Cameron’s POV
The chains clinked every time I moved, cold metal biting into my wrists like a constant reminder that this was my life now. Orange jumpsuit. Gray walls. The stink of bleach and sweat that never went away. Prison. Me—Cameron Draven—in f*****g prison.
I sat at the scratched metal table in the visiting room, staring at the empty chair across from me. The guard stood in the corner, arms crossed, watching like I was some wild animal. Maybe I was. Rage boiled inside me every second of every day, hot and poisonous, eating me alive.
The door buzzed open.
He walked in—the guy I’d hired for jobs no one else would touch. Mid-forties, shaved head, cheap suit that didn’t hide the tattoos on his neck. He sat down slow, eyes darting around the room before landing on me.
I leaned forw
