Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 83394 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83394 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
All this was my fault.
“One more time. Let me try to see him one more time, and if he…if he doesn’t want me, I’ll go.”
Mouse gave me a sad smile.
We both knew there was no reason to hold out hope.
It was over.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Gage
“Hey…kid.”
I ignored Herbert, my cellmate. He was about sixty-five, with shaggy gray hair and a rough voice that sounded like he’d smoked two packs of cigarettes a day for forty years. He was in for murder, but I didn’t know the circumstances. I was sure if I asked, he’d say he was innocent, but I didn’t because I didn’t care.
I didn’t care about anything.
“Kid…you listen to me and you listen to me good. I know it sucks. I know it’s hard, but you need to get your shit together. You’re already marked by the guards because you’re a cop killer. The—”
“He was abusive! He made Joey’s life hell. He was going to kill him.”
“I don’t give a shit about that. And you should keep it to yourself. Right now, you have the respect of the inmates. You’re one of us because you’re not one of them, but you’re skating on thin ice. You’re not sitting around crying like a lot of newbies, but weakness seeps out of your pores, and pretty soon everyone is gonna get a whiff of it and things’ll be a whole lot harder for you, you hear me, kid?”
“What are you doing here? I told you I didn’t want to see you again. I told you I don’t want you anymore. I’m in here because of you!”
All the while wanting to tell him…
I love you, Jojo.
I’m sorry.
Don’t cry.
I want what’s best for you.
Why had he come? Why had Jojo come to see me again? He was supposed to be gone, supposed to be in Los Angeles. He was supposed to be happy. He deserved it.
“I don’t care. I just want to die.”
Herbert sighed. “You’re not careful, you’re gonna get that wish, Cop Killer.”
“Don’t call me that,” I snapped. I didn’t want to be a killer, but I was, wasn’t I? That was the only thing that mattered. I’d picked up a bat, swung it at someone’s head, killed them. For the rest of my life, I’d be a murderer.
“It’s what’s gonna save your ass.”
Anger bubbled inside me. Couldn’t he just leave me alone? “Who did you kill, huh? Or are you just some sob story who says he’s innocent when we all know he’s not?” I wanted to punish him, but I knew my words were weak. It was proven when he laughed at me.
“I killed two people, kid, and I’d do it again.” He jumped down from his bunk above mine, sat on the edge of my bed. “You say the cop hurt that boy? One of the guys I took out liked to touch little girls. The other one…him I did for fun. It was a bad day. We are who we are. We can’t change our pasts. You take that regret you have, that part of you that still thinks the world is filled with flowers and butterflies, and you kill it before it gets you killed. Now you live off the anger. Let it steel you. Let it guard you from any kind of hope or the love you feel for that pretty guy who came to see you—”
I lunged at him then, wrapped my hand around his throat. “Don’t you fucking talk about him! You leave him out of it.”
Herbert smiled, this wicked, awful smile that said this was fun to him. “There we go. Knew ya had it in ya. Me and you, we’re gonna be fine, Killer Kid. You stick with me.”
He pulled away, got back on his bunk, and went to sleep.
The next day, some guys tried to grab me, but Herbert told them I was with him. Then I took a swing, landing it right on one of the guys’ jaw. Pain shot through my hand, but I ignored it.
Another inmate grabbed the one I punched and held him back. Our eyes locked, and I saw respect there. I’d passed some kind of test. I was with Herbert, and I also didn’t take shit.
Herbert put a hand on my shoulder. “Good job, Killer Kid.”
When we walked away, he asked softly, “How’s your hand?”
“Fine.”
“I was right about you. You’re definitely gonna be okay.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Joey
Return to sender—from Sacramento back to LA.
I threw it away like I did the rest of them. I didn’t know why I still tried. Why I cared.
Gage didn’t want me.
Even if he wanted to read the letters, he might struggle with them. Who would he get to help him read while he was in prison?
He doesn’t need help reading in there.
“Joey! You up?” Mouse called out to me. For the past year, I’d shared a three-bedroom apartment with her and Romeo, which we could only afford with his help. She still sneaked in and out of his bedroom, never willing to stay the whole night, always pretending it didn’t mean anything.