3• Beaten in Prison

Matthew sat on the cold, hard bench in the police station, his head still throbbing, his ribs aching and his entire body weary from the earlier ordeal.

Out of nowhere, three men in black suits had arrived and picked him up from the car wash, forcefully taking him to the police station. So there he was, handcuffed with his face low as he regretted his life.

He regretted ever meeting Ashley! He regretted falling in love with her!

Policemen walked about in the station, there were low voices and the clattering of keys. It was a busy day, and no one cared to listen to his pleas of innocence.

“Look at you,” Darrell Ferguson, who was standing just a few feet away, sneered. He was flanked by two officers who seemed more like his personal guards than upholders of the law.

“Pathetic, useless thing. You thought you could stand up to me? You, a mere car washer against the man who runs this city? You're as stupid as you're poor! You’re nothing, Matthew. Nothing but a worthless piece of trash.”

Even though it was painful, Matthew lifted his head to glare at him, anger burning in the pit of his stomach. If not for the handcuffs and the reality of the situation he was in, he would have lunged at Darrell. He wanted so badly to wipe that smug grin off his face.

“You’ll regret this,” he muttered with a hoarse voice. “Somehow, I am going to make you regret this.”

“Ha ha ha ha!” Darrell laughed mockingly. “And how exactly do you plan on doing that, you miserable little pup? Mhm? Did you not hear when I said I run this city? I’ve got the upper hand here, you idiot. The cops are on my payroll, and you’re just another loser in a long line of nobodies who’ve tried to cross me.”

Matthew narrowed his eyes, not giving up on his promise.

This only made Darrell angrier. “Take him away!”

One of the officers grabbed Matthew by the collar and hauled him to his feet. “Time to move, scum,” the officer growled, shoving Matthew toward the holding cells.

As they walked through the hallway to the cells, Matthew began to feel like it was a death match. He was a nobody and he knew that if someone as powerful as Darrell wanted him dead, no one would care to question it.

“Get in!” They arrived at a cell, and the officer roughly threw Matthew inside. The cell door clanged shut behind him, and the next thing he knew, he was surrounded by a group of men.

But not just any men, these were tough, hardened criminals who had committed some of the most heinous crimes in the nation, and they were all glaring at him with malice.

One of them, a muscular man with a serpent scar running down his cheek, stepped forward and cracked his knuckles.

“Well, well, well, boys. Looks like we’ve got ourselves a new punching bag,” the man said with an evil grin. The others chuckled darkly and they began to close in on Matthew.

Matthew gulped, his eyes wide with fear as he began to back up. They came closer… and closer, and he continued to back up until…

He hit the wall. Now, there was nowhere left to run.

“Hehehe!” a malicious laugh came from one of the prisoners. “Get ‘em!”

The first punch landed on his stomach and drove all the air out of Matthew's lungs. The second hit his jaw hard, snapping his head to the side. Matthew collapsed to the floor, as more punches rained down on him.

He could not defend himself, not against men as strong as these. The world spun around him as the beating continued and pain vibrated through his battered body.

He tried to curl into a ball, to protect his head and vital organs, but the kicks and punches continued relentlessly, while the men laughed as they inflicted this torture on the poor boy.

Slowly, Matthew felt himself slipping into unconsciousness, unable to withstand the pain anymore. Even the guards outside the cell were laughing, turning a blind eye to his suffering.

Then finally, it was over. The cell door opened and the men were pulled away, but not without them spitting on him, calling him all sorts of names, the one with the serpent tattoo gave him the greatest disgrace by pissing on him.

And after it all, Matthew lay there, barely conscious, hating his life, tears and blood blurring his vision as his body trembled from the brutal torment he’d endured.

“Get him up!” Matthew heard a voice bark. Rough hands grabbed him and hauled him to his feet. Matthew could barely stand, his legs were shaking, his body battered and he stank of blood and urine.

He was dragged down another corridor and then thrown into an interrogation room, where he collapsed into a chair, barely able to keep his eyes open.

Matthew looked around as he tried to get to his feet. He saw a detective with a hard, cold face sat across from him, looking down at him with thinly veiled contempt.

“Who are you? My lawyer?”

“Ha ha ha! You think scum like you can afford a lawyer?!” the detective laughed.

“Don’t I get one? By the government?”

The detective suddenly frowned, realizing that the kid was smart. “Shut up, idiot. Let’s get this over with.” He flipped open a file. “You’re in deep trouble. Battery and assault, disturbing the peace... you’re looking at some serious charges here. Lawyer or no lawyer, you're not escaping this one, especially since we have an eye witness to all of it. Darrell Ferguson’s girlfriend, Ashley Sterling.”

Matthew scowled hatefully. ‘Why does she want to destroy me so badly? All I ever did was care and love her!’

When he tried to speak, he was interrupted by the sudden cry of “Chief!”

A young officer burst into the room, fear in his eyes. “Chief, we’ve got a situation!”

The detective, now revealed as the station’s chief, scowled at the interruption. “What is it, James? Can’t you see I’m in the middle of something?”

“It’s—it's him… He's here.” the officer stammered.

“What are you talking about? Who's here!?”

“Harold Wellington, sir,” the officer answered. “Harold Wellington is here.”

The chief’s expression instantly changed from irritation to fear.

Harold Wellington; the most popular and respected lawyer in the country. An undeniable force in the legal world, known for his ruthless tactics and near-perfect record in court. Because of this, he was completely unaffordable for just anyone to purchase his services.

One of his notable clients were the Houstons who owned the legendary Houston Empire that ruled over most of the businesses in the country. If Harold Wellington was here, it meant trouble. Big trouble.

“Did he say what he wanted?” the chief asked, already dreading the answer.

The young officer swallowed hard. “It’s the boy. He’s here for the boy. He called him his most important client... Matthew.”

Silence reigned suddenly, and so did tension. The chief’s eyes darted to Matthew, who was not even certain of what was going on.

The chief's heart was beating as he gazed at him, wondering why Harold Wellington would call him that. He was just a car washer! A trash that dared to challenge Darrell Ferguson.

Why would the most expensive and decorated lawyer in the country call him his most important client?

The chief narrowed his eyes at Matthew. “Who the hell are you, kid?”