Renegade Path

“Cute. Reminds me of my last roommate.” A wave of sadness washed over me. Who was Pip’s roommate now? Was he safe? At least Juliet got to talk to him at school. Who knew I’d miss the little bugger so much?

Shouts and scuffling echoed in the hallway outside of our room. I groaned and stared at the ceiling. Every damn day with this shit. Except here, the counselors didn’t try to break up the pathetic battles for dominance. Hell, half the time they instigated the fights and placed bets.

My roommate also happened to be one of the best fighters currently housed at the Castle.

“Christ,” Griff grumbled. He jumped off his bunk and shoved our door closed. “I only got a few weeks left. Don’t need to be dragged into any bullshit.”

“I hear that,” I mumbled. I had an appointment with my caseworker this afternoon. Unless she was coming to tell me I was leaving this hellhole, I didn’t want to see her. But it’s not like I had a choice. I sure as shit didn’t want to get written up for fighting right before our meeting.

“You got homework?” Griff asked.

I shot a glare at him. “No, Dad, I don’t.”

Education here was an exercise in futility. No one learned anything useful. Kids acted out, disrupting the class constantly. The “teachers” themselves barely paid attention. I opted to enroll in the GED program. From the practice tests they gave me, it didn’t seem too difficult.

That was my new plan. Get my GED, turn eighteen, and get the fuck out of here.

The state couldn’t hold me hostage after my birthday. Legally, I’d be an adult. They’d have to release me, right? A few phone calls to the attorney who once represented me hadn’t yielded any meaningful answers.

One of the wardens popped into our room. “Griff, you wanna fight tonight?”

Griff raised his head and scowled. “Fuck no, Ollie. I’m outta here in two weeks.”

Ollie scanned Griff in a long, slow way. As if he was trying to mentally calculate how much money he could make off of Griff’s fighting skills before he got released. “As long as you win, I got your back,” the guard promised.

Meaning he wouldn’t write Griff up or call the cops and add time to his sentence.

How generous of you, asshole.

An uncomfortable silence stretched between them. I flattened myself against my bunk, breathing as quietly as possible, praying Ollie wouldn’t notice my presence.

Over the last few weeks, I’d watched the counselors pressure and arrange several fights between the kids. If you said no, they’d set you up to get in trouble. If you answered yes, you had to either get the shit beaten out of you or pummel someone bloody.

Even with the rage brewing inside me, both seemed like shitty options.

When Griff didn’t change his answer, Ollie turned his greedy eyes my way.

Fuck.

Ollie took a few steps toward my bunk. “How about you, pretty boy?”

“No thanks.”

“Can’t fight?” He crept closer to my bunk until he was staring in my eyes.

“Nope,” I answered without flinching.

“Big guy like you.” His calculating gaze studied me. “I don’t believe that.”

“You trying to date him or get him in the ring?” Griff muscled his way between us. “I’m in. Who you got for me to fuck up?”

I shook my head. “Griff, don’t—”

He shrugged me off. “It’s cool, Roman.”

Ollie took Griff aside and in a hushed voice I couldn’t overhear, gave him some instructions. A few seconds later, he left.

I sat up and swung my legs over the edge of the bunk. “You’re so close to getting out, Griff,” I reminded him. “Don’t risk it. You got people who depend on you.”

His jaw ticked and I wished I’d chosen better words to voice my concerns.

“I’ll have to get in the ring at some point,” I added, hating the note of defeat in my voice.

The hard expression on his face melted into the easier, casual grin he usually wore. “I’m gonna have to teach you a few things before I go.” He squinted at me. “You really can’t fight? Figured a guy your size would get challenged a lot, living in a group home.”

“I can defend myself.” Fuck knew I’d encountered enough bullies over the years. “And protect the younger kids in the house. But I don’t willingly fling myself into a fight if I can help it.”

“Gotcha.” He clucked his tongue and tapped the side of his head. “Smart.” He pointed to our small bar-covered window. “Out there, it’s always better to diffuse a fight with words, if you can.” His smile slipped. “I’ve never really had that opportunity.”

I opened my mouth to mutter sorry, or something equally lame, but he cut me off.

“Real world rules don’t apply in here. Always be ready to use your fists,” he finished.

“Fantastic,” I grumbled.

“It can get wild inside. But for the most part, you don’t have to worry about weapons being pulled during an official fight. At least the guards keep things one-on-one. You won’t get jumped by multiple people.”