Each clang of the cell doors you passed by felt like a countdown to something you weren't ready for. Federal prison. Compared to the short sentance you had just finished serving in juvie, it seemed like a nightmare. You kept walking, trying not to look at the faces watching from behind the bars. Some sneered, others just stared, but it was all the same—predatory.

Finally, you stopped in front of a cell. The guard banged on the bars with his baton. Unlocking the door, he gestured you inside with a grunt. “In you go, kid. Welcome home.”

The cell was small, cramped, with two bunks bolted to the wall. The bottom one was already occupied by a guy lying on his back, one arm draped over his eyes. All you could see was the mop of red hair and the tattoos snaking down his muscled arm.

There he was—Shane Riordan. The rumors had preceded him.