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Jethro followed the line of prisoners toward the yard. Today wasn’t going to be fun. He was alone for the first time since being transferred from the holding cells to the prison months ago.
Yesterday, he’d said goodbye to the last Guard in his gang. They all should’ve been released right away, but Hugh had made it his mission to make anyone who’d been in the Protective Services suffer. The bigger and stronger the Guards the longer they’d stayed locked up, especially if they’d served with Jethro.
He sauntered across the yard and all eyes fell on him. Everyone knew he was on his own and alone in prison wasn’t the way to live long. He had to join another group, but that’s where things got complicated.
He walked toward the fence, his gaze drifting over a group of Servants. They wouldn’t accept him. He’d chosen the Guards over them months ago. The predatory gleam in their vibrant eyes confirmed they’d let him die before they allowed him into their group.
Joining with the other Guard gangs probably wasn’t going to happen either. Those that were left were soldiers who were still loyal to the leaders of the past. Switching sides at the end of the war had sealed his fate with them.
That left the Almightys. They were also the old regime, but Wickerwood had tried to befriend him his first week of incarceration. They were all old and out of shape. He was young, strong and an excellent fighter. He’d made it clear that he wasn’t interested in having anything to do with them. He still wasn’t, but his choices were limited.
He leaned against the chain-link fence and stared out at nothing. Someone would approach him with an offer but hidden in that would be a beating. His blood hummed in anticipation. He needed to release his restlessness by fighting or mating, but the latter was not an option in prison.
Scratch, a Servant, walked over to him, glancing around nervously.
He was glad it was the Servants. The Guards strutted around like they ran the place, but most backed down when faced with the ferocity of the Servants, especially since they had built-in weapons. Their claws were supposed to be filed down, but for the right price, the prison Guards had a tendency to forget about that.
“I hear yous the one to talk to about getting somethings special,” said Scratch.
“Like what?” They wanted contraband. He owed Indy again. His friend had been working with Tonkers, a prison Guard, to sneak booze, candy and other items into the facility. Indy refused to work with anyone but Jethro, and that made him necessary to those who were really in charge—the prison Guards.
“We wants a visit with some friends.”
“Friends?” They snuck small stuff into the prison not Servants or Guards. “What kind of friends?”
“Da female kind.” Scratch rolled his eyes as he glanced at his gang.
That wasn’t possible. Was it? No. Tonkers wouldn’t risk it. He studied the others in the yard. Scratch was a nobody. His boss, who like to be called Life, was the one who was really asking. After several minutes he looked at Scratch. “I don’t see that happening.”
“I don’t think yous understands. We”—Scratch glanced at Life and the other Servants in his gang—“wants what we wants and yous got connections. Yous better make it happen.” His claws peeked out from his fingertips in a not-so-subtle threat.
“You don’t understand.” This was the opening he needed. “That request—”
“It ain’t nos request.” Scratch bristled, his nose twitching as he searched for the scent of fear.
Scratch could sniff all day, but he wouldn’t catch a whiff of that in the air. Jethro was a lot of things right now but scared wasn’t one of them. He straightened, shifting closer and getting right into the Servant’s face. “I don’t give a Grunt’s ass what yous call it. It isn’t going to happen.”
Scratch’s eyes twitched slightly. “That’s not gonna make Life happy and”—he glanced around again—“yous all alone.” His arm flew forward straight toward Jethro’s face, claws bared.
The Servant was fast, probably the fastest in the prison, but to him it was laughably slow. He grabbed the lower part of Scratch’s hand, avoiding the claws. With one quick twist he bent it back against the Servant’s arm. The snap of bone echoed in the yard, quickly covered by Scratch’s scream.
The scent of terror overloaded Jethro’s senses and the Servant’s whimpers made his blood roar. It was the sound of the weak. The helpless. The prey. He reached for Scratch’s throat. It’d be so easy to tear it out and let the blood cover his fingers like a glove. He could end his enemy’s life so easily. His instincts screamed. The only good enemy is a dead one. He took a deep, shaky breath as he forced himself to drop his arm and free his prey.
Scratch stumbled backward, holding his hand to keep it from flopping around like a dying bird. Silence filled the yard. Even Scratch’s screams became nothing more than soft whimpers as he scurried to the safety of his gang before he became a target for someone else.
The Guards moved closer, smelling the weak and injured. Jethro grabbed the fence to keep from charging forward and fighting them all. A major brawl in the yard wouldn’t help convince Hugh to release him. Indy kept telling him that many were fighting for his freedom and that Hugh was going to have to give in to the pressure. He prayed that it happened soon because once he took his serum, he’d be weak, vulnerable and since he was alone, probably dead.
He didn’t want to die in here. He wanted to live free in the forest. He was ready to move on with his life. He was done with war, with fighting, and with Trinity. Hugh could have her. He tensed as the gang of Servants headed his way. His eyes met Life’s vibrant green ones as the Servant walked past him. Life wasn’t happy with his answer and that meant retaliation was coming.