Stranded with My Stepbrother Chapter 87

\-Caleb-

After a day in jail, or at least I thought it was a day, my cell door opened and another prisoner was shoved in.

“You’re not the type to end up here,” my cellmate said, eyeing me.

“I punched a lawyer,” I replied, trying to sound big and bad. This guy was three times my size, and I wasn’t a small man.

My cellmate snorted. “That’ll do it.” He extended a meaty hand to me. “Tyson.”

“Caleb,” I responded, shaking his hand.

Tyson blinked. “Killeen?”

My heart stopped. “Yes? My reputation precedes me?”

His gaze flicked around us, then he focused back on me. “You do know there’s a hit out on you, right?”

I’m fucked. I looked at the guy who could bench press me and probably six tables to boot and swallowed. “I guess I do now.”

“Pfft. Don’t worry about me. You’re in luck. I’ll bet they threw you in here on purpose, thinking I wouldn’t mind tacking on another life sentence or two to get a little money.” He chuckled. He pounded me on the back, and I almost lost my balance. “But I don’t kill people who don’t deserve it. I mean, government does it, you’re a hero. Guy who lives in a rough neighborhood and just wants to see the coke dealers stop peddling to little girls? He ends up here.”

“You killed someone?” I asked. My voice didn’t crack. Nope. Not one bit.

Tyson guffawed loudly. “Caleb Killeen, I’ve killed seventeen so far.” He showed me some tattooed hash marks on his arm. “Planning to kill more if I get a good lawyer. Don’t want that trash living around me and mine. But you’re just some dumb kid who let a lawyer hassle him into getting sent here where you’re a fish in a barrel, my man.”

Yep, definitely fucked. “I’m sure the Attorney General is working on getting me out,” I gulped.

“You stick with me, you’ll get through this. Oh man, this is funny as hell. Okay, maybe not to you, but I think this is hilarious. They put you in with me. Morons,” he said.

“You’re offering to watch my back?” I asked, confused.

“I’m not offering. I’m telling you I’m going to,” he replied. “You need it, kid.”

“But… uh… sorry to look a gift horse in the mouth but… um… what’s the cost?” I inquired. “It’s been a crazy year for me, and it’s become more and more important for me to ask things like that.”

He inclined his head. “You have had a shitty year.”

“Tell me about it,” I sighed.

“Well, kid, I figure you’re a whistleblower because you strike me as the boyscout type. What are you blowing the whistle on?” he asked.

It wasn’t an answer to my question, but maybe he was just gathering more information. It wasn’t anything I felt I needed to hide. Hell, if I got offed in here, maybe he could testify in my stead and protect Jacey. “It started out as illegal logging in Canada, but you know those big corporate bad-guy types. I drilled all the way down to human trafficking.” I shuddered, remembering the call with the hired gun who killed a container full of people.

Tyson scowled. “I see. Well, I’m definitely not a fan of human trafficking.”

“Arms. Drugs,” I continued. “It’s a guy named Masterson.”

He sat down on a bunk and patted the spot next to him. “Tell me everything.”

I plopped down beside him and gave him every detail, from Masterson’s operations to the sheik’s, to Jacey and my roles in the whole sordid mess.

Tyson nodded along, his hands balling into fists at points, but he didn’t make any violent moves at me, so I just kept going, spilling it all.

Then I told him what happened that got Chalmers punched.

“He did that on purpose. You know that, right?” he informed me, shaking his head. “Kids these days.”

“I didn’t coerce my girlfriend.” I folded my arms over my chest. “And if he keeps saying I did…”

“Don’t go punching him again.” He scratched the marks on his arm. It seemed like a force of habit. “You’re deep in the shit now. I hope that Attorney General can get you out of here quickly. You’ve put yourself right in that Masterson guy’s crosshairs. Maybe even that sheik’s. And I don’t know how long they’ll let me stick around if I start protecting you.”

I looked at him. “Why do you want to protect me?”

“Because, kid, you do the right thing. You could be living in the lap of luxury right now, serving one of those two bastards, but you’re living in an RV on the lam. I’m sure you had other things you wanted to be doing with your life,” he said.

I rubbed the back of my neck. “I wanted to go to medical school.”

“See? You want to help people. And you’re doing it anyway at great personal cost. That’s what good people do. There aren’t enough of those in this world.” He stopped scratching his hash-mark tattoos. “They really missed the boat when they put you in with me, but they think all murderers are just crazy thugs who will do anything for a buck.”

“You’re cleaning up your neighborhood at great personal cost,” I said quietly. “I can’t imagine killing someone again, much less seventeen someones, but you’re doing it and you’re keeping kids safe. I don’t see a black-and-white world anymore.”

Tyson smiled. “Thanks, man.”

There was a bang on the cell door and keys jangled in the lock. When the door opened, the guard looked surprised.

“He’s not dead,” Tyson smirked. “What do you think about that?”

The guard recovered himself. “Of course he’s not dead. We don’t just let people die in jail.”

“He ain’t gonna hang himself, either,” Tyson continued. “Unless you and your friends want to become some tattoos.”

Tyson’s tone was enough to make my balls shrivel up and run away, and this was the guy protecting me. Being on the receiving end of that threat, I would have slammed the cell door shut and locked it and never come back.

The guard seemed to think he had some big, round, hairy ones though. He drew himself up. “I don’t like your tone, Jones. I think I’ll see if the warden wants to put you in solitary.”

“I’ve met him. I don’t think he’s as keen on that hundred-million as you are,” Tyson replied flatly.

“You watch yourself, Jones. I’ll let it slide this time, but even a guy your size can be gotten to,” the guard snapped.

Tyson wiggled his fingers in the air. “Ooo, I’m scared.”

“Fuck you, Jones.” The guard took several deep breaths to calm himself. “It’s chow time. Off to the mess.”

“Sounds good. You hungry, Killeen?” Tyson asked me.

I wasn’t sure the worm was actually supposed to hop on the hook all by himself. “Uh… not really…”

The guard banged his nightstick against the doorframe. “It’s not optional, Killeen.”

“In that case, I’m starving,” I said, rising. I also wasn’t going to get myself in solitary confinement where God only knew what could happen to me. Likely me ‘hanging myself.’ Fuck that shit.

Tyson draped a heavy, yet companionable, arm around my shoulders. “Let’s go.”

“No touching. Jesus, Jones, you’ve been around the merry-go-round often enough,” the guard tsked.

With a shrug, Tyson let me go but hovered very close. He put his big body between me and the guard, and every other guard we passed.

“How dead am I?” I whispered as we entered the mess hall.

A dozen eyes zeroed in on me as though I was a deer at a hunting convention. And they weren’t just prisoner eyes, either.

“We’re gonna try to make sure that doesn’t happen,” Tyson assured me. “Oh, by the way, don’t eat the food.”

“What?” I responded.

“They might try to poison you. Then you go to the infirmary and ‘accidentally’ die of food poisoning,” he said.

Fucking great. “Fucking great.”

“Don’t worry. I’m not eating, either. Just push some shit around with your fork and dump it.”

We both grabbed trays. I let them slop whatever they wanted to on it. It wasn’t like I was going to be eating it anyway.

Tyson sat shoulder-to-shoulder with me at a long cafeteria table, his eyes narrowing on anyone, guard or prisoner, who came within five yards of us. It left several people pouting. But I was glad.

We both pushed food around on our trays and didn’t eat a bite. I got up when Tyson did, but the big man walked behind me, not in front of me, as we brought our trays to the washing station.

“Good food?” the guy at the window asked sarcastically, looking at the swirls of slop on our trays.

“Fantastic. Best prison food I’ve ever had,” Tyson replied with a grin.

The dishwasher grumbled and dumped our trays over the trash before throwing them in with the rest of the dishes.

I ignored my grumbling stomach as we were escorted back to our cell.

“It won’t be for long,” Tyson said, I guess hearing the grumbling as well. “You’re a valuable federal witness. The Attorney General will get you out.”

“Okay.” I walked into the cell with him.

When the door slammed shut, I realized we weren’t alone. Someone had been hiding behind the door.

“Jones,” the newcomer said, sizing up Tyson.

“Erickson,” Tyson replied to the man in a bored tone. Though I did detect a note of caution in there as he stood between me and a very thin, short man.

This led me to believe ‘Erickson’ had some skills that made up for his stature. I was sure I didn’t want to find out what they were.

“You know he’s worth a lot of money, right? I’ll split it fifty-fifty with you,” Erickson offered, examining his fingernails.

“I figure if I call the guards, no one’s coming, right?” Tyson said.

“You figure correctly,” Erickson responded.

“Hmph.” Tyson sucked his teeth. “Well, problem is, Erickson, I have that pesky code.”

Erickson rolled his eyes. “Don’t go into the code again. I think I might have to tear my ears off.”

“Code says you don’t kill the good guys. You need a code, Erickson,” Tyson said.

“Blah, blah, whatever. With a hundred mil, I can buy a goddamn code and spend time with it on my superyacht,” Erickson snorted.

“If I could just say I’d rather not die, would that help?” I asked, not expecting much but feeling it was my duty to at least try to save my own life and save Tyson some trouble.

Erickson stared at me, poking my head out from behind Tyson’s arm. “You… you’d rather not… die… you say?” He burst out laughing, holding his sides. “Damn, Jones, I know why you like the guy. Oh, that’s damn funny.”

Tyson shrugged. “He grows on you.”

Erickson pulled a shiv out of nowhere. I think it might have been a toothbrush in a former life. “Time to remove the growth, then.”

“I’m telling you, Erickson, you don’t want to do that. He’s gonna be testifying against human traffickers. He’s needed. For the world,” Tyson explained patiently.

“And I’m telling you, Jones, I don’t give a damn.” Erickson darted forward, quick as lightning.

Tyson knocked me back with his elbow, and I stumbled against the wall. He faced Erickson head on with his fists.

Erickson dodged and darted through Tyson’s wide wingspan and stabbed him in the gut.

Tyson just grunted and kept going, taking several more stabs from the agile Erickson.

“Stop, stop it!” I yelled. “Leave him alone!”

“Ugh, you goody-two-shoes asswipes. You really think shouting at me’s gonna stop me?” Erickson replied snidely, slicing Tyson across the cheek, just narrowing missing his eye.

“Fuck, you are such a pain in the ass, Erickson!” Tyson finally got a punch in, crushing Erickson’s nose.

Erickson grunted and came back swinging with the shiv, slicing Tyson across the throat. “You should have taken the money,” he said as Tyson grabbed his neck and gurgled.

“Tyson!” I darted away from the wall, not even thinking, as the big man went to his knees, bleeding profusely from his gut and from between the fingers of the hand he held at his throat.

Erickson smirked. The bastard actually smirked. “Now then,” he said, turning to me as Tyson hit the floor, eyes wide and unseeing. “Where were we?”

Hate boiled over in me. I didn’t care if I died now. I just wanted to do it wiping that fucking smirk off that asshole’s face.

“Number Eighteen,” I growled and launched myself at him.