The Truck Driver

They Not Just Country, They're Crooked

Vince was transferred from the hospital to general population in Decatur County Jail. Sitting on the hard cot, staring at the gray cement walls, he still couldn't believe he was in this damn place.

It had been two weeks since he and Martha had come down from Richmond, thinking they could snatch Kayla up and drag her back home. But instead of things going as planned, it had gone completely left.

Now, Vince was sitting in a damn cell, his jaw still sore from getting clocked, his mind burning with vengeance. But first, he needed to get the hell out of here.

He was finally allowed to make a phone call. He dialed the house back in Richmond, not expecting his useless wife to answer—and sure enough, she did.

"Martha," he snapped the moment she picked up.

"Vince," she answered, her voice small.

"What the hell is goin' on? Why am I still in here? Why ain't you bailed me out yet?!"

Martha swallowed. "Gwen bailed me out."

Vince went still. "What?"

"Gwen bailed me out," Martha repeated, her voice careful. "She... she wasn't gonna bail you out, Vince."

Rage boiled in his chest.

"The fuck you mean she wasn't gonna bail me out?" he seethed. "So, what—you just sittin' on your ass waitin' on me to rot in here?"

"N-no," Martha stammered. "Vince, I—"

"You're useless," he spat. "You hear me? Useless as hell! I got court tomorrow, Martha. I need to be out before then! You better figure something out."

Martha hesitated. "Vince—"

Click.

He hung up, his teeth grinding so hard his jaw ached.

He didn't give a damn how, but he was getting out of here. And when he did, Kayla was gonna pay.

Vince slammed the receiver down, his chest rising and falling with anger. His hands clenched into fists as he paced the small narrow hallway, his mind racing.

That dumb-ass Martha. Useless. She was probably sitting up in Richmond crying, waiting on somebody to save her. Gwen. That damn woman. He should've known she'd stick her nose where it didn't belong. Bailing Martha out but leaving him in here? That was a slap in the face.

Vince sat back down on the cot, his fingers tapping against his knee.

He needed a plan.

Court was tomorrow. He didn't trust no public defender, but he didn't have a choice. If he got denied bail again, he'd be stuck in here even longer, and that couldn't happen.

His blood boiled at the thought of Kayla out there living it up with that country-ass motherfucker and his rich-ass family.

She should be suffering.

Instead, she was probably laid up, feet kicked up, rubbing her belly, smiling.

His stomach turned at the thought.

No.

This wasn't over.

Vince leaned forward, his mind already scheming. One way or another, he was getting out of here. And when he did, he was coming for everything Kayla loved. Vince sat up on the thin cot, his back stiff from the weeks spent in the hospital bed. When the officer banged on the bars and told him his lawyer was here, his brows furrowed.

Lawyer, he hadn't called for one. Martha sure as hell hadn't done it. That meant somebody—somebody with power—had sent one his way.

He stood slowly, rolling his shoulders back, putting on the same cocky front he always had. But inside? His mind was spinning.