CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER TWO  

Rafael Navarro

“One year of imprisonment, with the possibility of parole after six months, subject to good behaviour.”

For a moment, I thought I'd heard the judge wrong.

One year.

The guards walked toward me, holding cold handcuffs in their hands.

No.

Derek stood among the gallery, a triumphant smirk tugging at his lips. His arm was suspended in a sling, and the white edge of a bandage peeked out from beneath the open collar of his shirt. He wasn't dead at all.

I was grateful he had survived, But how the hell was I the one going to prison? 

Why was I receiving such a heavy sentence? He had tried to rape me; I had acted purely in self-defense.

I wanted to scream, but the guards didn't even give me a chance to speak. They pinned me down forcefully, slapped the cold handcuffs onto my wrists, and dragged me out.

“No, no! It wasn't like that! I need to explain—he was the one who tried to rape me first!”

“Rafael.”

Derek stopped in front of me. I froze in disbelief, mostly because I hadn't expected him to speak to me.

“Poor kid,” he said.

“What the fuck do you want?” I snapped.“ 

He ignored me, leaning toward my ear. “You know, if you'd just given me a chance that night, none of this would've happened. We could've worked something out privately. You didn't have to ruin your life. I told you I had connections, didn't I?”

“Of course, if you're willing to let me fuck your ass right now, I might consider letting you off the hook.”

For a second, I couldn't breathe.

He was apologizing with one side of his mouth and blaming me with the other. Now he stood right in front of me, still trying to force himself on me again, pretending that the only mistake he'd made was choosing the wrong approach.

“Fuck!”

I shoved him away so abruptly that his injured arm jerked, and he cursed under his breath.

“I'm only trying to make peace, Rafael.”

“Don't fucking touch me.”

One of the guards immediately caught my elbow. “Watch it, kid. Keep your hands where I can see them and shut your mouth.”

The guard shoved me forward roughly. I struggled in frustration, but they pinned me down into the back of the transport van. Through the glass, I could still see Derek's smug, triumphant face. A curse escaped my teeth, and I raised my hand, violently shoving my middle finger right at him.

I shouldn't have done that. The second the engine roared to life, regret hit me hard. Now I had stripped myself of any remaining chance to explain. Assaulting the victim right in open court—what a horrific, disastrous charge to add to my name!

I was already thirty-one. I wondered what would happen to my apartment. The nightclub would never hire me again, and I doubted I'd find another decent job after serving time for stabbing my manager. Whatever savings I'd managed to build would disappear into rent and legal expenses, assuming there was anything left by the time I got out.

Damn it. If I could go back, I should have just stabbed that old pervert to death right then and there.

The van slowed, and one of the guards told us we were arriving. I lifted my head and looked through the window.

The prison stood behind high concrete walls topped with coils of razor wire. A guard tower overlooked the entrance, and a heavy metal gate blocked the road ahead. There was nothing welcoming about the place, nothing that suggested the people inside would be treated gently or given time to adjust. The vehicle passed through the first gate, waited while another was opened, and finally stopped in a yard where several uniformed officers stood talking.

“Out. Move.”

I climbed down, my legs stiff from the journey. The air smelled of damp concrete and something sour I couldn't identify. A guard checked my paperwork while another took hold of my arm and directed me toward the main building. I tried to keep my eyes forward, but the noise coming from the yard made that difficult.

Several inmates had gathered around a man on the ground.

One of them kicked him in the ribs while another grabbed him by the collar and dragged him upright, only to punch him in the face. The prisoner stumbled, trying to shield his head, but the men surrounding him showed no interest in letting him defend himself. Their laughter carried across the yard as they hit him again and again.

“Please,” the man gasped. “I've had enough. Please, stop!”

Nobody stopped.

One of the attackers drove a fist into his mouth, and the man collapsed against the concrete. Blood spilled from his lips as he tried to crawl away. Another inmate caught him by the ankle and hauled him backward before delivering another brutal kick.

I stopped walking.

A guard yanked my arm. “Keep moving.”

The prisoner lifted his face, and for one terrible second, our eyes met. He looked terrified, his mouth trembling as he tried to form words through the blood. I wanted to do something. I wanted to ask why nobody was helping him, why the guards were allowing it, why a man could be beaten in front of an entire yard while everyone carried on as though it were entertainment.

Then one of the attackers struck him again, and blood sprayed across my shirt.

I stumbled backward with a strangled cry, staring at the dark red droplets scattered over the white fabric. My stomach lurched. I tried to wipe them away, but my hands were shaking too badly, and the stain only spread beneath my palm.

God, this is all just a complete disaster.

“Walk!” the guard barked, dragging me toward the entrance.

I went because I had no choice. Behind me, the beating continued until the metal door slammed shut, cutting off the sounds from the yard.

Inside, the guards took my belongings, recorded my information, and led me through a series of corridors that all seemed to smell the same. Doors clanged shut behind us. Somewhere in the distance, men shouted at one another, followed by a burst of laughter that made my skin crawl. I tried not to look at the inmates watching from behind their bars, but I could feel their attention following me as the guard led me deeper into the building.

Eventually, we stopped outside a cell.

“Your new home,” the guard said, unlocking the door.

He shoved me inside before I could ask anything.

Four men occupied the cell. One sat on the lower bunk, another leaned against the wall, and a large man sat on a battered table. Between his legs, a boy was kneeling, blowing him.

My legs trembled beneath me. The air in the room was thick with the wet, sticky sound of forced oral sex.

Nobody spoke at first.

Until the large man suddenly grabbed the boy’s hair, letting out a low grunt as he came inside his mouth. He pulled his dick out, leaving the boy trembling on his knees, gasping and coughing on the floor.

Then the largest man, a thick-necked brute with a scar running from his temple toward his jaw, shoved himself back into his pants, zipped up, and rose slowly from the table.

Instantly, I felt all three of their eyes lock onto me. Their attention swept over my face, my clothes, and the wet blood staining the front of my shirt.

I couldn't help but swallow hard, my hands trembling uncontrollably.

“You...” I tried to speak.

Suddenly, the man leaning against the wall stepped forward. That's when I noticed his bright red hair. The prison required all inmates to dye their hair black. Something like that shouldn't have been allowed. Unless... 

By now,The redhead stopped right in front of me, his eyes slowly roaming over my face before settling on the bloodstained shirt. 

“Well, well, well. What do we have here? A pretty little newcomer.” 

He grinned and glanced at the others. 

“Looks like we've got ourselves a new toy.” 

My blood ran cold. I took a step back, but there was nowhere to go. 

Just my luck. I'd barely set foot in this prison, and I'd already landed myself in even bigger trouble.