Blood pooled in my mouth, streamed down my face, coated my tongue. Blow followed blow. Where were the damn guards when you needed them?
Some time between my first whimper and groans torn from deep inside of me I heard the sound I’d been listening for. A sweet, harsh blow of a whistle.
Finally.
But the attack didn’t stop. Not immediately. And I doubted it’d stop at all if Big Mad Martha had her way. I could hear the guards scuffling with her, tearing her away from her fun.
I didn’t uncurl. I couldn’t. Like wadded paper I risked tearing apart if I tried.
The hands grabbing me might mean I’d live, but damn if they weren’t as rough as BMM and company.
Hauled to my feet a scream tore from me. That gave me a second’s respite before I heard a harsh growl. “Hell, Noziak, you trying to get yourself killed?”
The voice belonged to Mingo Martin, one of the least sadistic of the guards. A tall, burly Samoan woman who was one of the few who’d go head to head with Big Mad Martha, but only if there were no other way to slow the gang leader.
“What took you so long?” I whispered between lips puffing up like bad cosmetic surgery.
“I was having tea with the queen,” came the reply, followed by a question spoken close to my ear. “Can you walk? Better for you if you can, know what I mean?”
And I did. Showing weakness of any kind only meant more brutality in this closed world. Since I was here for a life sentence, betraying fear or cowering beneath Big Mad Martha’s attacks would only earn me more. From her and any other wanna-be control freak.
So I straightened, chomping down on the inside of my lip until I tasted fresh copper gagging me. “Lead the way.” I said, knowing my brothers would be proud of me. Walking away from a beating with your head high was sometimes as good as it got.
In prison, it was the only win I’d be getting.
Mingo Martin grabbed my arm as if hustling me, but in fact she and I both knew it was the only thing making it possible to shuffle across the school-ground sized exercise yard, a trio of guards with billy clubs and snarls the only thing keeping the milling women from moving in on me.
I leaned closer to Martin, murmuring, “Get Been-There out of here.”
Martin paused, causing me to stumble and curse. Not loud as I didn’t have that much air in my lungs.
“Patterson, you and Frizzoli remove all the new meat from the food chain. Got me?”
Good. New prisoners were often called fish or meat, so Been-There would be safe. For now.
Tomorrow? The day after? Prison meant surviving one day at a time and sometimes one hour at a time. Right now, all my concentration was focused on lifting the next foot.
I never thought I’d be happy to pass through the cell-block door, feeling the drop in temp inside the concrete two-story square.
“You going to live?” Martin mumbled next to me, willing to talk a little louder now that we were out of the worst of it.
“Do I have a choice?” I meant it to come out as a joke, but I hurt too damned bad for that.
“Need the infirmary?”
I gave a weak shake of my head. Taking the easy way out shouted loud and clear I was a lightweight. Besides, staying safe was easier in my isolated cell rather than the open bunks of the hospital wing, a wing staffed by inmates, many loyal to Big Mad Martha. Nothing she’d like better than finishing what she’d started in the yard.
“Have it your way.” Martin barked an order to whoever dragged me along by my right side. “Take her to the warden’s room. She’s got VIP visitors.”
That had me dragging my feet, more than they already were. “What?”
“That’s right, Noziak, powerful people have pulled some strings to chat with you. Sorry mess that you’re in right now. Warden won’t like anyone getting the idea we can’t protect our guests.”
What the warden wanted or didn’t want wasn’t my problem. Figuring out who wanted to meet with me was.
Only person I’d allowed to visit me since I’d arrived was my sorry assed public defender. Not my dad, not my brothers. No way did I want them to see me here. I knew my holding them off was hurting them, but nowhere as much as it was killing me, a long, slow, tortured dying. But if they had any clue what it was like here they’d bust me out in a heartbeat, consequences be dammed. One Noziak behind bars was enough for me.
I sucked in a painful breath, turning toward Martin, “Who?”
“Not local for sure,” came her response. “Don’t look like reporters or do-gooders either.”
That about summed up who visited prisoners. Family, a few friends who usually had their own agendas, newshounds who wanted a fresh angle or a human-interest story, or religious types who thought a few prayers would cut through the desperation coating the pea-green institutional walls.
I saved my breath. I’d see who wanted me soon enough as we headed down the nearest hallway, choked with the scent of cafeteria lunches being prepared. My only positive news, from what I smelled, looked to be that I’d miss out on the boiled cabbage. Lucky me.
Mingo Martin paused in front of the warden’s wooden door, so out of place in a world of concrete and metal. She nodded toward the other prison keeper propping me up, who released me and scampered away. Not a good sign.
“You watch yourself,” Martin said, thundering a knock against the door. “Better than you did in the yard, you hear me?”
Martin was one of the good ones. Someday I’d let her know it. Today all I could manage was an abrupt head nod as the door peeled open.
Ready or not. Mostly not.
I blinked as I adjusted to the change in light. Even in the middle of the day fluorescent lights flooded every inch of the prison. The better to see problems and look the other way. In this room, there was actually a window to the outside. The sight of it stopped me, even though I’d just come in from the yard. I hadn’t realized how much I missed the simple pleasure of looking out a window.
Guess I could have stood there for hours except a man cleared his throat. That jerked me back to the moment.
“Miss Noziak?” the warden asked. I recognized his guttural, central-prairie drawl. “What in the world?”
The last had him standing behind his wooden desk, frowning at me and sharpening his gaze. “What’s the meaning of this?”
“I fell,” I said, as I shuffled forward. I would’ve gone for the more standard, I ran into a door, but that took too many words.
“Officer Martin, why is she is this condition?” he demanded, pulling himself up to his six-foot height as if that were going to drive home his anger.
“Altercation in the yard, sir,” came Martin’s response as she shifted to a stiff stance beside me. “Those involved have been segregated.”
“Did you start this?” The warden shot his steely-eyed gaze in my direction.
I didn’t have to answer as Martin jumped in. “No, sir, Prisoner Noziak was the recipient not the aggressor.”
“This true, Noziak?” the warden snarled as if not pleased his guilty party had been snatched away. “You wish to press charges?”
I could feel my brows arch, the only thing on my body not hurting. As if I weren’t going to be a big enough target; pressing charges against fellow inmates meant a death sentence.
“No, sir,” I managed between split lips. “Just a misunderstanding.”
I thought I’d managed a plausible recovery but from the warden’s expression I’d failed.
But he didn’t say anything, just shifted his attention to the other two in the room. Both of whom I’d missed, which told me how badly I’d been beaten. Only the naïve ignored the biggest predators in a small, enclosed space, and I had no doubt these two were top of the food chain.
One, a whipcord lean man, stood against the far wall, a strategic position that allowed him to guard his back and launch into an effective offense if needed. I doubted he needed to often as he gave off that mess-with-me-and-you-die vibe that action heroes and mercenaries have down pat.
But he wasn’t the biggest bad ass present. No, it was the diminutive Amerasian woman seated in one of the two faux-leather visitor’s chairs that had me bracing myself.
I wasn’t sure why. She seemed fully human, but I could be wrong. She held herself still, an elegant tilt to her coiffed black hair, groomed to the nth degree, compact and assured. She looked like a strong wind could topple her and might have been anywhere from mid-thirties to early fifties and holding well. So why did I want to call Big Mad Martha for back up?
“This is Alexis Noziak?” she asked, as if she held reservations. I had no doubt this woman had my social security number, knew my legal file in and out and could probably share my bra size if questioned.
“Alex,” I said, moving forward, an involuntary shift to protect Martin from association with me. Which was just dumb as Martin was the one with the club, mace, and full force of the law behind her.
The seated woman smiled. “Alex, then, a pleasure to meet you.”
Said the spider to the fly.
I glanced at the standing man who watched me with dark, dangerous eyes. No ally there. Then shot the warden a what-the-hell glance. He answered with a slight shrug of his shoulders I bet he didn’t know he gave.
He spoke to the two civilians though. “I’ll leave you three to your business.”
Captain abandoning the ship.
He moved from behind the desk toward the door, sweeping Martin before him in an action so quick I expected a breeze as the door clicked shut behind him.
“Won’t you please take a seat,” the woman murmured, sweeping one elegant hand toward the chair opposite her.
“No, thanks. I’ll stand.”
I might not be able to move quickly or fight off an attack, but I was still alert enough to tell that all of us knew this wasn’t a social call.
“Don’t be an idiot,” Mercenary Guy snarled. “You’re safe.”
Yeah, like I was going to believe him.
I shook my head, cringing at the movement. “I’ll stand all the same.”
I could have sworn his lips twitched upwards, but sweat, or blood, dripped into my eye and I was too focused on wiping it away to be sure.
“The warden informs us you’ve been an exemplary prisoner,” the woman said, easing into business.
I didn’t reply. Exemplary in prison meant you kept your nose clean, didn’t cause problems for the higher-ups and avoided, as much as possible, fist fights with the other prisoners. I’d blotted my copybook on that score today.
Instead of speaking I glared at the petite woman, willing her to get to the point so I could stagger off to my bunk.
“Forgive me,” she said, taking me by surprise as she stood. “I haven’t introduced myself. My name is Ling Mai.”
She extended a hand that had me flinching. I don’t know what I expected, weapon, threat, something, anything except a manicured hand that gave a decent handshake when I finally met her halfway.
“And this is my colleague, M.T. Stone.” She nodded toward the man who didn’t bother with a handshake or any other social pleasantries.
He reminded me of my oldest brother Van, ex-Special Forces, now working some other hush-hush job for some government agency. Right from the start you knew where you stood with Van: mess with him, he’d kill you, otherwise he’d ignore you until he needed to deal with you.
I gave a slight chin nod in acknowledgement—one of those you-don’t-mess-with-me-and-I-won’t-mess-with-you motions. I think Stone and I understood each other perfectly.
But I didn’t have a clue what this Ling Mai woman wanted.
“I understand you’re sentence here is for life,” she said, as if discussing the weather as she returned to her seat.
“Yeah,” I answered with more snarl than I intended. “What of it?”
The other woman angled her head and rocked my world. “Would you be interested in having your sentence commuted?”