Chapter One
Ronan
The yard hums with the restless energy of men who’ve been caged too long. Some pace like animals, while others cluster in groups, talking in low murmurs and exchanging whatever scraps of contraband they’ve managed to smuggle past the guards. The air stinks of sweat, cigarettes, and desperation. Nothing new.
Just another day at Oakdale Penitentiary.
I lean back against the rough concrete wall, stretching my legs in front of me, keeping my posture loose, disinterested. But I’m watching. I’m always watching.
A shadow moves in my periphery.
“Ro,” a voice mutters, low enough that only I can hear.
I shift my gaze just enough to acknowledge him. Benny. Small-time dealer, runs errands for whoever pays the most. Right now, that’s me. He doesn’t stop walking, just brushes past, and in that brief moment, I feel it—something small and crumpled pressed into my palm.
I wait a beat before glancing down, my fingers closing over the torn scrap of paper. Then I push off the wall, making my way toward my usual corner—a rusted bench beneath the half-broken camera that never quite catches this angle. Five years at Oakdale, and I know every blind spot, every weakness in the system.
I unfold the note, scanning the familiar sprawling handwriting:
Things are moving. Complications, but we’re on track. Few weeks, maybe. Stay ready—Theo.
Frustration tightens in my chest. I run a hand through my hair, gritting my teeth against the urge to punch the wall.
Few weeks. Maybe.
What the actual fuck?
I’ve been here too long. Five years of staring at the same cold walls, breathing the same recycled air, listening to the same men make the same fucking threats. Five years of keeping my head down just enough to stay out of solitary, but never low enough to lose the power I wield here, the control I’ve fought for. Five years of waiting for the right moment.
And now this motherfucker is telling me to wait longer. I pay a fucking fortune to keep him useful and now he says a few more weeks…?
I close my eyes, letting out a resigned sigh. There’s no use getting worked up. If Theo says to wait, then there must be a good reason. The bastard is the best hustler on the street. And as long as he’s paid, he’ll do anything.
And I pay him too damn well.
I fold the paper, slip it under my tongue, let my saliva break it down before I swallow. No evidence. No mistakes.
The tension in my muscles coils tighter. I need to hit something, need to move, need—
Movement catches my eye.
A woman is walking across the yard, flanked by a correctional officer. She doesn’t belong here. It’s obvious in the way shemoves—cautious, unsure, like she knows she’s out of place. I scan her quickly. Light brown hair pulled into a loose ponytail, wide hazel eyes taking in everything around her, soft pink lips pressed together like she’s trying not to react to what she’s seeing.
A new nurse.
I guess the greedy fat-faced warden finally got around to hiring someone new, seeing as several inmates almost lost their lives to a tuberculosis outbreak due to lack of medical personnel. I lean forward, elbows on my knees, watching her.
She’s small, delicate—too delicate for a place like this. Someone like her normally wouldn’t last a day in here without protection. And yet, there’s something about the way she holds herself. A quiet strength.
Interesting.
A slow smirk tugs at the corner of my mouth. I may not be able to control the timing of my escape, but this? This, I can control…
I glance across the yard, catching the gaze of one of the guys who owes me a favor. I give him a small nod.
He knows immediately what I want.
Time to cause some trouble.
