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involved in that shit.”
    Romero felt sick to his stomach.
    Tony Gordo was a mob enforcer who was doing two consecutive life terms for murder. A big, evil piece of work, the sort of scavenger only the streets could produce. Just a human monster that had been feeding off the bloated body of a diseased society sinc" wsocietye the very moment his eyes flicked opened in that death mask he called a face. That was Gordo. Tipping the scales at 400 pounds, he was just shy of seven feet tall and a born monster. Nobody liked him, but the Italians used him for muscle. Gordo’s biggest joy in life was sodomizing the new fish. Black, white, didn’t matter, if you had a hole in your backside then it was his duty to fill it. He started with beatings which were like foreplay to him that led up to the violent act of consummation.
    “So Papa Joe is going to let that fucking freak have his fun?”
    Black Dog shrugged. “Ain’t like any of us like it, but it’s business. Strictly business. You ain’t sweet on the fish, are you?”
    Romero didn’t answer that one.
    He walked away. He couldn’t trust what his mouth might say and what kind of shit it might get him into. Palmquist’s ticket was already punched. The hacks wouldn’t help him and nobody in the joint would dare intervene in Papa Joe’s business and especially with a meat-eater like Gordo involved.
    Bunching his fists, frustrated and pissed-off, Romero began to wonder what he was going to do about it. Was he going to be smart and look the other way or was he going to jump feet-first into the fires of hell?
    The thing was, he didn’t really know.

6
    Lights out.
    Romero was laying on his bunk, thinking and trying not to. There were a lot of things flying around in his head, a real shitstorm is what it was. He was thinking about the kid, about Palmquist, thinking how it was going to be for the little bastard when Reggie Weems and his crew started turning up the heat, started making these beatings a daily thing. How it was going to be when they all started using him, passing him around like a five-dollar hooker in a lumber camp. Because that’s where this trail always led. The kid was in for it. Maybe he already had a taste at Brickhaven, but it was going to be worse here.
    Things were always worse at Shaddock.
    Romero had seen it before and it always made him sick. Sick to watch some kid putting up with that, his dignity stripped away from him day by miserable day until there wasn’t anything left when those animals were through. Until Palmquist was a pale, trembling thing, a bitch that only spoke when spoken to, that would suck dick or spread his cheeks anytime some lifer snapped his oily fingers.
    Romero couldn’tlit get involved.
    He got in Weems’ way and there was going to be trouble. And it could only end one way, with Romero shanking him, stabbing that dumb fucking spade until he bled out. And if Romero did that, he made that choice, one of Weems’ crew would rat on him. See to it that he was sitting here at Shaddock Valley for another ten or twenty years. Jesus. The idea of that made Romero’s throat squeeze tight until he could barely fill his lungs with air. But to watch Palmquist go like that…
    Reggie Weems is going to be the least of that kid’s worries and you know it now that Papa Joe is putting Tony Gordo on him. Even if the kid slips away from Weems there’s no way in hell he’ll get away from that fucking monster.
    Romero had done his share of time. But never in all those years did humping somebody’s ass seem like a good alternative. It was that bad on you, you used your hand. But some of these guys, they liked it just fine, the sex you could get here in prison.
    So you’re just going to let them degrade that kid, aren’t you? a voice of guilt hammered at him, just when he’d thought it was long dead. A con with a conscience of all crazy things. Let them turn him into their whore, break him wide open, tear his soul right out…and you’re just