Endangered Species Endangered Species (Time Served #1) - Onley James Page 0,43

waiting to talk to him.”

“If you fucking touch him, I’ll kill you, too!” Cy shouted.

“Let him go,” Rogers yelled.

The moment Cy hit the ground, everything went white, his body jolting as they hit him with their stun baton. By the time he woke up, he was in the SHU. He was still weak from being electrocuted, but what he’d done came back to him in a rush. He wasn’t sorry he’d done it, but he was sorry he was now stuck in there where he could no longer watch out for Nicky.

He punched the stone wall, letting the shockwaves of pain course over him, making his brain more alert. There was no bed, just a plastic mat, a sleeping bag, and a toilet in the corner. “Fuck!” he shouted, his word echoing around the empty room. “Fuck,” he said again, quieter.

He dropped down onto the mat and brought his knees to his chest, digging his palms into his eye sockets.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, somehow hoping Nicky would know that he had only done this to protect him…because he loved him, too.

Webster knew something was wrong as soon as he stepped out into the yard. Cy always beat him out there since the laundry facilities were closer, and he usually went straight to the weights while Webster waited on the bleachers, usually napping like a cat in the sun but sometimes talking to Tig or Iggy, neither of whom were there to tell him what the fuck was happening.

It was Preacher who broke the news, finding Webster sitting on the risers. The moment he saw the older man’s face, his stomach churned. “What? What’s wrong? Where’s Cy?”

Preacher didn’t sit right away, just stood with his hands on his hips, looking down on Webster with a look that told him Preacher thought he was more trouble than he was worth. “There was a thing that happened in the laundry.”

Webster’s pulse pounded hard against his veins, causing his numerous bruises to throb in time with his heartbeat. “What the fuck does that even mean, Preacher? Is he okay? Is he hurt?”

Preacher dropped down beside him, placing a hand on his shoulder. It was the first time Webster had ever noticed the three crosses inked on his throat. “He’s fine. Thor…not so much. Cy’s in the hole. Thor’s in the hospital.”

Webster’s head swam as he tried to process Preacher’s words. “What’d he do?” His words sounded dull, even to his own ears, but he was spiraling a little, as worried for Cy as he was for himself.

Preacher cleared his throat, looking out over the yard to where Thor’s crew watched them both like a pack of feral dogs, doing everything but snarling and snapping their teeth. “I wasn’t there, but I hear he forced the man to drink laundry detergent and then burned the shit out of his face and hands.”

“Cy wouldn’t do that,” Webster said, feeling sick. “He’s too gentle for that.”

Preacher gave a humorless laugh. “Look at you, kid. Did you think Cy would be able to let that go unpunished? That’s not the way things work here. Cy claimed you for his own, and Thor put his hands on you. If Cy had let that slide, it would have been open season on your ass.”

For the second time in two days, Webster felt like he’d been sucker-punched in the stomach, and he was grateful he hadn’t eaten that morning. “I never wanted any of this for him. I was trying to prove he was innocent. That’s all. I just wanted his record clean so, when he was finally free, he didn’t have this fucking record hanging over his head. It’s bad enough my mother ruined most of his life. I didn’t want her to steal the rest of it, too.”

Webster didn’t know why he was confessing any of this to Preacher. He was almost positive the man didn’t even like him.

“You know what they say about the road to hell…” Preacher said, still watching the other inmates move about the yard.

“I can’t figure out if you’re just full of shit or what,” Webster finally said.

Preacher laughed at that. A real-life genuine laugh. “If you figure it out, let me know. I’ve wondered the same about myself for years.”

Silence stretched out between them for a long while as Webster tried to imagine what might happen next. “What will happen to Cy now?”

“He’s fucked,” Preacher said.

“What do you mean, fucked?” Webster asked, knowing full well what he meant but refusing to accept this

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