Chapter 3
RAUL
…present day
A sharp whistle cuts the air. Two blasts, guards signaling shift change, but nobody moves.
Carl and I lean against the scarred cement wall in the yard, watching the chaos unfold like it's choreographed.
Bodies blur together. Tattooed arms flashing gang signs, low murmurs rising into barked challenges.
Jail's nothing like I pictured. Most of these men knew my charge before I even unpacked my state-issued blanket.
Murder. It's a halo and a target — half steer clear, half test boundaries just to see if I'll swing.
I'm only here till sentencing locks in. Temporary.
Across the yard, a group peels off from the weight pile, eyes locked on the Latin Kings clustered by the basketball hoop.
Chest bumps turn to shoves. Someone spits.
The air thickens, electric. Everybody knows what's coming, but nobody blinks.
A big Aryan dude near the fence cracks his knuckles, grinning like he hopes it pops off just to watch.
I glance at Carl, pity twisting low in my gut.
He's been glued to me since day one, and since we're cellies, I let it ride.
It's been… nice, having someone who doesn't flinch at my shadow.
But when I'm gone, he'll be back to dodging fists or worse.
The guards aren't here to protect us from each other — they just make sure we don't slip the cage.
Rick's up on the catwalk, baton tapping his palm, waiting for an excuse.
"Yeah, man. I think I love her," Carl's saying, voice cutting through my haze. He's been rambling. I zoned out again.
I tug at the stiff collar of my fluorescent orange jumpsuit and clear my throat. "You tell her that?"
"Nah. Don't wanna mess up her life more. Got six months before I can even apply for a program."
That hits like a blow to the gut. I've been dead weight my whole life — Mom, Diego, Dad, Aunt Val. Then Olivia.
I shut my eyes. Her smile flickers up instant.
Soft, crooked, the kind that made Miami traffic bearable.
I can almost smell her, the light coconut lotion she wore cutting through the salt air, her mahogany curls cascading down the small of her back.
Freckles dusting her button nose, chocolate-brown eyes holding mine like I wasn't already half-gone.
She deserved better. Always did. But being locked up rewires your brain. Every fuck-up and every fork in the road you took wrong plays on repeat. What if I'd gone left instead? What if I'd stayed?
A bottle shatters against the chain-link fence with a sharp ping that slices through the murmurs. Laughter dies like someone flipped a switch. Thirty seconds from shanks or worse. I can feel it in the way shoulders tense, eyes narrow.
"Time to move," I mutter to Carl, clamping down on his bony elbow before he freezes up completely. Last thing I need is getting tangled in someone else's bloodbath right before I bounce.
Guards up on the catwalk blast their whistles in short, angry bursts, herding us back to cells.
The yard surges like a reluctant tide. Men shuffle with that practiced nonchalance that fools no one.
Carl grimaces as one of the new fish clips his own foot and stumbles into the flow — a scrawny kid with wide eyes and trembling knees. Rookie mistake.
Lesson one hits fast: act like you've danced this before, even if you're green.
Fear is blood in the water. Inmates smell it and pounce.
They extort commissary, favors, and dignity.
Guards are the real sharks. I've seen them target the shaky ones daily, handing out "corrections" that leave bruises nobody reports.
Rick's up there now, baton tapping his thigh, hunting his next mark.
Carl shifts closer, hands locked behind his back. Compliance wrestling that bone-deep unease you never outrun. It's fight-or-flight around the clock. Every glance is a calculation. Every step is a gamble. You breathe shallow. You move deliberate. Eyes stay front but ears stay everywhere.
I clear my throat, cutting our silence. "Write her."
"Huh?" He blinks, jarred.
"Your girl." I nod toward the emptying yard, shouts still ricocheting off razor wire. "Tell her. Don't leave it unsaid."
"Why?" He's caught off guard. He has no clue I've been drowning in my own regrets, churning like the canal after a storm.
"You never know, man." We turn a corner, fluorescent lights buzzing overhead like angry hornets. "Life flips fast. Don't let her slip away thinking you didn't care. You got six months, yeah… but then you have your whole life ahead of you. Make it count."
He nods slow, something clicking behind his eyes. Silence hangs for a beat, just our footsteps and distant catcalls. "Alright. Yeah. Thanks, Raul."
We file into the block. Our cell door clangs open, then slams shut behind us.
The electric whirr of the mechanical locks echoes down the tier, sealing everybody in tight.
It's twenty degrees hotter in here than the yard.
The stale air is heavy with sweat, bleach, and yesterday's regret.
The bunk creaks as Carl drops onto his mattress. I lean against the wall, arms crossed.
"Can I borrow a piece of paper, man?" he asks, voice small in the hush.
"Yeah." I rip a sheet from my notebook and hand it over.