Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 136731 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 684(@200wpm)___ 547(@250wpm)___ 456(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136731 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 684(@200wpm)___ 547(@250wpm)___ 456(@300wpm)
The older boy had a hold of the young’un in a loose headlock. The kid struggled aimlessly, his face turning a deep red as he growled and fought, and I called out, jerking my chin to the tank, “Yo, Johnny. The kid’s new. Give him a break. He doesn’t know the way of things.”
Johnny, the older kid, turned angry eyes on me at being spoken to in such a familiar way, but realizing whom he was talking to, his gaze held a glint of respect. “I won’t hurt him too bad.” He looked around to his friends, a cruel grin stretching at his lips. “Teeth grow back, don’t they?”
His group of cronies laughed and heckled obediently.
I stepped closer to the struggling boy but kept my eyes on Johnny. “You took the ball. He got pissed. You made fun of him. It’s done. Now”—my tone was calm but firm—“let him go.”
Johnny’s face turned purple with rage, and just as he opened his mouth to speak, the little shit in his grasp opened his mouth and spoke through gritted teeth. “Fuck you. I don’t need your help, nigger. Go back to the plantation and pick your cotton, boy.”
The fuck he say to me?
The goddamn nerve.
“What did you say to me?” The vein in my temple pulsed, and my heart began to race as this boy picked up the thread and pulled, unleashing anger I’d long since hidden from the world.
Johnny and his friends laughed loudly, shocked at the kid’s outburst. The kid had gained a small amount of respect in their eyes, enough for Johnny to let him out from the headlock.
I stepped closer to the boy, almost nose to nose, glared at him and warned, “You better watch your fucking mouth—” I grinned viciously. “—boy.”
But the kid stood tall, his smile more a snarl. “Make me.”
He was quick. Too quick for me to react, and before I could register what had happened, I was falling backward onto the basketball court, my eye throbbing like a bitch.
The lanky fuck punched me.
The moment I landed on my ass, I lunged at him, and although he had time to move out of the way, he didn’t. It was as though he welcomed the fight, wanting, needing the violence that ensued. We rolled, and I sat on his stomach, rearing back and letting loose. I threw my fists into him at an alarming pace, his face being knocked to the side with every blow. A weaker boy could’ve died, would’ve died. But not this one.
No. This one laughed manically, his teeth stained red.
We were broken up after only seconds, but the damage was done. We wore our battle scars. My black eye, his broken nose and split lip. At feeding time, he sat on his own in a corner, but he watched me as I watched him.
For a moment, I hated him. He evoked the monster in me, the demon we all had inside of us. But he didn’t bother hiding his demon. He danced with it. He wanted to feed it, nourish it, bring it to the forefront.
I wanted to kill him. There was something wrong with the kid, unnatural. He had a poison in him. Like a rabid dog, he needed to be put down.
And I planned on doing just that.
Lights out came and went, and I waited in the dark. He was three cells away from mine. My mind calculated how I’d do this. I had to be quick.
I didn’t care about what they did to me. I was already in for murder, and my sister was likely dead. I had nothing, no one. I was empty inside.
Six a.m. came, and lockdown was lifted. The cells unlocked then slid open with a jarring squeal, and gripping the makeshift shiv in my hand, I moved fast, determined.
He lay on the cot with an arm thrown over his swollen eyes. I swooped in, kneeled by his side, gripped his shirt and pushed the shiv close to the skin at his throat. Chest heaving, I pressed my mouth to his ear, and hissed, “You ready to die, baby boy? Don’t worry. I’ll make it quick.”
His body stiffened at my hands on him, but he forced himself to relax, and when he uncovered his face and turned to look at me, I saw something flash in his cold brown eyes.
Acceptance. Resignation.
He blinked at me before turning his gaze up to the dirty ceiling. “Do it already.”
The fight had left him. And what was worse, it seemed as though he welcomed death.
What the hell am I doing?
I had killed once in an uncontrolled fury. I did it because I was angry, my sister was hurt, and she needed protection regardless of the cost. I looked at myself, deep inside, and asked myself if I could do that again. It would be worse this time around, aimless and for naught.