Breakout Paul Herron (books to read in your 20s female .TXT) 📖

there with her body in that… shack I grew up in and I thought: Why? What has staying honest got me? What did it get my mother? She died because we couldn’t afford medicine. Because she used all her money to feed me. To keep me in school. So I thought, fuck that. And I started to take what I wanted. I dropped out of school and I figured out how to make my life livable, because I was not going to end up like my ma.”

“Shh,” I say. “Listen.”

Kincaid cocks his head to one side. “What?”

“Nah, it’s okay. Thought I heard a violin playing.”

He chuckles. “You’re a funny guy. Ain’t he funny?” He looks around at his goons. They all nod and grin.

Kincaid turns back to face me. “But the thing is, while I was living in that squalor, I met someone. A girl. We were both seventeen by then. And she gave me a reason to take more care. See, before her, I didn’t give a shit what I was doing, who I was stealing from. But when I met her, I changed. Everything changed. I started doing it all for her. Everything I stole, every plan I made, was to raise that woman out of the ghetto, to make me worthy of her. And you know what? I did it. I got us out. I got us a home, I built my empire, we had two kids. And those two kids… man… You a parent? Oh, shit. No. Course you’re not.”

I surge to my feet, this time managing to pull away from Adler and Sullivan. Kincaid steps back just as they grab me again. I struggle, lash out, hit Sullivan in the face. Adler balls a fist and punches me hard between the ribs, right in the lungs. I fold over, wheezing for breath as they shove me back onto the bed. I try to regain my breath, while Kincaid carries on talking as if nothing had happened.

“I’m telling you, when those kids appear in your life, there isn’t a single thing you wouldn’t do to protect them. To protect your family. It becomes… like a primeval need. An instinct. They’re your tribe and you’d do anything for them. Anything. You know that already, though. Your kid wasn’t even born yet, but you did what you had to for revenge.” He pauses for a moment. “You loved your wife, right?”

I don’t answer.

“’Course you did. See, I’m gonna give you some credit. I don’t think you’re some big bad cop, someone who shoots first and asks questions later. I actually think you had the same thing with your wife that I had with mine. When you find the one… I mean, I’m not talking about all that ‘you complete me’ bullshit, you know? But when you find the one, she sure as shit makes life worth living.”

He leans forward, his passive face turning dark. “You took that from me. You separated me from my family. My wife. My kids.” He stares hard at me for a long moment, jaw clenching. Then he turns away, walks to the door of the cell, turns back again. When he speaks, his voice is shaking. “That’s not even the worst of it. I’d been with my wife thirty years. I’ve been in here four.” He pauses, takes a deep breath. “She died three years ago, Constantine. Cancer. And I didn’t get to see her. I didn’t get to say good-bye. I wasn’t with her. All. Because. Of you.”

Oh fuck…

Kincaid gestures. The goon waiting outside the cell—West, I think—takes something out of his orange jumpsuit pocket and hands it to Kincaid. It’s a shank. Razor blades melted into a toothbrush.

Kincaid nods at Adler and Sullivan. Before I can do anything, they grip me tight, pushing me down, making sure I can’t move.

I still struggle, trying to pull away. I’m not going down without a fight. Adler punches me in the face. I grunt in pain. Bursts of light flash across my vision. I blink, shake my head. Look up to see Kincaid standing in front of me.

“Hold him tight.”

The fingers tighten on my shoulders and arms. Kincaid smiles. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to kill you right away. This is just for starters.” He taps the shank against my chin. “You know those fans with the red ribbons tied to the front? When they’re switched off and the ribbons just sort of… hang there? That’s what your face is going to look like five minutes from now.” He leans closer so his mouth is only an inch from my ear. “After that,” he says softly, “I’m gonna do something else, and it’ll hurt so bad you’ll be begging me to slit your throat.”

“Boss!” West, at the door, quickly steps in and holds his hand out. Kincaid passes the shank to him and everyone straightens up just as Evans appears, peering at them all through the cell bars.

“The fuck is going on in here?”

“Prayer session,” says Kincaid. “We’re discussing our Lord the Savior and how he can save our friend Jack’s life. Isn’t that right, Jack?”

“Yeah,” I mutter. “Hallelujah.” Because no matter what happens in prison, you don’t snitch.

“Pray on your own time, dickwads. We’re done here. Line up downstairs.”

No one moves. They all glance at Kincaid, and only when he gives a small nod do they all file out of the cell.

As he leaves, he looks at me. “We’ll pick this up later.”

It’s around one o’clock by the time we all gather at ground level. I make sure to stay as far away from Kincaid and his guys as I can.

“Are we coming back?” asks Nunes.

“No,” says Evans. “We’re done. The evacuees are on their way.”

“Thank Christ for that,” says Perez.

Evans leads us back along the corridors and into reception. But instead of taking us through the back hallways and the laundry, he opens a door into a new corridor, this one much cleaner than the ones we used to get to