Chapter 4

But I was faster.

After a year of keeping an eye on her, I knew exactly where Scarface's weakness lay.

Her old left knee injury threw off her balance.

I dodged to the side and kicked her right in the left knee.

She crumpled to the floor with a scream. I snatched the toothbrush handle and jammed it against her throat.

"You wanna die?" I growled.

Her eyes widened in terror. "No... Don't..."

I leaned in close to her ear and whispered, "Then remember this. Don't ever cross me again. Or I won't hesitate to kill again, even behind bars."

I stood up and tossed the toothbrush handle aside.

Hearing the guards' footsteps approaching, I raised my hands. "She attacked me. I was defending myself."

Scarface lay trembling on the floor, too scared to say a word.

After that, nobody in prison dared to mess with me.

They started looking at me with fear in their eyes.

That suited me fine.

Fear got you further than pity ever would.

After two years and seven months behind bars, I first met Quaid.

He was the new legal aid attorney, handling legal consultations for inmates like us.

He was tall and lean, rocking gold-rimmed glasses and eyes that could cut right through you.

"Elisa Maddox?" He pushed up his glasses and looked over my file. "Financial crime, doing time for someone else. Interesting."

I sat across from him, staying silent.

"You know, in your case, you could file an appeal." He shut the file and stared straight at me. "There's evidence suggesting someone else was actually responsible."

My heart skipped a beat. "What evidence?"

"That's not important," Quaid smiled. "What matters is, do you want out?"

"Now. Right now," I replied, locking eyes with Quaid, searching for any sign of a trap. "What's the catch?"

"Smart." He leaned in, lowering his voice. "I need your help with something. In return, I can get you out sooner. Plus, I'll give you a chance to settle the score."

Sunlight streamed in from outside, throwing a cold gleam on his glasses.

I knew cutting a deal with the devil was dangerous.

But I was already in hell.

What was there left to be afraid of?

"What do you need?" I asked.

Quaid smiled, his expression a blend of genuine appreciation and shrewd calculation, "There's a project at Oliver Group that I'm really interested in. But it's cutthroat. I need inside information."

I didn't say a word for what felt like ages, long enough that Quaid thought I was about to refuse him.

"Fine," I said. "But that's not enough. I want Vincent to lose everything. I want Charlotte's name dragged through the mud. I want them to feel pain a thousand times worse than mine."

Quaid looked at me, a glint of intrigue flashing in his eyes.

"Deal." He held out his hand. "Looking forward to working with you, Ms. Maddox."

I didn't shake his hand. "Remember your promise, Mr. Wright. Otherwise, I don't mind making you my next enemy."

He withdrew his hand and smirked, like he didn't care at all. "You know, you're honestly the most intriguing woman I've ever met. Hopefully, once you're out, we can really team up for something big," he said, his words layered with meaning.

I didn't respond.

I stared out the window at the world of freedom beyond those high walls.

Almost there.

I was almost out of here.

Vincent, Charlotte, were you ready?

Quaid gave me a microchip, barely bigger than a fingernail. It was crystal clear, almost invisible, and I tucked it inside the button of my prison uniform.

"Bidding documents for Oliver Group's new project." During his last visit, on the other side of the glass partition, Quaid tapped out a Morse code message on the table.

I learned Morse code from an old book I found in the prison library.

"Three days from now, cleaning day, third floor, east side, ventilation duct." I gave a slight nod.

My heartbeat was steady, and my hands didn't shake.

A year and nine months in prison had stripped away all my fear.

All that remained was a cold, chilling calm.