Page 4 of Redemption

I rotate my shoulders, trying to throw off my unease. “Maybe that’s all this feeling is—Evander is too subtle compared to the smash-and-grab jobs I’m used to.”

“We talked to a lot of people, Carys. If he wasn’t the real deal, someone would have known.”

From the bedroom, Lucas lets out a long, hungry wail. Tucking my hair behind my ears, I give Jay one last half smile. “You’re right,” I say. “I’m being paranoid.” All the unease and uncertainty are shoved deep when I open the door to greet Lucas.

Chapter Three

Finn

Atleastinsolitaryconfinement, I don’t need my senses on constant alert. That’s the only perk to the box. A two-day reprieve from watching my back is a bit like a sensory vacation.

Of course, the real punishment is having to be alone with my thoughts. During the day, it’s not so bad. My mind is a projector, and a highlight reel of my greatest hits plays across the cement block wall. Who doesn’t love remembering their excellence?

At night, though, something darker streams. I discover my mother has been murdered; Carys clings to me in the interrogation room begging me not to make a choice that’s already made; or she lies on the dirty floor of a pub in Ireland on the brink of death. When I wake up shouting, there’s no one to hear me. That’s the thing about loosening the seal. Thoughts seep in like smoke under a door, choking me, reminding me of how peacefully I slept beside her, however brief that might have been.

When my breakfast is passed through the next morning, the guard says, “Something’s coming down the pipe for you, Donaghey.”

“Oh yeah?” I take the tray. “Sharing is caring.” I smirk.

“Told me to prep you once you’re done with your food.”

“Prep me?” On my bed, I shovel the porridge and boiled eggs into my mouth. Has Carys managed to have me moved already? Maybe I underestimated her. Or someone. Could Jay do this?

When the breakfast tray is gone, the guard puts on my shackles, and I muse about where I’m going. Would they let me go to a lower-security prison? I’ve been in a fight almost every day since I arrived. A lot of money would have to change hands to get anyone to sign off on a transfer to a place withfewersecurity measures. Hope stirs in my stomach. If she’s managed to get me this far this quickly, then maybe there’s something to her escape plan.

The guard radios back and forth with someone about getting me on the bus. “They packed for you,” the guard says by way of explanation as we shuffle toward the prison exit used for transfer.

I stifle a laugh. Packed? Like my government-issued toothbrush and my comb? God knows I got nothing else in that cell. “Know where I’m going?” Maybe all she managed was another high-security place. They wanted to put me in the supermax prison at first, but my lawyer was able to argue out of that one.

“They don’t tell me shit,” he grumbled.

Ahead there’s a line of men being clipped into the back of a truck. Guess it’ll be shackles for however many hours until we’re at another prison. I’m hoping she doesn’t opt for a jailbreak out of the truck. Getting tossed around and flipped upside down isn’t on my bucket list. Images fromThe Fugitiveresurface. Good movie. Not particularly keen to play out parts of it. Still, free is free, and I’m not going to complain if a heist does the trick.

Once we’re locked into place, the engine rumbles to life, and we sway with the bumps in the road as we travel. Across from me, a white guy gives me the eye. Not a cue to fight. No, his expression is different. He’s trying to decide if he wants to talk to me. I already know I’m not talking. The less people understand about me—beyond my fists—the better off I am.

“You’re Finn Donaghey?” The guy’s chin flicks toward me like we’re buddies.

I stare and don’t respond. Unless he’s deaf, he knows who I am. The guard said my name as he locked me in. How many men in this prison are named Finn? Ask a stupid question and suffer my wrath.

“Shut the fuck up, Billy,” the guy beside me grumbles. “We got hours in this truck before we get to Michigan, and I don’t wanna hear you yammering.”

Michigan? The only federal facility in that state is a private, minimum-security prison. If that’s what’s happening here, my prospects of escape are quadrupled.

“I got a message for Donaghey, Eduardo,” Billy says with an eager voice.

“Yeah?” Eduardo says. “Is it that you’re a dumbass? ’Cause anyone who knows you already got that message loud and clear.”

I smirk and glance at Eduardo. An attitude I can appreciate.

“When we get there”—Billy ignores my snarky bench mate—“come find me. It’s important.”

With narrowed eyes, I glare at him. Would Jay or Carys communicate through such an eager kid? There’s been nothing discreet about the connection he’s establishing. The other three guys in the truck will turn over information on us for a shorter sentence or a perk inside in a heartbeat. So stupid to open his mouth with so many crooked witnesses.

“I got nothing to say to you,” I tell him.

Billy chuckles. “Right? ’Cause I got shit to say to you. Don’t matter. I’ll track you down.”

Track me down? This guy isn’t getting it, but he will if he tries to drag me into something I’m not interested in.

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