Chapter 4
Kayden
The truth prevails.
“You never learn, do you, Rork?” Burbank shoves me into the cell, sneering at me in disgust. “Guess you like seeing my pretty face so much you want to spend your life behind bars. Wonder what the Warden’s going to say when he hears you strangled another cellmate.
You’re fucking done for, kid, I can tell you that. You’ll be heading for death row.”
And ask me if I give a fuck. There ain’t nothing left living for anymore.
And there was no way in hell I was letting that pedophile rapist walk the streets again.
The way the system works, he’d probably be out on good behavior in six months flat, able to get his hands on another kid.
Meanwhile, no one’s looking to let me go.
Especially not now. Doesn’t matter what the guy did to deserve my wrath, he’s the victim here.
But I wasn’t just gonna sit there and listen to him brag about how he raped multiple young girls.
I wasn’t going to listen to him describe his horrible crimes in gory detail.
So whatever consequences are coming my way, I’ll gladly face them.
At least, it will make my sentence in here worthwhile.
I got to serve up some actual justice while being locked inside.
Do my part at fixing the fucking broken system—one pedofuck at a time.
“Looks like you have some company now, Red.” Burbank says to the man next door as he locks me in my new cell. “Try not to make him wet his pants with all your late-night horror stories.”
Burbank’s footsteps retreat down the hall, and I hear the door at the end of it close.
Looks like I’ll be in the hole until the Warden decides what to do with me, not that I’m complaining.
It may be dark in here, and we may only get two shit meals a day, but it’s the only place where I can sleep without having to keep one eye open.
It’s as if the dumb shits never learn. They always think they can come at me, but they always end up regretting their choice.
“What’s the date?” The low grunt rasps from the man in the neighboring cell, who obviously hasn’t used his voice in a long damn time.
They call him Red. Although, he doesn’t have red hair or a lick of Irish in his veins.
From what I’ve been told, he got his nickname from his hands always being covered in blood.
He’s killed a lot of men in here. They say he’s a serial killer, but rumors grow like weeds on the inside, so I don’t know what’s truth and what’s a tall tale meant to scare the other prisoners so they’ll keep their distance.
I haven’t seen him take anyone’s life since I’ve been in here, but if he has, so be it. It’s not like my hands are clean.
My body count’s up to three now. The fucker who thought I was going to play bitch while I was in lockup, another fucker who thought he held all the power in this place and could order me around like a slave—although, he was greatly mistaken.
And the last one was the pedo monster who had a smile on his face as he described his heinous acts in mentally scarring detail.
I pictured it being my daughter he’d brutally hurt, and I lost my fucking mind.
He never should’ve been set free the first time around.
Now, he never will. And let me tell you, guilt is never going to ride my conscience for that one.
Not for a single one of my crimes. They all got what they deserved, and in return, I got peace of mind.
“It’s Saturday, November 11,” I tell him, having to think about it for a moment. The days bleed into weeks in here, and one month passes to the next, sometimes without you even realizing it.
“Weather?” Another grunted question disturbs the dark silence.
“Cool and cloudy. Starting to feel like fall. How long have you been down here?”
Come to think of it, I haven’t seen him lurking in the corner for a while. For a long while actually.
“Ninety-one days.”
Damn, not sure if that’s a blessing or not. A month of quiet can be a reprieve. Any longer and your mind can start fucking with you. “That’s a fucking long stint. What’d you do?”
“Let my temper get the better of me. You?” His answer is a little vague, but I get the gist.
“Same. Guy wouldn’t shut his mouth, so I shut him up permanently.
” Now, if I could only erase the damn words from my mind.
I wish I had my girl’s letters; they’d drown out the unwanted thoughts.
Although, just thinking of Wren submerges me in the pain of my regret.
She never wrote me after that. My message had clearly been received.
And although it nearly kills me to know that she hates me, I’ve come to peace with it knowing that she’s off living her life now.
Probably chalked me up to a childhood mistake and is now chasing her dreams. Fuck, it hurts, but I hope like hell she’s happy.
“I’ll keep quiet then,” he teases, pulling me back from the deep end of my heartache.
“You convicted for raping kids? Because if so, it’s best I never learn that truth,” I tell him.
“I was convicted of rape,” he seethes the words like it disgusts him to have to say it, and if I could see his face, I bet the anger is locking his jaw up.
“My girlfriend’s daddy was a mean-ass son of a bitch who didn’t like me much, so he made damn sure I was pinned with twenty-five years without parole. ”
Damn, sounds like we have some things in common.
Wren’s parents hated me, too. They didn’t think I was good enough for their little girl.
It didn’t matter how hard I was working to save money, or that I was going to school on the side to make something of myself and give her the type of future they wanted for her, I was always going to be trash in their minds.
Now, had I come with a trust fund and been a lazy pipsqueak who hadn’t worked a day in his life, they would’ve thought I was better suited for her.
They were shallow as fuck, and it drove my girl insane.
“Fuck. How the hell could the charge be that steep, man?” I ask.
It makes no fucking sense. The pedo fucker who hurt a kid got fifteen months.
And this was his second fucking offense.
“How’d they even find you guilty if the claim was false?
” For twenty-five with no parole, they’d have to have video evidence and the girl left for dead, not just some pissed-off father’s testimony.
“She testified against me. Sat there on the stand and lied right through her teeth, claiming that her father saved her from me, and had he not shown up, I would’ve killed her.
She turned on the fucking waterworks and everything.
Never would I have laid one mean finger on that girl; I was intending to marry her.
But I learned a valuable lesson that day.
” His voice is even deeper now, grave with his hatred as he keeps talking.
“Love doesn’t exist and women are fucking evil. ”
“Damn,” I breathe the word on a sigh. Now I understand his rage.
If my girl had done that, I’d probably have taken my own life.
My girl sat up on the stand, pleading for the jury to listen to her, yet they didn’t believe a word when she was telling the truth.
“Fuck, man. That’s a hard pill to swallow.
” I try to shrug the image of my Wren’s devastated face when they read my sentencing.
Her wailing scream tore right through me.
It took all the strength in the world not to fight the bailiff and go to her.
“She’ll get what’s owed to her,” he grits the words that have me believing revenge is brewing in his thoughts. “So, what are you in for?”
Just like him. A crime I didn’t fucking commit. “Robbery and assault. Got twenty with no parole.” Another fucking steep sentence, especially with no prior offense. But it just goes to prove my point about how corrupt the system truly is.
“You do it?”
“I was with my girl the night it happened. She even testified to the fact. But some guy claimed he’d seen me leaving the scene of the crime.
I’ve since learned the truth. Investigated some shit since I’ve been inside.
” Poked around a bit and have been unveiling the truth.
“All I can say is, there are a lot of shady cops out there who happen to work for the wrong side of the law.”
“No fucking shit. I’ve known that for a long time. You know what else I know?”
“What?” For a recluse who lurks in the corner, he sure is talkative. And I’m all ears. The more I know, the more I can use as leverage.
“I know that the man they just brought in, Bugano, is a crime lord. And he has a bunch of the cops around here in his pocket. Burbank is one of them. So watch your fucking back around that piece of shit. Keep your distance and keep your mouth shut.”
“How do you know?” I’d pegged the cop as an asshole, but thought he was harmless.
“Got big ears, and some people don’t know when to keep their mouths shut.”
Isn’t that the fucking truth. Some people must think us inmates are hard of hearing.
“So, where’s your girl now?” he asks.
“Not mine anymore.” I feel the stab in my gut as soon as I say it.
Fuck, that hurts. “Cut ties with her so she could go live her life.” Broke her fucking heart so she could rise up from the wreckage and conquer the world.
At least, that’s what I’m telling myself. That’s the mantra that keeps me sane.
“You ever hear from her?”
“Not anymore.” The first week a letter didn’t arrive, I wept like a fucking baby.
Night after night when the lights would go out, I let the pain hit.
As time went on, I grew fucking numb. My mind’s way of shutting down the emotions in order to keep me breathing.
But when the feelings surface, like they are right now, it’s hard to sweep the guilt under the rug.
And now, I’m gonna be sitting in this dark place, my thoughts festering in the silence.
“You ever look her up? See what she’s up to?”