in horror. Now he’s the one scared shitless.

The officer, who I’m assuming is Ryker, climbs out of the vehicle and heads straight to me.

“Brought you a present, son,” he says, holding out his hand for me to shake.

I take his palm and pull him right in for a hug. “Thank you,” I say, emotion gripping me hard. “I’ll forever be in your debt.”

He gives me a pound on my back, then pulls away. “You don’t owe me a damn thing.” He shakes his head. “Wish like hell I could give you the last six years of your life back. What I can give you is the assurance that everyone involved in your case is going to pay for their crimes against you.”

And my prayers have finally been answered . I was never a religious man before being tossed into hell, but once inside, I prayed for justice to be served and for the truth to prevail. And God has finally answered my prayers.

Ryker has become not only my savior but my hero. I once looked up to my father, the proud son, wanting to follow in his footsteps, to be just like him. Now, I hope I can follow in Ryker’s footsteps and fix this crooked system. Bringing justice to those who deserve it.

“Where is Diaz?” the warden asks, stepping up and shaking Ryker’s hand.

Ryker’s smirk is as evil as the one Ferguson gave me in the courtroom. “He’s at the hospital. Went a couple of extra rounds on his ass because of what he did to my girl. Ended up putting him in a coma, but Doc said he’ll be just fine in a couple days.”

The pleasure he’s taking in that knowledge almost has me feeling sorry for Diaz. It sounds like his fate when he wakes up will be much worse than a broken body. And I’m figuring that Diaz was the one stalking Rowan. Motherfucker isn’t just crooked but sick.

“Bentley and Carter are stationed inside the hospital,” Ryker states. “And Traeger and his men are keeping an eye out on all the other shit sticks, making sure they don’t get tipped off and run before we bring them in.”

Damn, how many men do they have working this case?

He turns toward me. “Did you get the rundown on your dad?” I nod. “We’re going to be staked outside of his house and bring him in the second he arrives home. Now, are you ready to get the fuck out of here?”

The only thing I want more than my freedom is my girl in my arms. “Hell yeah, I am.”

The warden pulls Ferguson out of the cruiser, jerking him around to face me. “Got anything to say for yourself?” He spits in the bastard’s face.

“I needed the money,” Ferguson whines, like that’s a fucking excuse for stealing an innocent man’s life. I had ten million dollars to my name. I would’ve given it all to him to spare me from hell. Doubt my dad even paid half a mill.

“How much did my father give you?” I ask, knowing I don’t want to know the answer, but needing to know at the same time.

“Fifty K,” Ferguson says and I knew I shouldn’t have asked. Motherfucker sold my soul to the devil for fifty thousand dollars.

The warden knocks him over the head. “Piece of shit. Hope all that time at that strip club was worth it because in here you’re going to be the one doing the stripping.”

Ryker and the warden both chuckle but I can’t find amusement in any of this. Ferguson’s fate on the inside is going to be far worse than mine. All the men they arrested will want their revenge, and justice will definitely be served tenfold. But I’m still having a hard time choking down the fact that six years of my life were stolen in exchange for fifty thousand dollars.

“Come on, Knox. Let’s get you out of here,” Ryker says, and I climb inside the car, watching as the prison fades in the far distance. Finding it easier to breathe, the closer we get to my girl.