Page 51 of X's and O's

But I knew why. It was because they were all fucking bored and had nothing better to do. It was why the prison had a million different courses and activities and work placements for us when we were on the inside. Because if we were busy there was less time for getting on each other’s nerves.

But out here, there was none of that.

Just fuckwits like Dickson who clearly wanted a fight for the sake of entertainment.

He turned his attention on me. “Actually, now that I think about it. Maybe my bitch’s name was Violet.”

My head snapped up. “What did you say?”

He leaned on the table, smirking at me. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure now she definitely said her name was Violet. Big titties. Blond hair. Likes to write letters to losers in prison…”

Anger bubbled up inside me. “You read my letters.”

“Dear Levi. I’m a prissy little virgin, saving myself for your big, fat cock. Fill me up with it, Daddy.”

Violet had never said anything like that in her letters, but there was enough truth in there for me to know he’d been snooping through my shit.

I had a lot of patience. Six years in prison had taught me a self-control I hadn’t had before I’d walked through those gates. But two weeks on the outside had worn it thin. Two weeks of job rejection. Two weeks of living in this piece-of-shit house where there was less privacy than when I’d been inside. And seven days of feeling like an asshole for the hurt on Violet’s face when I’d told her we couldn’t be together.

The tattoo hadn’t hurt long enough to ease any of that guilt.

But punching this fucker for so much as mentioning her name might.

I launched up off the couch, swinging back my fist, letting it connect with Dickson’s jaw.

Pain exploded through my knuckles.

And something dark that I thought I’d laid to rest lit up inside me, reminding me the violent streak inside me was never really gone. Just sleeping.

And I’d just awoken it.

I went after Dickson, punching and punching until he was on the floor.

He fought back, a few weak shots catching me in the chin, but I grinned through the split lip, remembering the taste of blood like it was an old friend.

We wrestled, fighting for control, both of us trading blows, and that darkness inside me crowed with victory each time my fist connected.

“Levi, stop!”

I didn’t know who said it. Didn’t care. Barely registered there was anyone else in the room. The rage inside me was too big to be controlled. It had been stomped down for years, and now it was free.

Boyd and Pritchard, the guard who’d driven me to my parole hearing who’d been at the house for a meeting with the supervisor, finally got between us, but not before I’d made a complete and utter mess of Dickson’s face.

Piece of shit.

But Pritchard shoved me up against a wall, going eye to eye with me.

Brave fucker. Or possibly stupid.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he hissed at me. “You trying to get yourself thrown back in prison?”

I blinked, finally registering the true concern in his gaze.

Dickson rolled around on the floor, clutching his face. A dozen sets of eyes, drawn in by the chaos, stared at me like I was a monster.

Because I was.

I shoved Pritchard away. “I’m leaving.”