Chapter Five
ELIJAH
M y first week at Ogmore goes by quickly, days fading into a blur of boring routine.
Wake up.
Eat shit food.
Spend time in my cell.
Eat shit food.
Spend time in the yard or in the communal lounge.
Eat shit food.
Cold shower.
Spend time in the communal lounge or in my cell.
Bed.
I would kill for some of Rosie’s baking right now. Fuck, I’d even play nice and avoid antagonizing her while I sat and ate with her. Jules would laugh if he realized all it took for us to get along was a week with prison food.
I’m told I’ll be able to meet with my lawyer next week, and my commissary account and phone credit have finally been set up. No doubt the delays were intentional, but that makes me question just how deep into the sewage system my little rat is and who’s really pulling the strings here.
Settling in was easy. It was just like juvie, only the inmates were older and a little more vicious. Not that young offenders couldn’t be vicious, because I had seen some terrifying things in youth correctional, but adults have this lifetime of rage built up. All the disappointments that led them here. Every betrayal, every act of violence and every slight, were cataloged away until something on the inside tipped them over the edge into the abyss and then it was like a berserker being unleashed.
Prison was dangerous, a boiling pot, stirring up all that anger. The system treated us like animals—we were tagged, caged, watched through the glass and occasionally poked with a stick. They thought we were monsters. And they were right. Mostly.
Warden Williamson is far too busy for the likes of little old me, and so I’d only glimpsed the man in passing. He barely spared me a second glance as he made his way to the officer areas, pale blue eyes flickering over my face before looking away.
He was tall, and slim, but there was nothing noteworthy about him besides his arrogance; he wore that on his sleeve with pride. It’s funny how society forgets about the other monsters out there while worrying about us. The ones in the expensive suits, living in their mansions, driving their posh cars.
If Warden Williamson wanted to pretend he didn’t know exactly who I was, if he wanted to relegate me to the position of someone unimportant, then let him. I’d grown up with a father who was more brutal and bloodthirsty than Williamson could even imagine.
Augustine Creed often reminded me just how worthless I was while making me defend myself against men twice my age in one of his fighting cages at The Gryphon. I was hardly going to cry or question my power because one man in a suit didn’t look my way for longer than three seconds. Being back at the bottom rung of the ladder was a feeling I wasn’t used to, and I can’t say I was particularly enjoying it.
Granted, the other inmates seemed wary of me, especially the ones who knew me. But I was still in an influence deficit here, and I knew it. I needed to work my way up fast, or I'd risk being a sitting duck.
Prison survival was a game, and I intended to win. I had been right about my new sidekick, Beans, being the font of all knowledge inside these walls. Eager little puppy that he was, he was only too happy to share the details of gangs, contraband, and prison terms. He was like a hierarchy encyclopedia, having figured out the intricacies of how things worked during the three years he’d already been locked up, and I intended to use him to navigate my way back to the top.
I’d been through worse shit than this and come out the other side stronger. No one gets raised inside the mafia and lets something like prison break them.
When Beans got out of here, and if he kept himself clean, I might consider bringing him to work with us. We were constantly branching out, and our latest venture, White Rabbit, could always use a few extra hands pushing it. Especially with The Cartel, a rival gang, trying to block us at every turn.
I wonder if they played a part in my arrest or if there was something else at play. When I think about how everything went down, I was still furious. I had been deliberately put in Ogmore Grange while Jono and Antonio, two of my men who had been arrested alongside me, had remained in Newtown. We had been divided to conquer, but those tactics wouldn’t work here. Once the appeal was filed and I was free, I’d catch my little rodent friend and string them up by their tail. They would learn that there was more to the mafia than fat old Italian men with Tommy Guns. We had adapted. Evolved.
I was The Left Hand.
A fixer of sorts. Not an underboss or a consigliere, but something much more. I wasn’t in the stereotypical chain of command. I operated outside it. Being free of the constraints of the rest of The Family is what made men fear me. I was unpredictable.
If Jules needed shit done—I made sure it was. No matter what the cost. It was my job to keep his name out of it and his nose clean. I had earned a well-deserved reputation, first as a fighter for my father and then as I’d worked my way through the ranks until I became the Left Hand. I’d worked hard to cultivate my image and my legacy as Elijah Creed, and in the outside world it brought me fear and respect, but here it was a little more problematic. This wasn’t a Family prison. I hadn’t yet worked out who could be trusted
“Beans, how many of The Cartel are in Officer Bishop's art class?” I ask as we mop the corridor outside the mess hall. I’d been assigned duties, just like the other inmates. It was tedious, but broke up the monotony of my days, and this one could definitely be used to my advantage as we lingered outside the classrooms.
Beans peers inside the room as he cleans the glass, his dirty rag just adding more smears. His expression is impassive as he polishes, and for a moment I’m impressed with his poker face because I can see the way his little eyes glance everywhere, logging it all.
“The three to the left,” he whispers as he focuses intently on dunking his rag back into his bucket. “Sanchez, Louis and Tiny.”
Beans never looked too long or lingered in the wrong places, always blending into the background, which is why he was a substantial source of intel.
“You should stay away Creed, they have a form for fighting,” he warns quietly as he goes back to cleaning and I move closer to look, mopping the floor as I go.
When I’d been arrested, I’d been looking into some rumors that The Cartel had been trying to set up new money laundering dens in our domain. I’d never let that happen. Not without bloodshed. Maybe this was a ‘two birds, one stone’ opportunity to send a message and get what I want.
I glance discreetly over to the table where the Cartel members are sitting, watching Officer Bishop deliver a session on what appears to be a color wheel. Her dark hair is pulled back into a bun today, making her look like a delicate ballet dancer, even in the ugly officer's uniform. Her long lashes flutter as one inmate says something that makes her chuckle, and her perfect lips part.
That laugh is mine. The soft smile on her lips — mine. All of her is. The sooner I made her realize that, the better.
They had a form for fighting, huh? Well, that just made it a lot easier. I clench my jaw as my woman, my White Rabbit, helps Tiny with something. She leans over him to correct something on his piece of paper and I don't miss the wolfish grin he gives the men sitting around him. Piece of shit.
Tiny is clearly an inside joke because that fucker is huge. He must be an inch or two above me at six foot six and is as wide as a doorway, it seems. His broad, muscular figure is only going to be a minor problem. Larger men rely on their size to scare away predators. They overestimate their ability and underestimate their opponents. It won’t be a hard task to tire him out or catch him unawares but it's the other two, Sanchez and Louis, that worry me as their eyes dart around the room watching everything. They’re alert and given their smaller, wiry frames are probably quick on their feet. Fuck, I'd have to waste more time planning my attack.
Not a big deal, just another inconvenience. Well, as long as they kept their hands to themselves and off my woman. The mop slaps against the tile floor as I clean, chuckling to myself. Why was I worrying about time? I had nothing but time here.