14. Kareem
Kareem
M arch Twentieth—Day Seventy-Five
My cell was dark and still as a corpse in the dead of night.
I’d been drifting in and out of sleep, dreaming about Sawyer.
Then, my eyes snapped open to the sound of alarms blaring inside the prison.
The alarms screamed as red strobes painted the walls like blood on the battlefield.
I was on my feet before my brain had sense enough to catch up, heart thudding like a Cherokee drum in my chest as I snatched the burner phone from the vent. There was one bar left on the battery.
I pulled off my shirt and wrapped my wrists, preparing for whatever was to come. Something was going down. I crouched low in the dark, my back against the wall, listening as I kept my eyes on the door. Then, the phone vibrated.
Unknown Number: Laundry shoot. Get ready to go.
My breath caught in my chest as I typed back quickly.
Me: Bet.
Shit got real when I heard the click of my cell door sliding open. It wasn’t just mine—all of the cells on my block had been unlocked. Dozens of niggas spilled out of their cells like field mice in the winter, some stumbling out confused, some ready to fuck some shit up.
The COs shouted, dressed in full riot gear and shooting out rubber bullets like T-shirts at a high school football game.
Their radios crackled for backup, but it was already too late.
The toothpaste couldn’t be put back in the tube.
Their systems had been breached, and it was a fuckin’ free-for-all.
I didn’t hesitate to tuck the burner into my waistband, relying solely on instinct.
I moved quickly, making sure to go in the opposite direction of the chaos.
I was headed toward the laundry room just like the message instructed.
Tear gas started to fill the air. I stayed low, trying to shield my eyes and nose.
Everyone was yelling. Some niggas were bleeding.
But I didn’t stop, and I damn sure didn’t fuckin’ look back.
I reached the laundry room and went through the industrial-sized shoot as instructed.
From there, I reached the outer yard. The wired fence had been strategically cut on the side—like someone had planned it.
I pushed through, tearing my uniform pants at the ankle and slicing the back of my shoulder, but I didn’t give a fuck.
And then I saw it—a parked black SUV with Kadeem in the driver’s seat, wearing a hoodie over his head.
Same eyes as me—same fire in his bones. Our eyes locked, and I raced toward the vehicle.
I sprinted the last stretch, my heart rattling in its cage, and lungs pumping hard.
I yanked open the passenger side door and dove in.
The wheels on the SUV screeched as we peeled off into the night.
Kadeem looked over at me and nodded once before tossing me a hoodie to help conceal my identity.
No words were spoken—just a silent understanding as the speedometer rose beyond the speed limit and the prison sirens faded behind us.
I looked in the rearview, breath stinging as my ribs rose and fell in a rapid rhythm as I watched the prison shrivel into darkness.
Then my twin spoke the only words I needed to hear. “Welcome home, nigga. Let’s get you to your girl.”
I didn’t respond, just kept my gaze fixed out the window, grateful as fuck that my blood ties had pulled me to freedom before the birth of my daughter.
After we’d put a safe enough distance between us and the prison, Kadeem pulled off the highway into a quiet lot with only a few parked cars. He killed the engine before popping open the glove box. Inside was a gun and keys to a second car stationed nearby with out-of-state plates.
“This one’s clean,” Kadeem insisted. “Jacksonville is about an hour out. You drive. I’ll follow for a bit, then split. Keep the phone on you if you need to reach me.”
“Where you headed?”
“Atlanta. You can’t be the only one of us doing right by our kids.”
He handed me the keys, and I dapped him up. “Love you, twin.”
“Love you too,” he replied.
I hopped out with complete confidence in my twin and the muscle memory of survival. I dipped my chin in his direction after starting the engine and seeing there was a full tank of gas and some folded clothes in the passenger seat. With my hands on the wheel, I drove off.
An hour later, I was parked outside Sawyer’s apartment. It was still dark out, but the birds were starting to do their early morning stir. I killed the engine, resting in the silence of the car for a moment before changing my clothes.
Before I knew it, I was standing at her door, hoodie hung low over my head, as I drew in quick, low breaths.
I hadn’t laid eyes on her in months, not since the courtroom.
My hand slowly raised to knock, and my knuckles tapped three times.
I heard the muffling of low growls and barking on the other side before the door eased open.
There she was—Sawyer in all of her third-trimester glory.
Shawty was breathtaking, even with crust in her eyes and her bonnet on crooked. Her belly was round like a full moon.
She expelled a loud gasp before slapping her hand over her mouth. “K-Kareem? Oh . . . my God.”
As much as I wanted to say something . .
. anything, I couldn’t force my lips to speak.
All I could do was stare into her wide, brown eyes.
Shawty was so fuckin’ beautiful. The memories I’d been holding onto over the past few months didn’t do her justice.
Before I managed to speak, she drew in a sharp, audible breath as a splash of water hit the floor underneath her.
She gripped the doorknob. “Oh shit.”
“What?”
Sawyer looked down at the floor before looking back up at me with her eyes wide as saucers. “My water just broke.”