Chapter 1: Cold Sweats

Jericho had been serving his ten-year sentence since the day he turned seventeen.
Attempted murder.

He was getting out in one week. Three years early.

Where he came from didn’t matter anymore. He didn’t let his mind go there.
He was going to New York City. That was the plan. New life. New rules.

*******

As the metal doors of his cell slammed shut for the night, Jericho closed his eyes
and forced himself to sleep.

In his dreams, a man stood in front of him.
His face was blurred, like it didn’t want to be remembered.

“You ain’t nothin’ but a bitch,” the man said.
“And you ain’t never gonna be nothin’ but a bitch.”

Jericho jolted awake, drenched in sweat.

His chest burned as he leaned over the small sink in his cell, splashing cold water on his face, gripping the metal like it could anchor him. His hands were shaking.

Get it together.

He lay back down.

*******

“You sure about this, Jericho?” a voice asked.
“This is serious.”

“I ain’t no punk,” Jericho replied.

BANG.

Jericho shot upright again, gasping.

“I’m gettin’ out soon,” he muttered to himself. “It’s almost over.”

*******

Days later, Jericho White stepped through the prison gates and felt real air on his skin for the first time in years.

His parents weren’t there. He hadn’t expected them to be.

But someone else was.

“Devon?” Jericho said, disbelief creeping into his voice. “Man… I’m glad to see you.”
Devon grinned. “You didn’t think I’d let the Capo get out without sayin’ hi, did you?”
“Capo?” Jericho asked.

The word hit him like a fist.

*******

He was in the backseat of a car.
A handgun felt heavier than it should in his palm.

“Pull me up,” Jericho said. “I’ll do it. You get us out.”

“You sure about this, Jericho?”
“This is serious.”

“I ain’t no punk.”

BANG. BANG. BANG.

*******

Jericho staggered slightly, cold sweat crawling up his spine.

“What do you mean, Capo?” he asked again.

Devon laughed. “Since you went away, things changed. The old heads got soft. North Street moved in, took our block. I knew when you got out—you’d take it back.”

“No,” Jericho said quickly. “I’m done with that life.”

Devon shrugged, reaching into his jacket. “Guess this is just for me then.”

A small bag. White powder.

Jericho stared at it.

“Just one line,” he said quietly. “Just to take the edge off.”

As Devon smiled, Jericho felt the world sharpen—too sharp.

Somewhere nearby, a television flickered in a store window.

A news anchor spoke about a missing boy.

Jericho didn’t hear the rest.

Something else pulled his attention away.

*******

End of Chapter 1

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