I’ll make sure to bring the pain when I get out of here. She deserves it.

You might think I’m an asshole for wanting to kill a girl, but this girl has gone pretty far … further than most girls will ever go to clear their own name. She framed me so she could point the cops at me and put me in jail. That’s like cutting the heart out of a man. If I had one, I’d be dead already, especially because I involved myself with the likes of her.

I admit that I’m not a saint. I did some bad shit, too. I killed her husband, but he deserved every ounce of the pain that he received. He was a cheating bastard, and so was she. They both deserve to go to hell.

I reek of fury and rightfully so. All I can think about is making her suffer the way she’s making me suffer. Lock her up and hurt her. My fingers twist, grabbing the empty air as I imagine strangling her. I can already feel the bones crack.

She fucking ruined my life, and not just because she put me in jail. That girl is full of secrets, cloaked behind a façade that I’m dying to strip away. Of course, nobody believes me. With my tattoos, piercings, and dark hair, I look like the typical killer, someone whose words mean nothing in the face of a threat. It’s always been that way, and I don’t expect that to change anytime soon. My life has always been about bare-knuckle fights to claim authority over whatever I deemed as mine. That’s all I do, all I know. Fighting in whatever way necessary with whatever means I can gather just to get what belongs to me.

And the worst thing is that I once fought for her.

That’s right; she’s not just my most hated rival, but she also used to be the object of my affection. I say ‘used to’, but I’m not so sure if I’ll gut her that quickly when I see her face again. I might actually fuck her first, and then kill her. Exes … I’d rather ax them.

If I could, I would erase every memory I had of her, just so I’d stop thinking about her. Instead, I’m locked up in this cell, reminded of her day in and day out … thinking of all the ways that I’m going to make her beg for mercy.

“Are you sulking again?”

I turn my head at the sound of the annoyingly sarcastic voice of my cellmate. At times like these, when he says shit like this, I just want to rip his head off. However, the cavity in my chest has reserved a tiny spot for him to the point of it growing on me like a parasite. That’s what you get when you spend months in the same room with another guy. Somehow, you are attached to the person just because they’re there … they’re alive, and you can talk to them. That alone is enough to create a bond. At least, in here it is.

So, I’ll spare him … for now.

I narrow my eyes at him. “Shut up.”

He raises his eyebrow at me, his blue eyes flaring with curiosity. “I know what you’re doing when you twitch your nose, crack your knuckles, and sneer at the wall. You do it every day.” He cocks his head at me as he sits on the edge of his bunk bed, his feet dangling close to my head. “You’re thinking about her, aren’t you?”

“Mind your own business, will you?” I say, shoving his legs aside. “And get those damn feet out of my fucking face. They smell like rotting junk food.”

He attempts to rub his socks against my chin, so I pull his leg so hard he crashes to the floor.

“Ow! Fuck!” he yells, rubbing his head as he crawls up. He runs his fingers through his long, dark hair. “What did you do that for?”

“That’s what you get for taunting me,” I say.

He frowns. “Asshole.”

I smirk. “That’s me.” I flip the pages of my calendar back where they belong and throw it on the table. “Got a problem with that?”

He raises his brow. “Always.”

I smile, and so does he. I know this fucker never gets mad at me, and that’s why I like him. It’s also why he’s still alive. Being in a cell with me isn’t easy … if you manage to survive. What can I say? The fucker has grown on me.

Suddenly, something strikes the bars of the cell, and it makes me jolt up from my seat and turn around. It’s the guard, flashing a cocky smile.

“Sullivan. DeLuca.” With a low voice, he says, “Time to get some fresh air.”

I sigh, packing up my things, like we always do. Everything has to be left tidy and neat, so the officers can check the cell with a quick glance. The guard opens the door when we’re ready, and he escorts us downstairs where the rest of the inmates gather as well. We always go outside in designated blocks, one block never coming into contact with the other. They do it to separate the racial gangs, which are notorious for starting prison riots.

Me? I don’t belong anywhere, and neither does DeLuca, so we stick together mostly. I hate cliques and avoid them like the plague. They have nothing to offer us, and I have no interest in siding with idiots. However, that makes us easy targets, too. That’s why the guards are always on their toes whenever they let us out of the cage.

We walk outside with the rest of the inmates and go to our regular spot near the picnic table. It’s to the far east side of the premises, close to the fence where the grass is still green instead of soiled by dirty boots. I go on my knees and pluck some grass out of the earth as DeLuca sits on top of the picnic table and leans back to enjoy the sun.

“Fucking fine day it is, Nix,” DeLuca muses, groaning as he stretches.

“Mmmhmm,” I agree, but I don’t want to talk with him right now. Outside is the only place where I can think of other things besides that fucking woman, and I can hear more than just his voice. Being confined to a small cell does things to a person. It makes them vulnerable … weak almost, and that’s a feeling I can barely stomach. It makes me want to start a riot just for the sake of regaining my spirit.

I pluck some more grass until I find what I’m looking for—a colony of ants has taken up residence here over the past couple of months. I move a few small stones until I find their nest and just look at it. They crawl everywhere with little leaves and other types of food, bringing it to the nest, as well as carrying the larvae. It’s a tiny ecosystem resembling humans, only on a much smaller scale. I just like to watch them. That’s all. And maybe help them every now and then, just for fun.

Suddenly, a boot comes crashing down on top of the nest, crushing the ants.

Enraged, I look up at the person who just butchered a whole city worth of insects.

“Playing in the sandbox, are we, Sullivan?” he snarls, spit flying out of his mouth and onto my cheek.

Getting up to my feet, I wipe it off and lean in with narrowed eyes. He checks me out from top to bottom while his buddies gather around us, creating a circle to trap me. This guy is clearly looking for a fight … with the wrong dude.

Lifting my hand, I smear his spit right back on his own cheek, dragging it along slowly as everyone watches with parted lips and audible gasps. Apparently, now I’ve gone and done it. Shit’s about to hit the fan. Great. Just the way I like it.

When I’m done, I wipe what’s left of the goo on my pants and cock my head, waiting for him to make the first move.

“You fucking cocksucker. I’ll teach you a lesson.” The guy growls and up his fist goes, right into my face. I take the blow like a man, absorbing the full force and letting my body move with his smack. It takes me a few seconds to recuperate. It’s a good punch. However, not good enough.

“Is that all you got?” I say, turning my face back to him.

The cocky look he’s championing immediately turns into shock, as he probably realizes it didn’t hurt me much. When I smile, he screams and his face turns completely red. Before he can lash out in anger, I punch him in the gut.

That’s when DeLuca gets off the table and hits another guy in the back, causing him to buckle. Then he gives him a knee to the face and steals his knife. He cuts another attacker’s arm, who screams for help, while I fight my attacker until he’s down on the ground and I’m on top of him, beating the shit out of him.