16
I race for the door, and I don't even have it open before I hear voices. I throw open the door to see a half dozen people bearing down on Brady's cell.
"What the hell?" I say.
The guy in the lead--a new resident named Roy--points at me. "You, stay back."
"What the fuck?" I barrel in. "You do not ever tell me to do anything. Get the hell out of here. All of you."
Everyone except Roy stops. They don't leave, though. They just stop. He keeps going, barging into the cell room.
"Talk to me," Brady says, gripping the bars. "Please just talk to me."
I march past the mob. "Roy? You have ten seconds to get out of there or you are under arrest."
"Yeah?"
He steps up to me. He's at least six-two and probably two hundred and fifty pounds. It's not muscle, but he's still more than twice my size.
"Try that again, girlie," he says.
I reach for my gun. Then I stop. I see myself pulling it. I see myself pointing it. I see him laughing. And then I see Blaine, hear him laugh. A drop of sweat trickles down my hairline. I leave my gun holstered.
"Yeah, I didn't think so," he says. "Get out of my way."
I cannot get angry. Cannot get defensive. Cannot show this asshole what a mistake he's making, because if I do, I know how this ends up. With a bullet through his chest.
At a noise behind me, I glance to see Petra. Her eyes still blaze with that fire from earlier, and I put up a hand to stop her.
"Go get the boys, please," I say. "We seem to have a situation."
She stands her ground. I meet her gaze. She nods, abruptly, and then shoulders past the others.
"Yeah," Roy says. "Run and get 'the boys.' Their girlie needs some help."
"What do you want?" I say.
It's Brady who responds first. "These people see what you're doing to me, the injustice, and they aren't going to stand for it."
"Yeah, he's right," Roy says. "We see the injustice here. The injustice of being forced to live with a killer."
"No one said he--" I begin.
"I haven't killed anyone," Brady cuts in. "I didn't shoot those people. I'm being framed."
"See?" Roy says, his voice rising for the others. "Told you it was murder. Multiple murders, like I said. That's the only reason they'd build him his own private jail. He's a fucking psychopath."
"What? Wait," Brady says. "No. I didn't--"
"We want a trial," Roy says. "Now."
"How?" I say. "He didn't commit any crimes here."
"See?" Brady says. "I haven't done any--"
"Shut. Up." I glower at him. "These men aren't here to set you free, you idiot."
"Hell, yeah. We'll set him free," Roy says. "Swinging from the end of a rope."