Part 6 (2/2)

”I HAVE A MESSAGE FOR YOU,” Angelo Javi announced when he walked into shower room, flanked by his goons. ”From JD Dennis.”

”Tell that a.s.shole that if he wants me I'm right here,” I shot back, not taking my eyes off him. Anxiety churned inside me as I watched them approach. My hands balled into fists on their own accord. ”Come and f.u.c.king do his own dirty work.”

”He wants you to know that he hasn't forgotten about you,” he taunted, closing the gap between us, surrounding me. ”He wants you to know that if it takes him all the days of his life, he will find a way to make you pay for what you did.”

”Like I said,” I snarled. ”You can tell that piece of s.h.i.+t that I'm right f.u.c.king here, Chico.”

”This is for my brother,” Javi hissed seconds before ramming the blade into my side. Collapsing on the ground, I fought to drag air into my lungs as his two little helpers held me down. ”And consider this a little sample,” he added before stabbing me again, ”of what you have to look forward to on the outside if you live long enough to make it out of here.”

Crouching down beside me, Javi slapped a folded up piece of paper on my chest and smirked. ”Your fate is sealed, Messina.”

Laying on my bunk hours later, st.i.tched up and bandaged, I was still clutching the note smeared with my own blood. As I held the piece of paper in front of my face, I wasn't dumb enough that I couldn't make out what the two words were or what they meant.

I'm coming.

It was inevitable that JD would try and get me for my part in the Ring of Fire being taken down. A criminal mob prince was bound to have contacts in low places, and Angelo Javi was the perfect messenger boy because he wanted the same thing JD wanted.

My blood.

To be honest, I didn't blame Angelo Javi for stabbing me. His brother spent six months p.i.s.sing through a tube because of me, and I wasn't even badly hurt just a couple of nicks in the side less than two inches deep. In a sick way I could respect the man for what he'd done. If the shoe was on the other foot, and he had done what I did to Low, Cam, or Colt, I would have reacted exactly the same. Except I would have done a better f.u.c.king job than he had. I would have put him in a body bag.

But I would be a liar if I said JD's note didn't unsettle me, and I would be an absolute fool to believe the guy didn't blame me for his father's death and the demise of their family business. JD was weak now but he wouldn't always be and knowing he was out there somewhere made me, for the first time, thank G.o.d that Thorn was an ocean away.

I might not be free of him, but she was, and that was music to my ears.

Thinking of Thorn caused the burning pain in my side to spread to my chest.

Deep down inside, I'd known she wouldn't come to me; she wouldn't call, and she wouldn't care. But there was this tiny glimmer of hope that wouldn't fade no matter how much time pa.s.sed, or how badly she let me down. She had burst into my world and thrown it upside down, ruining everything, and making it right all at once.

Disappointment bloomed inside of me. Getting stabbed was the sign I had been waiting for, and now I had to accept the fact that it was over.

She wasn't coming back.

She didn't want me.

My Thorn was gone.

And I was f.u.c.king hemorrhaging from the inside out.

THERE WEREN'T MANY THINGS I had done in my lifetime that I regretted.

I was a live in the moment kind of person.

I was pa.s.sionate and let my emotions guide me through my life.

I didn't do regrets I never had.

But not going to Noah that night, leaving him alone to deal with his injuries, well, I regretted that.

I called the prison the night I found out, but that had proved fruitless. I wasn't told a d.a.m.n thing about him, which I had expected to happen anyway. I wanted to see him, no one would ever realize how badly I wanted to see that boy, but how could I show up after a year of no contact? And what if he refused to see me?

Oh G.o.d, my mind was a mess, obsessing and freaking out over the potential possibilities working myself up about conversations that hadn't taken place.

If he had just listened to me that night. If he had trusted me and come away with me then none of this would be happening now. He wouldn't have cheated, he wouldn't be in prison, and I wouldn't be driving myself out of my mind worrying about him.

But he didn't listen to me that night.

He didn't trust me.

And now I was stuck.

Trapped in his love.

Lost in my misery.

I couldn't get past it.

I NEVER HAD A STABLE HOME LIFE AS A KID.

My parents were a G.o.dd.a.m.n disaster and, in many ways, had steered me in the direction of prison life from the day I was born. Every bad thing I had ever done was both for and because of them. I had never really had a chance at normality.

I couldn't read for s.h.i.+t because I had missed a lot of school growing up. I wasn't even sent to a mainstream school until I was seven, and even then we had moved around so much I never really got a chance to settle down anywhere not that my folks gave a d.a.m.n about that.

They weren't concerned with what I could do with my mind, only what I could do with my fists. I remembered the first time I stood in a ring. I was six and up against a boy who was nine. That kid beat me so badly that I cried. I had quickly learned that showing weakness was a mistake and, after taking my beaten from my father, I had been tossed back into the ring and told fight or die.

Fight or die.

Three words that had been my bedtime prayers.

After that day I never cried again. I toughened up. I stopped feeling.

But I knew I had one reason to thank my parents.

Their f.u.c.ked-upness kept me clean.

Experiencing what I had growing up was the reason I was able to keep my head clear in this place. Drugs were as easy to come by as a gla.s.s of water, and I'd be a G.o.dd.a.m.n liar if I said I wasn't tempted.

f.u.c.k, I wanted to forget about s.h.i.+t, just like every other a.s.shole in this place, but I wanted to not be like my parents that much more.

So I used my best attribute and hit the weight room as hard as I could every spare chance I got; f.u.c.king working myself to the G.o.dd.a.m.n bone.

I accepted every fight I was challenged to in here, and I destroyed every single opponent. I was ruthless because I feared nothing, and I was unbeatable because I had nothing to lose.

Losing didn't matter to me.

Dying meant even less.

<script>