Hell Breaks Loose (Devil's Rock #2)(9)

Reid put the burrito back in the refrigerator. “This is going to bring a lot of heat. Hope he comes up with something good. And quick.”

“Sullivan’s not a fan of the president,” Zane explained slowly, as if still unsure how much to say.

Rowdy snorted. “Understatement. After donating a shit ton of money to his campaign, Reeves screwed him over,” Rowdy offered, chafing his hands hard over his thighs, full of anxious energy and mind-altering chemicals.

“Yeah?” Reid asked. “How so?

“Remember Sullivan’s nephew Jeremy?” At Reid’s nod, he continued, “Well, he got sent to prison on racketeering charges.”

“He talk?” Reid asked, because he knew the kid had been working for Sullivan. Any racketeering had been on Sullivan’s behalf.

“Nah, he weren’t no rat. Sullivan expected a favor from the president, or leniency at least, but Reeves wasn’t having it. No favors from him. They gave the kid twenty years.”

Reid whistled. He’d been in for eleven and that had felt like a lifetime. He remembered Jeremy. Sullivan had sent him away to some fancy college to get a degree in business or accounting. Something he could use to help manage Sullivan’s empire. The kid was smart, but soft. And maybe not that smart if he got caught. Prison couldn’t have been an easy transition for the likes of him.

“Gets worse,” Rowdy chimed.

“He killed himself,” Zane said with a shake of his head.

Reid blinked. Guys had killed themselves at the Rock. Of course. It happened. It was prison. You could almost mark the ones that weren’t going to make it the moment they arrived. They stuck to themselves. They didn’t make allies. A bad thing on the inside. You needed friends. They had a look. A desperate, shell-shocked expression that gradually faded to vacancy. They weren’t even present anymore by the time they ended it.

In his second year at the Rock there had been a guy in the cell next to him who hanged himself. The morning after he’d watched through the bars, glimpsing the waxy gray face as the guy was rolled out on a gurney.

Zane continued. “Sullivan wants payback.”

Now Reid understood. It was personal. He grimaced. Jeremy wasn’t just some lackey. He’d been blood. Sullivan wanted the president to suffer, and he would make him suffer by hurting his daughter.

As if to underscore this, Rowdy suddenly stood, his movements jerky and erratic. “Man, I need to f*ck something. She ain’t much to look at, but she’ll do.” He chuckled. “Maybe she’ll thank me. The chubby ones are always grateful for it.”

Reid froze for a fraction of a second, absorbing what was happening . . . what was about to happen. Grace Reeve’s suffering was about to begin in earnest. He stepped into Rowdy’s path, flattening a hand on his chest.

Rowdy glanced down at his hand and then knocked it aside, all friendliness lost. “You gonna get out of my way, man?”

Rowdy had always been a bastard when he was stoned. That much hadn’t changed. “You can’t have her,” Reid said softly. He had seen a lot of people abused. Even before prison, but especially in there, where he’d seen grown men broken and reduced to tears. He thought about that terrified looking girl in the back room and how fragile she appeared.

He knew how Rowdy was with women. Even women that chose to be with him. He wasn’t kind. He used ugly words and his fists flew with little provocation. Reid doubted that had changed while he was away. Grace Reeves wouldn’t hold up well. After him, the others would take turns. An awful lump rose up in his throat. She might not survive it at all—she might not want to.

“Yeah, Reid?” Rowdy demanded. “Why not? I stuck my neck out there to take her. You weren’t around, buddy. I earned it.” He stabbed a finger down the hall. “She’s the only chick here, and I want to f*ck something.”

“Not her.”

“Why? You wanna bang her?” he demanded.

The question hung heavy on the air. Reid didn’t shift his gaze even a fraction of an inch from Rowdy’s face. Never break eye contact. Never show weakness. He felt everyone in the house watching him, waiting. Whether a roomful of men raped Grace Reeves was entirely up to him and what he did in the next few moments.

“Yeah,” he finally said, accepting that it was the only thing these guys understood. As primitive as it sounded, it was about claiming. Possession. The rights of the conqueror. “Yeah, I do.”

Rowdy’s eyebrows arched high. “Then get in line. I go first.” He moved to go around him.

Reid flattened his hand on Rowdy’s chest, wondering how he ever considered this guy a friend.

Reid had been a different person all those years ago. Lost and broken himself. “I’m not taking turns,” he ground out, his voice lethally soft, the same tone he used in prison, when he’d staked his claim on something and wanted everyone to know there would be no backing down. It was a warning. “She’s mine.”

A tight silence descended.

Rowdy inhaled, shaking his shoulders out and lifting his chest on a swell of breath. Reid recognized the move. He’d done that when they were kids, right before he was about to throw down. Reid always knew shit was about to get real when Rowdy took that breath.

He tensed, squaring himself, grounding his heels into the cracking linoleum, ready to stop him from heading down that hall.