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When he rolled onto his side, the orange shirt scratched him again. Nate always had a rash in this shithole of a place. The freaking industrial proof detergent used in the prison made everything smell like bleach, and he itched all day.

He itched.

The food was shit.

The guards were assholes.

The walls were too small.

And he couldn’t smell the ocean. He’d loved the ocean. All he smelled there was piss and bleach, and he wanted out.

Shelby, why did you do this to me?

“Lights out!” Another thunder from a passing guard. That blasting shout had been delivered numerous times.

But voices still rang out even as darkness covered them all.

“Hey.” From the cell next to his. The chatty, new neighbor. “Hey, hey, buddy.”

Nate was not the new man’s buddy. You didn’t make buddies at the Florida State Prison. You just tried not to fucking lose your mind in your cell.

The dick had been trying to talk to him for hours. So far, Nate had just been ignoring him. Maybe the guy would wise up and go to sleep.

But, no, the fool demanded, “You awake?”

When the new arrivals came in, they always tried to talk. Tried to figure out who was near them. Figure out the routines. Figure out something that would give them hope.

A dumbass thing to do. There was no hope. When they were let out of their cages—sorry, cells—they were handcuffed. Always handcuffed. Always guarded. Eyes stayed on them every single moment. Escape was not an option.

The only way out is in a body bag.

“You awake?” His new neighbor’s voice rose higher.

“Shut the hell up,” Nate snapped.

“I’m Tobias. Toby. Who are you?”

I’m the bastard who doesn’t give a shit. Not about you or about anyone. He’d stopped caring long ago. But once, he had cared.

Once upon a time, I was so sure that I was in love with her.

Shelby Carter. The prettiest girl he’d ever seen.

The girl who’d shot him.

The girl who’d sent him to hell.

“What are you in for?” Toby croaked out his question.

What the hell do you think? We’re on death row, moron.

“What’d you do?” Toby wanted to know.

Nate’s eyes closed. “They say I killed six women.”

“Say?” Toby latched onto that. “They say you did? You innocent, man? Me, too! Me. Too. My lawyer’s gonna prove it. I’m gonna get out of here.”

No one was going to prove anything. Nate’s lawyers hadn’t accomplished jack shit with their appeals. And saying you were innocent? That was the biggest joke in the place. No one on death row admitted to guilt.