‘Let him go.’ Sharp’s voice boomed and Sam turned to face the deputy warden, who had his hand resting on the handgun strapped to his waist. Sam relented, roughly releasing the guard’s arm, who scurried back a few steps to Sharp.
‘That piece of shit nearly broke my fucking wrist.’ He barked, shooting Sam a venomous look.
‘I’m sure you can wank with the other hand,’ Sharp said, seemingly expecting a laugh that never arrived.
‘That was uncalled for,’ Sam stated, pointing at Leon who was sat upright, his hands pressed to his broken nose, the blood filtering through the gaps in his fingers.
‘I didn’t want old motor mouth here to ruin the surprise,’ Sharp responded. He moved his hand from his sidearm and slapped Leon around the back of the head. ‘So keep your fucking mouth shut.’
After a few more moments, Sharp and the guard made their way to the door, calling time on everyone’s meal. Sam offered Leon a hand up, but the consequences of association saw him reject it. Sam understood, but found it hard to muster guilt.
However friendly Leon was, he was in Ashcroft for the same reason as Sam and every other man in identical T-shirts.
They were dangerous criminals.
As everyone filtered to the door, Sam watched the crowd parting as Chapman and his goons exited. As Sam went to leave, Sharp stopped him for a split second, allowing the prison guard to drive his left fist straight into Sam’s stomach. Sam hunched over, gasping for the air that had been driven from his body and the guard theatrically shook his hand.
‘I can do more than just wank with this hand, you piece of shit.’
It was a cheap shot, but Sam straightened up, took a few deep breaths and fixed the guard with a stare that stopped him in his tracks. Sharp shoved Sam to the door and as they approached the turn to Sam’s cell, Sharp instead pulled open the door to the stairwell.
‘Where are we going?’
‘Let’s take a walk,’ Sharp said, patting his firearm to insinuate the outcome if Sam refused.
‘You’re not going to give me another one of your speeches, are you?’ Sam asked dryly, following Sharp as he marched down the stairs, followed by the other guard.
‘I’m getting sick and tired of your smart mouth.’ Sharp said as he ascended to the underground floor, where Sam had spent his first week in solitary. ‘But Chapman, he has made it clear that putting a bullet in your head is off the table.’
‘Does he always tell you what to do?’
Sharp stopped on the last step, snapping his neck back, his eyes filled with rage.
‘No one tells me what to do. Let me make it fucking clear to you, I only let him think he runs this place because I get paid. If I wanted to, I could end him and his little crew like that.’ Sharp snapped his fingers. ‘But having him around means my bank account grows and we get to have evenings like tonight.’
Sam didn’t question any further, following Sharp out of the stairwell and into the grimly lit corridors of the lowest floor of The Grid. In the distance, Sam could hear the echo of a crowd, the wild cheers of a blood-crazed audience. Sharp strode towards the noise, stopping at the slightly ajar metal door. With a sick grin, he shoved it open and stood to the side, ushering Sam towards it.
‘Welcome to ‘Fight Night’, you little prick.’ Sharp spat. ‘Guess who’s top billing for tonight?’
Sam stepped over the threshold and into an attack of his senses. The boisterous noise echoed loudly around the large, empty storeroom, with almost all the prison’s capacity circling the room. The smell of sweat and blood filled his nose and he looked over the hyper crowd to the clearing in the middle where two inmates, stripped to the waist, were beating the hell out of each other. The chants of the baiting crowd told Sam that there were stakes attached and sure enough, in the far corner, Chapman was sat alongside the weasely Glen, taking bets. With a disbelieving shake of his head, he turned back to Sharp, who beamed with an unearned sense of achievement.
‘You allow this?’ Sam asked in disgust.
‘Gotta give the people what they want.’
‘This is barbaric.’
‘Coming from a man who’s killed countless people, you’re a fine one to talk. Now get the fuck inside.’
Sharp placed his hand on the grip of his firearm to accentuate his point and Sam shook his head but obliged. As he stepped through the rocking crowd, a few eyes landed on him and he felt the excitement levels rise. As he stepped towards the front, he could see one of the men mounting the other, driving his broken fist into the man’s bloodied face. Judging by the limpness of his defence, the man was out cold, and each blow was taking him closer to death.
Sam looked around the room.
The inmates were cheering him on.
The guards, lining the room, watched on with sickening glee.
Chapman was counting the money.
‘Fuck this,’ Sam muttered to himself and stepped into the middle of the room. To the dismay of the audience, he shoved both hands under the victor’s arms and hauled him off. Crazed from the fight, the inmate tried to lash out, but Sam twisted the hair under the man’s armpit, and he howled in pain. With one swift movement, he hurled him into the crowd, ending the fight to a slew of expletives.
Chapman’s voice boomed out.
‘Quiet!’ An instant hush filled the room and Chapman extended his hand to Sam. ‘Let’s give a warm welcome to our main event.’
Sam shot a few glances to the other inmates, who were practically salivating. He turned back to Chapman, shaking his head.
‘This isn’t my fight.’
‘I’m
