always assumed they were going to spend a lifetime together-the dreams of young lovers, with everything ahead of them, a future full of optimism and hope, plans for travel and a family.

With nothing left but Henry, he yearned to somehow reunite with him. Legally or illegally, he intended to find a way back to him. That his previous unlawful tactics were responsible for separating them in the first place was not lost on him.

Still, the bank heists were things they had done together, experiences they would always share. He wondered if Henry looked back on the events that landed them in their current predicament. How did he see them? Was he was able to claw through the negatives to reflect positively on his father?

Since the moment Henry ran off as the police cruisers descended on them, MacNally could not stop thinking-and worrying-about him. He had been informed that his son had been made a ward of the state and placed in an orphanage, a thought that bothered him as much as the concept of getting into bed across from Wharton and Gormack. He didn’t know much about such institutions, but he was certain they weren’t desirable places in which to grow up. And it would only get more depressing as a boy matured into a young teen.

MacNally shoved his new weapon in his pocket, in case he needed it when he least expected it. Rapes did not only occur in your cell; he imagined the community showers were also a likely place for such transgressions because of the number of inmates in one room, in close proximity, without immediate access-and direct supervision-by guards.

As MacNally pondered that, he realized that the very reasons that made the showers dangerous for him would also make it a reasonably favorable place for him to launch his attack. Other inmates would see what he had done, accomplishing the goal of establishing his reputation and-hopefully- reversing any damage caused by the stories Wharton and Gormack had undoubtedly unleashed in the cellhouse.

It was not without risk-as Voorhees suggested, guys like Wharton and Gormack had friends and established alliances, and if anyone stepped in, MacNally’s attack would end quite differently than he planned. His strategy demanded a fast and decisive approach-before they, and their buddies, realized what was going down.

He dropped his clothing off at the laundry, and trudged, naked except for his underwear, into the large tiled room. Water spouted from dozens of overhead faucets; vapor rose from the floor and migrated in billows ceilingward.

In front of him, Wharton walked up to his shower head; Gormack was behind him. As MacNally stepped under the water, his shank curled beneath his right hand and wrist, Wharton turned toward him. Smiled. And then he felt a hard, calloused hand clamp across his mouth from behind. Gormack.

Wharton stepped toward him with a suddenly visible erection.

MacNally threw his head backward as hard as he could, smashing his skull into Gormack’s nose. Wharton lunged forward, but MacNally swung and connected with a vicious right-handed uppercut, the bolt tearing into the obese man’s chin, ripping skin and sending a spatter of blood into the cascading water.

MacNally slammed his right foot against Gormack’s shin to knock him back and gain some space, then whirled to face him.

Gormack’s fist was coming forward to throw a punch, but MacNally blocked it with his left forearm. Before the big man could respond, MacNally swung wildly with the bolt, catching Gormack’s right eye socket.

The bolt penetrated the soft tissue, but got stuck on the bony orbit. He yelped-MacNally yanked it out-then stabbed again at Gormack’s face, catching part of his other eye.

Gormack squealed like a wounded animal and stumbled backwards, falling onto the slippery tile.

Yelling-guttural fury-spilled forth, echoing as surrounding inmates scattered to the periphery.

Off in the distance, angry shouts to break it up.

Chest heaving, face spattered with blood, and water spraying his eyes, MacNally turned to confront Wharton. But Wharton wrapped both arms around him, preventing him from raising his arms.

MacNally, possessed by rage of an intensity that he had never experienced, freed his right arm and swung upwards with vicious ferocity. The bolt penetrated Wharton’s groin. His eyes bulged and his body froze, then fell backward to the wet floor.

MacNally drove onto his knees-and stabbed wildly in the direction of the man’s chest. He missed and struck the tile-and then flesh-and Wharton screamed. He wrapped his thick hands around MacNally’s throat and squeezed.

But MacNally did not yield. He dropped the bolt and grabbed Wharton’s hair, then lifted his head and smashed it down into the tile.

Again.

And again.

His breathing was rapid. Despite the water and humidity, his shallow breaths came in dry, raspy gasps.

MacNally swung around

eyes bulging-

saw the muscled torso of Gormack lying in

a diluting pool of blood,

water raining down on him.

Three loud whistle blasts blew, once, twice, three times-but no guards came running. It was only then that MacNally realized the wild beast-like screaming he had been hearing was coming from his own throat.

He stood up and kicked at the bolt, sending it skittering across the floor. Men were staring at him, standing against the walls, keeping clear.

More whistles. Footsteps, yelling.

MacNally turned into the shower and washed the blood from his hands and face, arms and torso.

Through the cascading sheet of water, he caught a glimpse of approaching officers.

Orders were called out, loud and aggressive:

“Back the fuck up!”

“Shut the goddamn water!”

“Stay back!”

MacNally continued his shower…heart racing…intensely focused…

And numb.

A second later, he was pulled away and brought down hard to the tile by two or three officers.

“Jesus Christ!” Another guard came up along the periphery, taking in the bloody carnage. “MacNally, you do all this?”

The cons looked at the officer, as if he was speaking a foreign language. No one moved. No one spoke.

The guard walked over to a nearby phone, dragged an index finger around the metal dial, then turned to face the bodies of Gormack and Wharton. “Two down in the showers. Send

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