himself in Nicky all over again.
Nicky had given Cy an awkward smile when he’d seen the damage in the metallic surface that served as a mirror in their cell, his face flushing to the tips of his ears. “Maybe this will buy me a week or two before the guards realize you’re not going to be the one to shiv me in the showers.” Cy had raised a brow, his mouth flattening into a hard line, prompting Nicky to ask, “You’re not, right?”
“That’s not funny.”
Nicky had grinned then winced. “It’s a little funny.”
The door to the facility opened, pulling Cy from his thoughts of that morning. His stomach churned as Rogers spoke quietly to Haliburton, and the old man gave Cy a quizzical look before leaving him alone with Rogers. Fuck. Was this asshole going to be his fucking shadow now?
“Morning, inmate,” Rogers said, keeping his distance as he pulled his baton from his belt and swung it lazily in a circle. What was it with guys like Rogers? Had they not been loved enough as children? What was with the incessant need to prove they were in charge? Did Rogers think his big stick intimidated Cy? Cy had gotten his ass beat so much when he first got in there that he was certain there would be permanent shoe prints on his back. Rogers had never scared him, had never scared anybody, really. But that was before Nicky.
When Cy only gave a nod in his direction, Rogers slammed the baton against the bars of the kennel he currently stood in, causing the golden retriever to whimper and cower back against the wall. “Answer me when I speak to you, inmate.”
“Morning,” Cy said. “This is Lawson’s dog, Gertrude. He named her after his mama. He’s real protective of her.” Cy tried to keep his tone conversational.
“You think I give a rat’s ass what that white trash, sister-fucking hick cares about?” Rogers snapped, even as he backed away from the pen.
Cy snorted. Rogers had no backbone, and he’d suck Lawson’s dick just to have him know his name. Cy honestly had no idea how the warden hadn’t caught on to what a bootlicker Rogers was when it came to the inmates he was supposed to guard. He’d sell out his own mother to feel like he was one of them. “What can I do for you, Rogers?”
Rogers chuckled. “I saw your boy in the chow line. He looked pretty banged up.”
Cy grunted, getting down on one knee to sooth Gertie, not sure how to respond to Rogers’ taunts. What he wanted to do was rip his arms off and stuff them in every available orifice, but, instead, he concentrated on the sweet dog in front of him. She hadn’t done anything to earn Rogers’ ire, and Lawson really was obsessed with Gertie.
To be fair, Cy didn’t give a fuck about Lawson’s feelings either, but only because Lawson was somebody Cy couldn’t get a bead on. Rogers was right about the trailer park. Lawson spoke like he grew up in the sticks, but he was doing federal time for laundering money. If the rumors were true, he’d earned a fortune before he was eighteen from underage gambling. That told Cy that Lawson’s dumb hillbilly act was just that. An act. Cy didn’t hold it against him—they all played a part in that place—but he also didn’t trust him.
“I have to say, I thought he’d look a little more…dead or at least be convalescing in the infirmary. I mean, this is the kid who cost you twenty years of your life, right?”
Rogers clearly wasn’t going to let it go. Cy stood, leaving the pen and locking it behind him, turning to face the guard. Cy was a head taller than Rogers, causing him to look down on the man, who was just a little too close for Cy’s comfort. Rogers must have felt the same way. He switched his baton to his non-dominant hand, his right hovering over his weapon. Cy rolled his eyes, turning to move to the next pen.
“What have you got to say for yourself?” Rogers asked.
Cy took a deep breath and let it out. He had no choice but to tell the stupid fuck what he wanted to hear. “What I have to say is that he cost me twenty years. Me. Not you. Not the warden. Me. You might want me to kill him so you can toss him in the trash, but I’ve been waiting for my