watching his back and the backs of his crew. Except North.
Reid hadn’t looked out for North. Not well enough. Not as he had promised Knox. He had staged a fight in order to get sent
to the local hospital. It was supposed to be simple. It wasn’t supposed to involve others. Just him and some skinhead from
another crew who got sent to prison for rape and murder. Reid hadn’t meant to start a riot. He hadn’t meant for North to get
hurt. His shoulders bore the brunt of that, the weight threatening to cripple him.
He had failed, and now here he stood, free. At least until he was back in there—which was an eventuality. Hopefully North
and the rest of the boys would be fine without him until he returned.
The mirror started to fog up, obscuring the reflection of the hard-eyed stranger looking back at him. He didn’t bother wiping
it clear. He didn’t particularly care to look at himself. He’d gotten his friend hurt. And there was Grace Reeves to consider.
He winced. Hopefully, she wouldn’t bear any lasting injuries. No more than she already had. Hopefully, within the week he
could let her go. He’d already saved her, he reasoned. Keeping her for a few more days wouldn’t harm anyone . . . and if it
brought down Sullivan, it would serve the greater good. Right?
As bad as the rest of them . . .
Her words had hit their mark. Maybe she was right. He thought himself so different than Zane and the others, but what had
he done with his life? Maybe he hadn’t killed the man that he was sent to prison for killing, but his hands weren’t clean.
You couldn’t spend a decade at the Rock and come out clean. He’d seen things . . . done things. And he would continue to do
things. Things like killing Otis Sullivan. Just because he felt justified didn’t mean it wouldn’t be murder. The way he looked
at it, he was already in jail for that particular crime. He might as well make it a reality. And killing Sullivan would be
worth it.
Reid stepped into the minuscule shower. Warm water was fleeting so he made quick work of washing himself. Bowing his head,
he let the last of the warm spray rush over him. Now he only had to stop thinking about what Grace Reeves felt like, all those
curves and sweet skin and how long it had been since he had sunk deep between a woman’s thighs. With a groan, he slid his
hand down to grip his dick, giving himself several hard strokes.
This wasn’t exactly how he had imagined spending his precious days of freedom. He had imagined he would eat a good burger.
Find a quick, anonymous fuck. Then he would top everything off by killing Sullivan. The icing on the cake of his brief bout
of freedom.
He rested his forehead against the wall of the shower and pumped his dick, working it almost savagely, desperate for release,
something to take the edge off. Thinking about her wasn’t hurting anything. Remembering how hot her sex had felt, how wet
her panties, how easy it would have been to slip the fabric aside and find her slick heat with his fingers. He closed his
eyes, his breathing growing ragged as his balls drew up tight. His fantasies took a turn and it wasn’t just his hand anymore.
In his mind he was spreading her thighs wide and driving his swollen length into her. She’d arch, her body swallowing him,
fitting him like a glove, milking his hungry cock.
He came, blowing his load with a head-tossing groan. He stood beneath the spray of water, rattled in the aftermath. He was
certifiable. Just the thought of her had him jacking off to the best orgasm he’d had in years. And that was still saying something,
since all his orgasms in recent—and not so recent—years had been self-service. This one shouldn’t have shattered him so much.
Water crashed over him, kneading the lingering tension from his muscles. No question about it, she had a hot little body under
the sexless clothes she wore, and those big brown eyes did things to his
Reid hadn’t looked out for North. Not well enough. Not as he had promised Knox. He had staged a fight in order to get sent
to the local hospital. It was supposed to be simple. It wasn’t supposed to involve others. Just him and some skinhead from
another crew who got sent to prison for rape and murder. Reid hadn’t meant to start a riot. He hadn’t meant for North to get
hurt. His shoulders bore the brunt of that, the weight threatening to cripple him.
He had failed, and now here he stood, free. At least until he was back in there—which was an eventuality. Hopefully North
and the rest of the boys would be fine without him until he returned.
The mirror started to fog up, obscuring the reflection of the hard-eyed stranger looking back at him. He didn’t bother wiping
it clear. He didn’t particularly care to look at himself. He’d gotten his friend hurt. And there was Grace Reeves to consider.
He winced. Hopefully, she wouldn’t bear any lasting injuries. No more than she already had. Hopefully, within the week he
could let her go. He’d already saved her, he reasoned. Keeping her for a few more days wouldn’t harm anyone . . . and if it
brought down Sullivan, it would serve the greater good. Right?
As bad as the rest of them . . .
Her words had hit their mark. Maybe she was right. He thought himself so different than Zane and the others, but what had
he done with his life? Maybe he hadn’t killed the man that he was sent to prison for killing, but his hands weren’t clean.
You couldn’t spend a decade at the Rock and come out clean. He’d seen things . . . done things. And he would continue to do
things. Things like killing Otis Sullivan. Just because he felt justified didn’t mean it wouldn’t be murder. The way he looked
at it, he was already in jail for that particular crime. He might as well make it a reality. And killing Sullivan would be
worth it.
Reid stepped into the minuscule shower. Warm water was fleeting so he made quick work of washing himself. Bowing his head,
he let the last of the warm spray rush over him. Now he only had to stop thinking about what Grace Reeves felt like, all those
curves and sweet skin and how long it had been since he had sunk deep between a woman’s thighs. With a groan, he slid his
hand down to grip his dick, giving himself several hard strokes.
This wasn’t exactly how he had imagined spending his precious days of freedom. He had imagined he would eat a good burger.
Find a quick, anonymous fuck. Then he would top everything off by killing Sullivan. The icing on the cake of his brief bout
of freedom.
He rested his forehead against the wall of the shower and pumped his dick, working it almost savagely, desperate for release,
something to take the edge off. Thinking about her wasn’t hurting anything. Remembering how hot her sex had felt, how wet
her panties, how easy it would have been to slip the fabric aside and find her slick heat with his fingers. He closed his
eyes, his breathing growing ragged as his balls drew up tight. His fantasies took a turn and it wasn’t just his hand anymore.
In his mind he was spreading her thighs wide and driving his swollen length into her. She’d arch, her body swallowing him,
fitting him like a glove, milking his hungry cock.
He came, blowing his load with a head-tossing groan. He stood beneath the spray of water, rattled in the aftermath. He was
certifiable. Just the thought of her had him jacking off to the best orgasm he’d had in years. And that was still saying something,
since all his orgasms in recent—and not so recent—years had been self-service. This one shouldn’t have shattered him so much.
Water crashed over him, kneading the lingering tension from his muscles. No question about it, she had a hot little body under
the sexless clothes she wore, and those big brown eyes did things to his
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