Chapter 255 Knight's Favor
“Keenan, you better do something fast,” Caleb said quietly. “Your trial date has been set. Six weeks from now. The U.S. Attorney is pushing for life. We can’t win at trial. The only path is a plea deal to reduce the sentence.”
Keenan gritted his teeth.
He slammed his hand on the table, the chain rattled.
“Don’t you think I’m working on that?”
Caleb leaned forward.
“You’re not working fast enough. They denied bail again this morning. You’re staying here until trial unless something changes. And if you go to trial and lose… you’re looking at supermax. ADX Florence. Twenty-three hours a day in a concrete box. No visitors. No hope.”
Keenan’s jaw worked.
“I’m handling it.”
Caleb studied him.
“How? You’ve been trying to reach Knight for weeks. No answer. No callback from any of your men. Either they’re dead or they’re scared. Or he’s already cut you off.”
Keenan’s eyes narrowed.
“He’s playing games. He thinks he can wait me out. But if I go down, I take Knight with me. I know who he is. I know what he’s done. The feds would love that trade.”
Caleb sighed.
“Then make the call. Threaten him. Leak something. Anything. But you need leverage and you need it fast.”
Keenan leaned back.
“I have leverage. He just doesn’t know I’m ready to use it yet.”
Caleb stood.
“I’ll file another bail motion tomorrow. It won’t work, but it buys time. Think hard, Keenan. You’re running out of it.”
The lawyer left.
Keenan sat alone for a few minutes.
Then the door opened again.
A man walked in, mid-thirties, plain gray suit, no tie, face forgettable. Keenan didn’t recognize him.
“Who the fuck are you?”
The man sat without asking.
“My boss would like to speak to you.”
Keenan’s eyes went wide.
He knew.
The man pulled out a burner phone, placed it on the table, and pressed the speaker.
The line connected.
Knight’s voice, low, calm, unmistakable.
“Keenan.”
Keenan laughed, the sound sharp, and bitter.
“You son of a bitch. How long have I been trying to reach you? It’s like you want to be in here with me.”
Knight didn’t laugh back.
“What do you want in return for not ratting me out?”
Keenan leaned closer to the phone.
“You finally grew some sense.”
A pause.
“You need to get me out of here,” Keenan said. “I don’t care how you do it. Get me out of MDC and out of the country. New passport, clean money, a plane waiting. Do that and my mouth stays shut.”
Knight’s voice stayed flat.
“Done.”
Keenan’s smile widened.
“Good. That’s why I like dealing with you. When?”
“By tomorrow,” Knight said. “You should be out of this place.”
Keenan nodded slowly.
“Tomorrow then.”
The line went dead.
The man took the phone, stood, and walked out without a word.
Keenan leaned back, smiling.
The guards came a few minutes later.
“Time’s up.”
They uncuffed him from the table and marched him back to his cell block.
A few hours passed.
Recreation time.
Keenan stepped into the courtyard, chain-link fence overhead, concrete underfoot, other inmates scattered in groups. He rolled his stiff shoulders, but the smile never left his face.
Tomorrow he'll be out of here
A prisoner, shaved head, neck tattoos, walked past and deliberately shoved Keenan’s chest.
Keenan turned.
“The fuck is your problem?”
The man smirked.
“You think you’re better than us here, rich boy?”
Keenan chuckled condescendingly.
“I am better than you.”
The first punch came fast.
Keenan blocked it, countered with a brutal hook to the jaw. The man staggered. Keenan didn’t stop. He tackled him to the ground, straddled his chest, and rained punches, left, right, left, blood spraying across concrete, knuckles splitting open.
Inmates circled, shouting, curses, chaos erupting.
Guards rushed in.
“Break it up!”
They dragged Keenan off, arms locked behind him.
He was laughing, wild, triumphant ven as they hauled him away.
The other man lay groaning, face ruined.
Keenan didn’t see the smirking faces of the group standing a few feet away….Aryan Brotherhood ink on their necks, eyes cold, watching.
They dragged him to solitary, the SHU (Special Housing Unit). Concrete box. Steel door. No window. No contact.
“Fuccccccck,” He slammed his bloody fist against the wall over and over and over again then leaned his forehead against the cool concrete.
If he was in here tomorrow… how the hell was Knight getting him out?
He smiled anyway.
Knight never lied.
Tomorrow.
He’d be free.
Or someone was going down.
Alive or dead, he didn't care.
Keenan sat on the thin metal bunk in the SHU cell, back against the cold concrete wall, blood drying on his knuckles. The single bulb overhead buzzed faintly. No window. No clock. Just the hum of the ventilation and the occasional muffled shout from somewhere down the tier.
Hours had crawled by. Maybe four. Maybe six. Time didn't exist in solitary.
A metallic knock echoed against the steel door.
Keenan’s head snapped up.
The food slot slid open with a scrape.
A face appeared, bruised, swollen, one eye almost shut, lips split. The same shaved-head inmate Keenan had beaten to a pulp in the yard.
Keenan’s mouth curved into a slow, arrogant smile.
“Well, well… you heal fast.”
The man didn’t smile back. He just stared, cold, unblinking.
“You shouldn’t have touched me, rich boy.”
Keenan chuckled, the sound mean.
“I barely touched you. You went down like a bitch.”
The slot slammed shut.
The door lock clacked.
The heavy steel door swung open.
The three men stepped into the cell holding daggers crude but lethal blades fashioned from sharpened metal scraps, melted plastic handles wrapped in tape for grip. The telltale Aryan Brotherhood ink crawled up their necks, arms, and hands: swastikas, lightning bolts, 88s, and the word “AB” in bold black letters. They moved like predators who’d done this before, slow, coordinated, no wasted motion.
Keenan stood slowly.
His smile faded.
He glanced toward the corridor.
No guards.
The tier was suddenly quiet… too quiet.
He backed up a step.
“Hey… hey, wait a second.”
The first man, the one he’d beaten in the yard, face still swollen and bruised stepped forward, dagger glinting in the dim light.
“You pissed off one of our big brothers. You don’t get to walk away from that.”
Keenan’s palms came up.
“I’m rich. I can pay. Whatever you want, cash, favors, I can get it to you. I’ll make it worth your while. Just name it.”
The man with the longest blade tilted his head.
“You think money buys everything in here?”
Keenan’s voice rose.
“I can get you out. I can get your sentences reduced. I know people. I can….”
The third man lunged.
Keenan twisted, he was fast but the cell was too small. The dagger caught him in the lower back, just above the kidney. Pain exploded white-hot.
He gasped, stumbled forward.
The second man drove his blade into Keenan’s side, twice. Blood sprayed across the concrete in bright arcs.
Keenan roared, swung wildly, caught one in the jaw but the first man tackled him from behind. They crashed to the floor.
Keenan fought, elbows, knees, headbutts but there were three of them and he was already bleeding out.
The first dagger plunged into his thigh.
He screamed, a raw, animal sound echoing off the walls.
Another blade sliced across his forearm.
Blood poured out.
He tried to crawl toward the door.
A boot slammed into his ribs.
He curled, gasping.
The first man crouched over him, grabbed his hair, yanked his head back.
“Look at the camera, rich boy.”
Keenan’s eyes went wide, panicked.
A phone was held up.
Knight’s face filled the screen, calm, cold, almost bored.
Keenan’s mouth opened, blood bubbling on his lips.
Knight smirked.
“I always keep my promise, brother.”
Keenan made a wet, gurgling sound, half sob, half curse.
The first dagger came down again, into his chest.
Three times.
Blood sprayed in thick arcs, pooling under him, soaking the orange jumpsuit black.
His body jerked once then stilled.
The man with the longest blade reached down, yanked the thin gold chain from around Keenan’s neck, the one he never took off.
He held it up to the phone’s camera.
Knight’s voice came through, faint but clear.
“Keep it.”
The man nodded once.
They stepped back.
No words.
No rush.
They walked out.
The steel door clanged shut behind them.
The guards, a few feet away, still looked the other way.
Keenan Dane lay in a spreading pool of his own blood, eyes open, staring at nothing.
The buzzing bulb flickered once.
Then the cell went dark.