side, whining, one hind leg curled inward.
I didn’t thrash. I didn’t yell. Fighting three guards in a tier hallway was how men got fifteen added years or a toe tag. Every breath I took was shallow, measuring the steel biting into my wrists, remembering the sound of Beth’s voice through the receiver: That’s the part I need you to mean.
They threw me into administrative segregation—the hole.
The cell was six by eight feet of unpainted cinderblock. No mattress, just a steel slab welded to the wall, a drain in the floor, and a solid iron door with a narrow slit that shut out the world. The slam of that deadbolt had a hollow, final ring to it.
For twenty-four hours, the only light came from the seam beneath the door.
Contraband charges inside a state penitentiary carried a mandatory five- to ten-year enhancement. A phone and narcotics meant
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