Chapter 1: The Wrong Woman to Humiliate
The first blast of cold water struck Maya Cross directly in the face.
The men surrounding her exploded with laughter.
Maya stopped in the middle of Blackridge Federal Prison’s recreation yard, still holding a gray plastic basket filled with freshly folded uniforms. Water dripped from her black hair, ran beneath the collar of her beige work shirt, and soaked the front of her brown jacket.
Rafe Calder stood three feet away, holding a stolen spray nozzle like a pistol.
He was six-foot-four, heavily tattooed, and known throughout Blackridge as the man who controlled Yard C.
“Welcome to prison, sweetheart,” he said.
The four inmates behind him laughed harder.
Maya had started working at Blackridge only six days earlier as a civilian rehabilitation assistant. Her official responsibilities included delivering clothing, organizing educational materials, and helping inmates prepare for release.
At least, that was what her employment record claimed.
In truth, Maya had come to Blackridge because her older brother had supposedly died there three years earlier.
No body had ever been returned to the family.
No autopsy report had ever been released.
The prison had called it an unfortunate death during a riot.
Maya had never believed them.
She slowly set the laundry basket on the concrete.
One of the younger inmates leaned toward Rafe.
“She’s gonna cry.”
Maya wiped the water from her eyes.
“You should put that down,” she said.
Rafe looked at the nozzle, then back at her.
“Or what?”
Maya’s voice remained calm.
“Or someone’s going to get embarrassed.”
The laughter stopped for half a second.
Then Rafe sprayed her again.
Maya moved before the water reached her.
She caught his wrist, twisted it outward, and drove her palm into the center of his chest. Rafe staggered backward into the chain-link fence.
The first inmate lunged at her.
Maya ducked beneath his arm and struck behind his knee. He collapsed with a startled cry.
The second grabbed her jacket from behind.
She stepped sideways, trapped his wrist against her shoulder, and threw him across the laundry basket. Gray uniforms scattered over the wet concrete.
The third man froze.
The fourth did not.
He rushed forward with both hands raised.
Maya drove one heel into his stomach, stopping him before he reached her.
Within seconds, four men were on the ground.
Rafe pushed himself away from the fence, no longer smiling.
Maya stood between him and the other inmates, breathing steadily.
“You’re not a rehabilitation assistant,” he said.
“And you’re not as frightening as your file suggests.”
A prison alarm suddenly sounded.
Corrections officers poured into the yard.
Captain Owen Shaw marched toward Maya with his baton already drawn.
“On the ground!” he shouted.
“They attacked me,” Maya said.
“I said get down!”
Before Shaw could reach her, Warden Daniel Mercer appeared on the elevated walkway overlooking the yard.
“Captain,” Mercer called. “Step away from her.”
Every officer stopped.
The warden descended the metal stairs and studied the fallen inmates. His attention settled on Maya.
There was no surprise in his expression.
Only concern.
“You were warned not to attract attention,” he said quietly.
Maya stared at him.
“We’ve never spoken before.”
Mercer’s eyes moved briefly toward the laundry scattered across the concrete.
“That is where you are mistaken.”
The officers escorted Rafe and the others away.
As Maya bent down to retrieve the uniforms, she noticed something hidden beneath a folded orange shirt.
A small piece of paper.
She slipped it into her sleeve before anyone saw.
Later, alone in the staff bathroom, Maya unfolded the message.
Only seven words had been written on it.
Lucas Cross is alive. Block D. Midnight.
Below the sentence was a symbol she had not seen since childhood.
A black bird with one broken wing.
It had been her father’s personal mark.
Her father had been dead for fifteen years.
At least, that was what Maya had been told.
Then someone knocked three times on the bathroom door.
A man’s voice whispered from the hallway.
“You still drop your right shoulder before you punch.”
Maya’s blood turned cold.
Only two people had ever said that to her.
May you like
Her brother Lucas.
And the father buried without a body.
