Page 68 of Law Maker

He needed to actswiftlyand to do it without detection by cameras, guards or other inmates.

Some would say he was an overachiever, that he aimed for theimpossible.

Ah, maybe they were correct. He’d put himself in prison to ice a man.

A man it had taken almost a year to get close to and now Lawless was looking at him from across the prison gym doing chest curls.

Built bigger than Preacher, the guy looked like he swallowed steroids with coffee. Every vein grossly standing out of his bulged arms.

The big break was now, Lawless understood. No second chances here.

It was the rare moment none of Carmine’s goons hovered around him. Lawless pulled up his hoodie and moved deeper into the gym. Keeping to the fringe of the room, his eyes searching out the camera sensors, because of Teresa and her Marvel obsession, he knew the blind spots for all the cameras.

The guy saw Lawless and dismissed him as nothing of interest.

Ah, dude, bad mistake, he thought.

What kind of villain was he if he didn’t sense imminent death?

The risks had been counted and deemed worth it.

If he got caught, it wouldn’t be a three year sentence and out for good behavior. Lawless would be serving life.

He didn’t care, not so much at all. A good life so far, he’d done everything he wanted to do. Hadn’t gone to space mountain but oh, fucking well.

Taking a quick gander at the ink adorning his forearms, the angel wings reinforced his decision as he pretended to walk to the weight wall. Carmine was busy looking at himself in the mirror doing curls.

When Lawless crossed his path, the other man growled. “You wanna get out of my fucking way?”

Vanity was going to be his downfall.

“I don’t think I do,” he told Carmine in a tone that translated as being both bored and superior.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?”

The bluster meant nothing to Lawless, he’d faced bigger men in his past and he was still alive. That one second of rage gave him the time he needed to pick up a forty pound dumbbell. When he faced the mouth breather again, he moved with adrenaline fueled speed. Feet carrying him forward, his veins steady, his brain on fire now the end was near. Shoving the weight into Carmine’s throat, the force and shock took him down like a bag of fucking bones. Pressing the bastard into the bench, hard enough to immobilize in seconds.

Carmine dropped the weight he was holding, trying to save his own life.

Bad fish always tried to survive first.

Next would come anger and threats, followed by bargaining.

Lawless liked the acceptance part of any death. When a man accepted it and Lawless watched it creep into the eyes staring back at him.

This death he was going to enjoy like a well charred pot roast his dear drunken nana would cook on rare occasions.

Gulp it down, taste the victorious acid in his throat.

Relish the death for what it meant to him.

Vengeance and payback.

“Motherfucker,” Carmine tried to say, only it came out gurgled, his eyes bulging.

Aw, poor guy. Should he let him breathe for a second? Nah. Using every ounce of strength, he pressed harder, the force of his hatred giving Lawless some fucking Popeye kind of power. Those tiny important bones in the throat started to crack.

Pop. Pop. Pop!

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