Chad Woods
The cold metal gates of the prison slid open with a screech that cut through my bones. For the first time in months, the air didn’t taste like rust and rot. It was freedom — bitter, heavy, and long overdue.
I stepped out slowly, my boots sinking into the damp dirt. My wrists still felt the ghost of the handcuffs, but I didn’t care. I was free. Finally.
The sleek black car waiting by the road wasn’t a surprise. I knew exactly who would come for me. The back door opened, and there she was — Melissa Blue, standing tall in her designer coat, lips painted blood red, her expression unreadable. Beside her, her father, Mr. Blue, adjusted his cufflinks, pretending this was just another business deal.
“Chad,” Melissa said, her voice smooth but sharp. “You look terrible.”
I smirked.
