Chapter Thirty-Nine

Arrin huddled in the shadowed corner of his four foot by six-foot cell. Every movement was torture, so he was striving to remain still. He would’ve been grateful for a little light and a bed to lie on, even a firm, lumpy one, instead of the hard, cold, concrete floor, but his cell had no such luxury, and the only light came from the few sun rays managing to struggle through the grimy two-by-four rectangular window four inches below the ceiling behind thick bars of asteroid metal.

When he’d recovered from the blow to his head from the Newport Hotel security guard, he’d been told by the Chief of the Grant police department himself every police officer in the department would have their chance at him in revenge for their dead fellow officers. The most r...

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