Chapter Ten
Wesley
“Well, well, look what the pigs dragged in. If it isn’t Wesley fucking Dover, the Sheriff’s little fuck up.”
I know that voice. I know it too damn well.
My eyes snap up to see JP, the same kid that tried to terrorize me in juvie, waltzing up to me with his chest puffed out, that mocha colored skin now covered in tattoos from head to toe.
He’s a lot bigger now, muscles eating muscles, his hair braided close to his head.
There’s a scar above his left eyebrow, one that stretches all the way down to his cheek, and his left eye looks cloudy, like he’s lost some vision in it.
“JP, how are you? It’s been a long time.”
He cracks his knuckles. “I don’t see your usual posse with you. What’s the matter, Dover? They ditch ya?”
My friends would never ditch me on purpose, and he knows it. “Prison isn’t a good look for you, JP.”
His mouth pulls into a sneer. “Keep it up, Dover, and you won’t make it to your court date.” Four guys step up behind him, all of them pounding their fists into their palms like five against one is the fairest odds ever.
“Inmate Brown, that’s enough!” a correctional officer barks, stepping out from where he was standing against the wall.
I’ve been to actual jail twice before this. Every time I’ve gotten out after a few months, or spent a couple nights locked up before being released. This feels different.
“I’ll be seeing you around, Dover. Might want to sleep with one eye open.”
He and his posse move away from me, allowing me to eat my breakfast in peace.
At least for the most part. A strange guy sits a few seats down from me, building some kind of sculpture out of his oatmeal and bacon.
He looks up, grins, showing off an empty mouth of teeth, then goes back to sculpting.
“I’m Picasso,” he says to his plate of food.
Someone slaps me on the back and takes a seat next to me. It’s a guy I remember from the last time I was locked up in Parr. “I knew I’d see you back here eventually,” Mack exclaims, lifting an eyebrow at Picasso a few seats down. “Didn’t I tell you to stay away from this place?”
I nod, relaxing a bit when I realize I do have friends here.
Mack was one of the few guys I hung out with the last time I got locked up.
They caught me boosting a Ferrari and gave me a year.
My dad talked them down to two months and eight months of probation, but that was only because the judge owed him a favor. That won’t work too well now.
“It’s good to see a familiar face,” I mumble between miserable bites. The food here has always been awful.
He nods. “What brings you in this time?”
My Spork picks at my bowl of oatmeal, and I groan. “I guess attempted murder.”
Mack whistles. “Fuck, man. How’d you go from boosting cars to attempted murder?”
This oatmeal tastes like my future. Bleak. Bland. Ready to sit in a hole and die. There’s no way a judge is going to let me go this time, not with this track record.
“Met a girl, a guy tried to touch her, so I rearranged his face.”
Mack’s smile elongates, showing off a gold tooth that wasn’t there before. “Sounds like a pretty special girl.”
A laugh bubbles out of my throat. “Honestly, she fucking hates me. Loathes everything about my existence.” There’s a long pause before I briefly look up to meet his gaze. “But I’d do anything to protect her.”
He slaps me on the back. “Ah, one of those girls. I get ya. I have one of those myself. Her name is Melanie. We’ve been off and on for years, but no matter what, I’d do anything for her.”
“I’ve never dated mine before, though I would love to. She’s just a girl that I’ve become rather attached to. Her hatred towards me only makes me want her more.”
Mack’s eyes snap to the table where JP and his goons have removed the poor guy sitting there and commandeered it. “You need to be careful of him, Wesley. He’s not the same guy you met in juvie.”
“What’s he in for?”
His voice lowers so only I can hear. “Murder. Two counts. Killed his girlfriend and her lover mid fuck. You know, once a man has tasted blood, it becomes an addiction.”
The heat of JP’s glare can be felt from across the room.
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
“You think your dad’s going to bail you out again?”
I shake my head. “Nope, this time he’s going to make me serve my time and learn my lesson, so to speak.”
“Well, don’t think you’re alone in here, okay? As long as you’re in Parr, me and the others have your back.” He motions to a table nearby where six men are sitting and eating their breakfast. Behind these walls, there’s safety in numbers.
My anxiety eases just a tad. “Thanks.”
He smiles. “The Brotherhood will always be here for you. Now come and sit with us. Picasso has been known to throw food if his art doesn’t manipulate in just the right way.”
As if on cue, the strange man with green hair smashes his fist into his oatmeal, making it fly everywhere, narrowly missing me.
“See what I mean? Come on, Wes, you’ll always have a home with the Brotherhood.”
But I wasn’t safe.
Not from JP. Not from anyone.
It only took a night before they had me alone, cornered, and outnumbered.
“Did you think the Brotherhood would protect you in here?” JP barks, suddenly appearing in my cell.
Where’s the guards?
The other prisoners?
I sit up on the bed a little straighter, noticing that my cellmate is also not in his bed.
“It doesn’t take much here,” JP continues, strolling into the room. “Money makes people look the other way.”
He smashes his hand against his fist, smirking. There are five of them and only one of me.
“Remember when you used to run your mouth and thought you were invincible? Well, hate to break it to you, asshole. In here, I’m God. I make the rules. And that smile of yours, the one that makes my skin fucking crawl, needs to be wiped off your face.”
“Man, when you hold grudges, JP, you hold them. Are you really going to beat my ass over something that happened in juvie?”
He smirks. “We’re going to show you just how protected you are in here, Dover. Grab him.”
One of the guys goes to grab my arms, and I swing, nailing him in the jaw. The other manages to grab my hand, but I knee him quickly in the balls, bringing him to his knees. Thank God my father taught me how to fight and defend myself, otherwise I’d be dead in the water.
I’m so distracted by the two trying to grab me that I don’t see JP’s punch until it’s too late. His fist connects with my eye, ringing my bell so hard that I drop to my knees.
I’m on my feet within seconds, throwing punch after punch, nailing him a few good times before I’m attacked from behind and thrown to the ground.
The knees and kicks come next, each one harder than the first. Something inside me breaks.
An arm? A rib? JP’s big, massive body pins me to the ground, his fists flying faster than I can keep up with.
Blood gushes from my lip as JP lands a few more hard punches, seconds before the alarms start to ring.
That’s when all hell breaks loose.
Guards swarm my cell, and it takes six of them to pull JP off me. His goons flee the second the alarms go off, but they don’t make it far because they’re thrown against the bars of nearby cells and detained, while the other guards hold back JP.
“That’s it, Jackson,” one of the guards snarls. “We warned you what would happen if you got caught jumping other inmates again. You just sealed your fate.”
There’s a wild, murderous gaze in JP’s eyes, staring me down like he’s about to rip my face off. He lunges at me again, but the guard’s hold him back.
“It’s solitary for you until we transfer you,” the tallest guard states, pushing him out of the room.
“I’m going to kill you, Dover. Mark my words. The next time you and I see each other, you’re dead!”
You can hear him still screaming as they march him down the hall.
“He can’t touch you where he’s going,” a CO with a protruding mustache remarks. “Not sure what you did to him, but he definitely did a number on you.”
Pain ricochets through my side, and I howl out, knowing something’s broken.
The guard holds me steady. “Come on, let’s get you to Medical. If I have to guess, they’re going to take you straight to the hospital.”
He leads me past the other inmate’s cells.
The Brotherhood won’t even look me in the eye, especially Mack. Somehow, JP got to them, and whatever protection they promised has now been redacted.
If I’m going to survive prison, I’m going to have to take care of my own damn self.
(Monday Morning)
My hearing proceeds almost exactly as expected.
Thanks to my father, I have a fucking amazing lawyer standing beside me as I face the bench, while the district attorney sits at the prosecution’s table, looking far too confident for my liking as he sifts through his paperwork, trying to seem important.
He’s not. He’s new to the District Attorney’s office and has very little experience, according to my attorney, Mr. Handler.
“All rise. Court is now in session. The Honorable Judge Mitchell presiding.”
My ribs ache as I rise to my feet with everyone else, watching the judge enter the room and take his seat.
He regards me with the same familiar expression he always wears when I appear before him…
restrained patience mixed with disappointment.
He and my father are good friends, and the fact that I’m continuously standing in front of his bench makes him agitated.
Glancing over my shoulder, I briefly catch my father’s hardened gaze.
He’s sitting toward the back of the building, remaining silent, judging me from afar.
“Mr. Dover,” Judge Mitchell begins, reviewing the file in front of him, “we meet again. It seems my previous warnings didn’t have the desired effect they should have, and you’re escalating.” His eyes lift, settling briefly on my bruised face. “Are those injuries from the altercation in question.?”
Before I can answer, my attorney rises.