Brighter Than the Sun - Darynda Jones Page 0,36

part, their faces a mixture of fury and shock.

One of them itches to take me out. I can feel it. He doesn’t want to give up the game yet, but most of the men have been put in lockdown already. Those who are still roaming have absolutely zero chance of getting out. Not that they all want out. Some just want revenge. They go after other inmates who have “wronged them,” according to their demented, drug-scarred minds.

“Open the door,” I say to the guards in the booth.

They glance at each other, trying to decide what to do.

“He needs medical attention.” O’Connell slumps lower and lower at my side.

Holding him up is not a problem. Holding him up while fighting off the men who have gathered might be.

I turn to them. They all know what I’m capable of. Or they think they do. I lower the guard to the floor, then give them my full attention. I’ve decided to see this as an opportunity to make my name even more influential. Even more powerful.

Most of the inmates in Level 5 are in for murder and other violent crimes. Nobody will miss them. I take a deep breath as they close the circle around me, gaining courage from the numbers they have.

The world around me goes silent. Alarms stop blaring. Inmates stop yelling. Doors stop banging.

There are eleven. Two are almost as tall as I am. I start with the men on my left and work my way around, deciding in the span between a single heartbeat who lives and who dies. Their crimes are numerous and plentiful.

The trick is to keep them from rushing me long enough to incapacitate the majority. And like all tricks, sometimes there is a technical glitch. I throw a quick jab at the first one, hard enough to shatter every bone in his face and fracture the third and fourth vertebrae of his spine. I step in and elbow the next one, causing pretty much the same amount of damage. The third inmate wins a broken kneecap and dislocated shoulder. The fourth loses several teeth, the contents of his stomach, and a fair amount of blood. I do all that before the mob takes a single step. Trying to thin out the herd.

It doesn’t work. They jump me en masse, kicking and punching and stabbing. But the icing on the cake is inmate number 5447. He’s pulling my hair. He’s pulling my fucking hair. I snap his wrist along with a couple of necks, crack a few ribs, and relocate several noses.

By the time I’m finished, only three are dead. The worst of the worst. They deserved to die long ago, in my humble opinion. Not that either me or my opinion has ever been humble.

The rest I leave rolling on the ground in agony, their bones broken or their skulls a little shattered. All in all, it takes me seven seconds to take them down. I counted.

The guards behind the glass are standing with mouths agape.

I rest my hands on the glass, my chest heaving from exertion. “I trust you’ll have my back on this?”

They nod, too astonished to speak.

“Then open the fucking door.”

They scramble to get the control room door open and drag their downed man inside.

“Farrow,” O’Connell says through gritted teeth, “get in here. If they find out—”

I laugh softly. “If they find out, I’ll be more of a freak?”

“More of a legend,” one of the other guards says.

I tilt my head. “That works, too.”

The appreciation on O’Connell’s face is almost more than I can bear. I’m not used to such blatant gratitude. Even Dutch doesn’t show gratitude so much as bone-chilling fear when I save her life. Repeatedly. I bristle under his scrutiny. Step back as the door slides shut.

A small group of inmates wanders up and look at the carnage. They want no part of the riot, but they’ve been locked out of their cells. When they question me with a combination of wide eyes and gaping mouths, I say, “Don’t look at me,” and point to the guards behind the glass.

They turn their astonished gazes to the guards, buying me time to get back to my cell, which I inadvertently broke to save O’Connell’s ass, before the cavalry rides in.

21

I’ve been inside for almost ten years. I’ve gone through twelve cellmates. I’ve accrued enough money to buy a small country. I’ve earned another degree. No idea why other than because it was something to do.

Amador and Bianca have a great