20. Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty
Griffin’s Beach Beckett
I t’s been days, maybe even a week, since Beckett and Brock broke into Ramsey’s house, and they have yet to see in the inside of a courtroom. Or Lily.
Is this the country I served for? Almost died for a couple of times to protect? I’m a damned veteran, and this is how they treat me?
It strikes Beckett as strange that he has his own cell. He’d have bet money that he’d have a cellmate. Maybe even Brock. But the truth is, he hasn’t even seen Brock since the night at the police station before they were brought directly here.
I’m wearing an orange jumpsuit behind bars and eating food barely edible for a dog to consume. Clearly, I underestimated this Ramsey asshole.
At night, two things bother him more than anything else.
The first is that he got Brock into this mess, and Brock voiced his opinion that the plan wasn’t good enough each step of the way.
But Beckett just wouldn’t listen. The second is not knowing how Shannon is.
There’s no contact with the outside world, and he doesn’t know if anyone even knows where they are right now.
As a veteran, he knows better than to defy his superiors. He never would have gone off-grid while on active duty and tried to accomplish a task without his superiors knowing about it and signing off on it. Because of that, he has no idea if Shannon is still safe or not.
My plan was stupid. Shortsighted and rash. I fucking know better, and it’s not just myself in this mess. But worse, I have no idea how the fuck to get us out of it.
“Cohen, let’s go,” a gruff guard he’s come to know as Bill says as his cell door opens.
Brock waits with another guard he’s not familiar with, and they’re brought into a small room where Lily waits for them.
“Thank God, you’re both still alive,” Lily says. “If you ever get out of here, just know, the club is probably going to kill you.”
Beckett hasn’t has much interaction with Lily, but he’s aware she’s their lawyer. And a daughter of an Original Ten married to a member. Much like Lex. He just hopes she’s as good as everyone says she is in a courtroom.
“What the hell is going on, Lily?” Brock asks. “Why’d we skip the arraignment? And why is this the first time in a week we’re talking to you?”
“Because you two idiots went off on your own and pissed off a man your father-in-law warned you about,” she snaps at him. “I’m doing everything I can, but Ramsey owns fucking everyone. What were you two thinking?”
Looking at Brock’s pale face, it finally registers with Beckett just how fucked they are. “What are you saying, Lily? Explain it to me like I’m five.”
“Okay, I worked with the DA because he’s new, and Ramsey hasn’t been able to get anything on him yet. We worked out a plea deal, but Ramsey owns the judge. It was denied before we could get a date on the docket.”
“So, when’s the trial then?” Brock asks.
Licking her lips, she shakes her head. “There’s no date set. Jennings called in favors to get you protection inside because we don’t know what Ramsey’s plan is for the two of you yet. But there’s a solid chance that he’s… That he’s planning to have you both die in here.”
“What?” Beckett asks, nearly jumping from his seat. Guilt washes over him like a tidal wave at getting Brock pulled into this now.
“I got a trial date on the docket after a loud hissy-fit, but it was canceled with a note that it would need to be rescheduled by the time I got back to my office. No one I come across will go up against this guy.”
Brock leans back and lets out a long breath. “So… what you’re saying is that we’re fucked.”
“Right now, yeah. Brock, you know better than to do something like this without the club. Seriously, this was the dumbest decision you could have made. I mean… besides breaking into the house of the most powerful man in the state.”
The guilt keeps Beckett from being able to look at Brock. He’s not really even part of this. He’s just collateral damage, and it’s something Beckett’s never been good at accepting.
“Brock wanted to take it to the club, but I wanted to do this quietly. It’s on me, Lily. Please make sure they know that. And if Ramsey wants to fuck someone, put it all on me.”
“How’s Summer?” Brock asks. “How’s she holding up?”
Shaking her head, she looks at the table. “Scared. Pissed. Terrified. Worried her husband will never get to see their daughter grow up.”
More guilt, and it’s worse when Brock hangs his head. “Tell her I’m sorry, Lily. I’m sorry, and I love her. And Marie.”
“Time’s up,” Bill barks as he walks into the room.
“I’m conferring with my clients. You can’t just cut it short,” Lily says.
“Yeah? Watch me, lady. Up, you two, or I’m going to make sure you’re permanently sitting.”
Beckett follows Brock’s lead and stands. He’s never been in this situation before unless he counts the time he was kidnapped and held hostage in Iran for two months. Even his captors were friendlier than the guards here.
Lily stands and places her hands on the table. “I’ll do what I can. And I’ll get this guy’s name. He’ll regret this.”
“The hell I will,” Bill barks back but smiles at her. “Unless regret comes in the form of your skirt up around those hips after I’ve shoved my cock between those luscious tits and fucked that mouth.”
The cuffs Beckett’s in saves Bill from lying flat on the ground. Apparently, all of his years of taking orders from assholes hasn’t prepared him to push down his willingness to hurt anyone for disrespecting a woman.
He decides right then that he’ll learn everything he can about Bill, and when he gets out—something he chooses to believe rather than entertain the idea of spending his final days in this hellhole—he will find him.
Not only that, he’ll bring Phoenix with him to give this man a taste of what happens when you disrespect women.
Especially Drifter women. And then he’ll make sure Bill ends up sitting permanently.
Rather than being brought back to their cells, the two men find themselves outside in the yard, and Beckett’s internal danger radar goes off. Where the fuck was this when we got ourselves into this mess?
“What are we doing? We haven’t gotten yard time since we were tossed in here without due process.”
“Special accommodations for you two,” Bill says, an evil smile on his face.
Only five men sit in at a table in the yard. They’re waiting for them, and Brock turns his head towards Beckett while never taking his eyes off their enemies. “Two have knives.”
“Not shivs?”
“No, full knives. Must be the favor called in by our buddy.”
What the hell did he get them into? The group stands and advances towards them. Beckett will be damned if he lets anyone kill Brock over his mistake, and he sizes up each of them.
“There are people in this place loyal to the Drifters, and if you kill one of us, it’ll be the end of you. A painful end,” Brock says.
“Yeah? We got friends in higher places,” says the one who appears to be the leader of this sad little gang.
“How high of a place can he be in if he leaves you in prison? Shouldn’t a friend like that get you… I don’t know. Out of here?”
He laughs. “I don’t give a shit who calls the order. The warden is the one who tells me what to do, and he’s as high up as they come in this place. I get rewarded well for doing what he asks.”
“Oh, so you’re the warden’s bitch boy. I bet everyone else inside would love to know you’re a snitch,” Brock says.
The exchange feels strange. Wrong. Why is Brock bringing the attention onto him when he should be trying to defuse the situation? Especially when they have knives.
A fist flies at Beckett’s face, and he dodges to miss it. Fight or flight has always had him swinging before running, even when fleeing was the better of the two choices. And he knows without a doubt none of these guys have the training he’s had. They have no idea what he’s capable of doing.
Kicking the man in the knee, he knocks him to the ground as a man runs with the knife outstretched. He grabs his wrist, breaking it, and takes the knife to threaten the first attacker. Instead of getting up, he crawls away with a broken wrist and settles some way behind him to lick his wounds.
Yeah, retreat, motherfucker.
The other three attack Brock, pulling him away from Beckett. To his credit, he holds his own. Until he cries out in pain that has Beckett kicking it into high gear and rushes towards their enemy.
“That went in just like butter,” the leader says with a sneer.
Dropping the knife, Beckett grabs the man and punches him so hard, his skull breaks a knuckle on Beckett’s hand. At least he knows the asshole’s cheekbone is broken, too. He’s rewarded with the sight of the leader’s eye drooping before he falls to the ground.
“He fucking stabbed me,” Brock says, pushing a man off of him.
Beckett takes the guy reaching for the knife in Brock’s side and picks him up before slamming him onto the cement pad they’re standing on.
A poor makeshift basketball court with no netting on the hoops.
Instead of bouncing like wrestlers do when they’re body-slammed on TV, this guy gives only a tiny rebound, which makes Beckett smile.
The fifth and final guy thinks he can take out the man who just destroyed his buddies, but Beckett stops him with a swift kick to his throat. He flies backwards as he gasps for air and clutches at his neck.
Guards finally rush out to them, and Bill looks almost terrified. Good, motherfucker. You should be scared.
“What the hell are you doing out here?” a new guard asks. Tony, he thinks is the guy’s name.
Pointing at Bill, he nods his head. “Ask him. He took us out here and supplied two of them with knives. A hit on us from the warden, according to their ringleader. He probably won’t be too happy when he learns five men couldn’t take out two, huh?”
Tony turns to the floundering guard. “Bill, get the fuck inside. Hank, get this one to the infirmary. The rest of them can get treated in solitary. You, too, Cohen.”
He doesn’t fight the decision. He did just take out the five men the warden views tough enough to take out a couple of bikers.
“I’ll watch out for him,” Tony says, his voice quiet, as he puts Beckett into riot straps. “You’re Drifters, right?”
He just nods as the leader stands up. “No, he doesn’t get to leave here with nothing broken!”
Lunging towards them, Tony reaches for his baton, but Beckett gives him a solid kick to the chest and lays him down flat. “Fucking idiot. Too stupid to know when you’ve been beaten. Sit down and shut up.”
These guys and Bill may be in the warden’s pocket, but it doesn’t appear that Tony is, too. And based on the math, it’s best to have an alliance with the guards over the warden.
The warden’s only here forty hours a week, and he doesn’t live in the house on the grounds from what Beckett’s overheard in the cells around him at night.
That leaves a hundred and twenty-eight hours every week with only the guards and the prisoners.
A lot can happen outside those forty hours clocked by the man in charge.
“It’s mostly superficial,” Brock says as Hank helps walk him towards the building. “I’ll be fine with a few stitches.”
“Change of plans, Hank. I’ll take Bradshaw to make sure he makes it back to his cell safe. Then I’ll be down to check on Cohen in solitary,” Tony says. “Slow and easy now.”
Tony’s Beckett’s best bet to find a way to get out of here.
To get a plan in place. He seems to respect the Drifters, and he might be willing to make them a deal.
On the outside, Beckett will do just about anything necessary if he can help them in here.
Now, he just needs to figure out a damned plan.