Miles Away (Carrion #1)(7)

The only thing that keeps me from knocking Vic into next week is the fact that no matter how bad I beat ’em, he’ll never get any uglier.

As they cut through the rows of cells, the grisly population of D Block voiced their disgust that Miles was breaking free of this hell hole, and they were stuck to serve out the rest of their terms. With a cocky smile on his face, Miles smirked at all of them.

What do I care? They had never did me any favors, anyway.

“They’re gonna get you, Cap! They got a bullet with your name on it!” Vic screamed.

Miles smiled at the man he once considered his mentor. That was a long time ago, before the man had tried to kill him.

“Bring it on, Schiabetta! I’ll just dodge it once again,” Miles yelled back in a self-assured voice. Confidence has never been something that Miles lacked. The guards nudged him forward but it didn’t stop Miles from pushing Vendetta Vic over the edge.

“Public Enemy #1, Capadonno!” Vic yelled.

Turning his head, Miles barked back, “Ask me if I give a shit!”

Vic reached his arms through the bars of his cell and gripped Miles’s brand new white t-shirt. Miles looked down at Vic’s disgusting fingers. There was dirt caked under his fingernails.

“You will when you see what we’ve done to her!” Vic threatened.

Glaring at Vic, Miles was certain that he saw the look of pure insanity in his eyes.

I don’t care who comes for my neck. I will f*ck a brother up that comes at me with the intention to hurt or kill… but come after a woman? I’m not having that shit. Especially not my woman. Letty. It had been a long time, but in my heart, Letty was still mine.

“If she is hurt, I will snap each and every one of their necks,” Miles spat.

“Capadonno…” the guard warned.

Miles seethed at the sound of the guard’s voice. Ten more feet, Miles. You can do this, Miles thought. My pep talks suck ass because I don’t feel any calmer. I’m sure as hell not any less likely to refrain from decapitating Schiabetta with a lethal upper cut. Bam! Halitosis breath, be gone. I wish.

Vic the Dick wasn’t satisfied though. He smirked cruelly as he blurted out, “Good luck, Miles. You got lucky last time. That contract is still active.”

A growl resonated from Miles’s throat. Some of the other inmates glared at him with a ravenous look in their eyes.

They are always looking for a little action. A little entertainment. They can go watch Jerry Springer in the common room. I’m not here to put on a show for their crooked asses.

After a moment, Miles replied, “Let ’em try it. They’ve got something coming their way.”

As Vic continued to sling shit through the bars of his cell, Miles stepped out into the glaring sun, blinded by the day.

“Gotta ignore the noise, Capadonno,” Officer Chapman said as the doors of the prison slammed shut. “If you listen to the chatter, you’ll only wind up back in here.”

Miles laughed loudly as he shook his head. “I’m heading a lot of places… but Franklin Correctional Facility ain’t one of ’em.”

Officer Luciano slipped a silver key into the lock of Miles’s handcuffs. With a clang, the metal bonds released from Miles’s wrists.

“Good to hear, Cap,” Officer Chapman said as they walked through the courtyard towards the perimeter gate of the prison. As they approached the chain link fence, the security system buzzed loudly and the gate swung open.

“Miles Capadonno, sign here…” Officer Luciano said as he handed Miles a form on a clipboard. “All of your belongings are in this bag. Please check to verify everything is there.”

“My belongings…”

“Yeah, your belongings. Everything you had on you when you came in… All the stuff you had in your cell,” Officer Chapman explained.

My life now fits neatly in the restricted confines of a plastic bag.

Miles’s mind crashed back to that night when he first passed through the gates of the prison. It seemed like a lifetime ago. In reality, it was. Miles was not the same guy that he was when he had come in. Grabbing the white plastic bag, Miles rifled through it, eyeballing the contents of the bag. There was an old pair of Fila sneakers, a black button shirt, a silver skull ring, a wallet, three legal pads full of Miles’s messy scrawl, a bible, a photograph of Miles and Letty, the photo of Miles’s mother, an obituary for Andrea Cormack that was clipped out of the Philadelphia Inquirer from May 16, 1998, a pencil, a couple of Rolling Stone magazines and a yellow post-it note with the names of fifteen men.

Writing down their names had made my revenge seem more real. I didn’t write their names because I had trouble remembering. No, I remember that day as if it were yesterday. I wrote their names down to remind myself that they could be erased in the blink of an eye.

“Looks fine to me,” Miles replied.

If the guards had any f*cking clue what that post-it note meant, they’d never have let me out of my cage.

“I’ll check it out later,” Miles assured the officers.

“All right,” Officer Luciano said as he passed Miles the clipboard and a pen.

Taking the pen in his hand, Miles slashed the Capadonno name from the registry. He struck the name out as a way to remove himself from this lifestyle. Now, if he heard them calling Miles Cap from down the block, he’d just keep on walking.