Page 13 of Jackson

He pouted. “Seriously?”

“Rain check?” I asked, even though both of us knew this would be the last time we’d see each other.

“Yeah,” he waved his hand, rolling his eyes and pulling out his phone again. “Sure. Whatever.”

I pecked him on the forehead as an apology. “Hope you find someone to take you up on that offer.”

He smiled a little, waving me off again. “Go away before I make you take me home.”

I had to laugh at that.

Setting my cue stick back on the rack, I headed out and climbed into my truck.

Well, so much for trying to fuck my energy out with a stranger. I didn’t typically like to resort to using my hand but apparently, that’s where this was headed tonight. At least with masterbating, I wouldn’t have to pretend to replace the features of one man for another.

Getting back on property was easy with the late-night traffic. Soon enough, the familiar wooden sign stating ‘CAL FIRE INMATE WORK PROGRAM’ greeted me.

I parked my truck and killed the ignition just as something flashing caught my eye.

Two COs were running together with their flashlights bobbing on the ground, followed closely by two of my guys who were sprinting after them.

My heart hammered in my chest as I kicked my door open.

Fuck, were they heading for the inmate cabins?

I slammed my door shut and ran after them, hoping like hell I was wrong.

CHAPTER 6

Ayen

I wincedas cards were tossed onto the floor.

“You motherfucker!” McMurphy shouted, standing up to hover over the other man. “I saw you sneak in another card! You think this is fucking funny, don’t you?”

“Fuck off,” Richards snapped back, shoving McMurphy away as he stood. “I didn’t sneak fucking shit! You’re just shit at the game.”

I shuffled back from where they were, slowly inching myself toward the corner of the room that was as far away from them as possible.

The night had started off simple enough—a card game to pass the time after lights out. Richards had apparently snuck in a deck from SAC and stashed it under his bunk mattress until the COs had retired for the night.

We—Tyson and I—had figured, what was the harm in a few rounds of cards?

It wasn’t like there was anything to bet that would get anyone heated.

Apparently, that had been dead wrong because halfway through the second game, McMurphy had tossed a few cigarette butts down in the center of our card game while saying he’d swiped them up from the ground after one of the COs, Matthers, had been busy chain smoking behind the mess hall.

To me, it seemed rather nasty to suck on the remnants of a used butt just in the hope that there’d be some nicotine left, but apparently I was in the minority with that opinion.

“Calm down, both of you,” Tyson hissed, quickly kicking the butts under one of the bunks before standing, too. “You’re going to get us kicked out.”

“Fuck you, Asper! You want to fucking fight about it?” McMurphy suddenly turned his rage away from Richards and onto Tyson.

“What the fuck is your problem, man?”

“I don’t have a fucking problem.” He shoved my cellmate back hard, causing him to stumble.

“Oh, no you fucking didn’t,” was all Tyson said before he swung.

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