The first blow landed hard, right across my face, sending me stumbling back. My vision blurred for a split second, but the years spent in fights—both in and out of prison— kicked in, snapping me back to focus.

I shook off the daze and snapped back to reality, adrenaline surging as I glared at the mechanic and his men, fists clenched at my sides.

The mechanic stepped forward, laughing darkly, his knuckles stained with my blood. "That's it? The big, bad Matéo doesn't have much fight in him, huh? Pathetic."

I wiped the blood from my lip with the back of my hand, tasting the metallic tang on my tongue.

I surged forward, catching him off guard. My fist crashed into his jaw with a sickening crack, sending him sprawling back into one of the cars. The group of men surrounding us hesitated for just a moment, but then they lunged, and it turned into an all-out brawl.

There was no time to think. My elbow caught one guy across the face, then my foot drove into another's stomach, doubling him over. I moved quickly, adrenaline flooding my system as I fought them off.

Punches flew from every direction, but I wasn't new to this. It was like stepping back into the prison yard— chaos all around me, but my mind was focused on survival.

One of the larger men grabbed me from behind, trying to pin my arms. I twisted sharply, smashing the back of my head into his nose. He let out a grunt of pain, and I drove my knee into his ribs before tossing him to the ground.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw movement— one of the men breaking off from the fight and heading straight for Maylin. "Maylin!" I yelled, my voice strained as I struggled to fend off another attack.

She saw him just in time. The guy reached for her, but Maylin reacted fast. She kicked him square between the legs, and he collapsed to the ground, groaning in pain. Without wasting a second, she darted toward the truck, fumbling with the door. I felt a rush of pride and relief, but couldn't afford to be distracted.

I threw another punch, knocking out the last guy in my way, just as Maylin revved the engine. The roar of the pickup cut through the air, and she gunned it toward the group of men. They scattered, diving to the side as the truck barreled forward.

"Matt, Get in!" Maylin shouted, her voice high with urgency. I didn't need to be told twice. With a final glance at the mechanic, still recovering from my punch, I dashed toward the truck and flung myself into the passenger seat. The moment the door slammed shut, Maylin floored it, the tires kicking up gravel as we sped away from the workshop.

For a few seconds, the only sound was the roar of the engine and the pounding of my heart in my ears. My chest heaved with each breath, blood dripping down my eyebrow and lip. I leaned my head back against the seat, the adrenaline slowly draining from my system.

We were safe. For now.

A few miles down the road, Maylin eased her grip on the wheel, her knuckles still white. She glanced at me, her expression a mix of worry and tension.

"Matéo..." she said quietly, her eyes flicking over my face, taking in the cuts and bruises. "You're bleeding."

I glanced down at my bloodied knuckles, the sting barely registering over the ache in my ribs and face. "I'm fine," I muttered, though the pain was starting to seep through now that the fight was over.

"Bullshit," she argued, pulling the truck to the side of the road and putting it in park. "Let me see."

I sighed but didn't argue as she leaned over, gently tilting my face toward the dim light inside the truck. Her fingers brushed against my skin as she examined the cut, her touch surprisingly soft.
"You've got a few bruises," she said, her voice quieter now. "And your lip's busted. We need to clean these up."

"I've had worse," I replied, though the ache in my ribs was starting to make it hard to breathe. Still, I wasn't going to let her see me wince.

She pulled a small first aid kit from the glove compartment, her hands moving quickly and efficiently as she dabbed at the cuts on my face with antiseptic wipes. I tried not to flinch at the sting. Her touch was gentle, but I could feel the way her fingers trembled just slightly.

"You did a good job kicking that guy," I said, trying to lighten the mood. "Didn't know you had that in you."

She glanced at me, a small smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. "I wasn't going to just stand there and watch."

I let out a soft chuckle, wincing as pain shot through my side. Maylin caught the movement and her expression turned serious again. "You're hurt worse than you're letting on," she said, her voice firm.

"It's nothing, I'm fine," I muttered, fighting the throbbing in my ribs.

She finished wiping the blood from my face, her eyes lingering on the bruise forming along my cheekbone and the split in my lip. I could feel her gaze on me as she worked, and for a moment, I found myself staring back at her, caught in the quiet tension between us.

Her face was close— closer than it had ever been before— and I noticed flecks of green in her brown doe eyes. It was like a shield had dropped, and for the first time, I saw the fear and vulnerability beneath her usual sharpness. I swallowed hard, trying to ignore the way my heart suddenly felt heavier in my chest.

Finally, she broke the silence first. "Who is Diego?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

My chest tightened at the sound of his name.
Diego. I looked away, my jaw clenched tight. "He's... someone from my past," I said slowly, my voice rough. "Someone I thought l'd left behind. But it looks like he hasn't forgotten me."

Maylin stayed silent, waiting for me to continue. I could feel her eyes on me, but I wasn't ready to meet them yet. Instead, I stared out at the dark road ahead, my mind already pulling me back to a place I didn't want to go.

Flashback: six years ago

Prison wasn't what I'd expected. Not that l'd ever thought about it much, but l'd heard stories— enough to prepare me for the worst. Still, nothing could really prepare you for the reality of it.

It was one of my first few days inside, my first time in the yard since I'd arrived. The sun felt distant, blocked out by the high walls and barbed wire surrounding the prison, but at least there was fresh air. The yard was filled with inmates, some clustered in groups, others alone, but the energy was the same— tense, watchful. Everyone was sizing each other up, and I knew I was no exception, especially as the new guy.

I kept my head down as I made my way over to the gym equipment, trying to pass the time, trying to focus on anything other than where I was, ignoring the looks I got as I passed. I wasn't here to make friends, and I sure as hell wasn't here to get into any more trouble. All I wanted was to serve my time and get out. But, of course, prison doesn't work like that.

As I started lifting weights, I noticed a group of men standing off to the side, watching me. One of them stood out—a tall, muscular guy with tattoos covering him from head to toe and a smirk that made my skin crawl.

Even from a distance, I could tell he was in charge. The way the others followed him, the way the guards kept a wary eye on him— it was clear.

I ignored them, focusing on my workout. But it wasn't long before I heard the sound of footsteps approaching.

"So, you're the new guy," a voice drawled from behind me.

I set down the weights and turned around. He stood there, arms crossed, a cocky grin plastered on his face. His crew hung back, watching us closely.

I didn't say anything. Just stared at him, waiting for whatever was coming.

His grin widened. "Not much of a talker, huh? That's fine. I'm Diego, and I'm just here to welcome you to your new home."

He took a step closer, his eyes gleaming with something dark. "Here's how it works, new guy. You follow my rules, you stay out of trouble. You don't, and... well, let's just say, things get messy."

I met his gaze, refusing to back down. "I'm not looking for trouble," I said evenly.

Diego chuckled. "Oh, I know. But trouble has a way of finding people, whether they want it or not." His smile twisted into something more dangerous. "You think you can just keep your head down, do your time, and get out? It doesn't work like that here. Not when I run the place."

I didn't flinch. "I'm not interested in your games."

That seemed to piss him off. His grin faded, and his eyes narrowed. "You don't get it, do you?" he said, his voice low and dangerous. "This isn't a game. This is survival. You think you're tough? Think you're smarter than the rest of us? You're just another piece of meat in here, and I can carve you up any time I want."

Before I could respond, he pulled out a knife-a crude shiv, the kind of weapon you only find behind bars. The light glinted off the blade as he held it up, inches from my chest.

I tensed, my muscles coiled like springs, ready to react. I didn't want any part of this, but I could see the fire in Diego's eyes, the twisted thrill he got from trying to push me, trying to break me.

"I don't want trouble," I repeated, my voice steady, calm. But my eyes never left his.

Diego grinned, his teeth gleaming like a predator about to strike. "That's too damn bad."

He lunged forward, and before I could react, the blade sliced across my chest. Pain seared through me as blood spilled onto my shirt, the wound deep and sharp, but I didn't let it stop me. I fought back, landing blow after blow, trying to knock the knife from his grip.

For a moment, I thought I had the upper hand— Diego staggered, blood dripping from his nose. But then, out of nowhere, he drove the knife into my side, deeper than before.

I gasped, the pain blinding. My vision blurred as I stumbled back, clutching my side. I could feel the blood pouring from the wound, warm and sticky against my skin.

Diego smirked, satisfied, as he watched me fall to my knees, clutching my chest, but Diego wasn't done. He moved closer, the shiv still in his hand, his eyes wild with a sick kind of satisfaction.

Just as he raised the knife again, the guards rushed in, tackling him, hauling him back as he fought against their grip. His face twisted in fury, and as they dragged him away, he yelled, his voice echoing across the yard.

"You think this is over? I'm not done with you! You hear me? You're a dead man!"

His words were drowned out by the roar in my ears before darkness pulled me under.

And that's when I realized— he was right. It didn't matter what I wanted. Trouble had found me anyway.