The Prison Project (by Bethany Donaghy) novel Chapter 146

**TITLE: Keeper 146**
**Chapter 146**

Coban’s Perspective

The crowbar felt like an extension of my own body, settling comfortably into my grip as if it had always belonged there.

Solid. Cold. Unyielding.

A stark contrast to this wretched place.

A stark contrast to the people who ran it.

I took a measured step back, testing the swing of my wrist, envisioning the sickening crunch it would make upon impact with bone. I could almost picture Newman’s skull collapsing under the force of my blow, like wet plaster yielding to a hammer.

The thick latex gloves clung tightly to my fingers, a second skin that promised anonymity. No fingerprints. No second thoughts.

My heart wasn’t racing; it was calm, almost too calm.

And that steadiness? It was unnerving.

Five minutes slipped by…

Or was it longer?

Time seemed to stretch, elongating each second into what felt like an eternity, until finally, I caught the first hint of movement outside my cell.

Footsteps echoed in the hallway, growing closer.

They were back…

They had Newman…

An unsettling coil of anticipation twisted in my gut as I picked up on the muffled protests filtering through the heavy door.

This was really happening.

I pressed my tongue against a back molar, feeling the tension in my jaw as I turned my head toward the cell door, waiting. Waiting for him. Waiting for my prey.

**11:42 Fri, Dec 12**

*“Mr. Santorelli? We have him…”* The voice of the suit rang out, cutting through the silence, and I nodded even though he couldn’t see me.

“Bring him,” I replied, my voice thick with a mixture of anticipation and resolve.

I stood there, perfectly still.

Breathing slow.

Breathing controlled.

And then…

More scuffling of feet echoed, followed by a low grunt.

A string of curses spilled forth, unmistakable and raw.

“Get your fucking hands off me! Let go of me! This is a fucking violation of my rights!”

His voice sliced through the air like nails scraping against metal, and I couldn’t help but stifle a laugh at the irony. A violation of his rights? What about Sarah’s rights when he had nearly left her for dead just days ago?

My grip on the crowbar tightened, the thought of ending him igniting a deep-seated vengeance within me.

A sick grin crept across my face, unbidden, as I heard them drag him closer, closer to my waiting hands.

I could sense the desperation in his tone.

The panic.

The dawning realization that he was utterly powerless in this moment…

How the mighty do fall!

“Why the fuck am I back down here? I thought I was being sent back to the other prison?!” Newman snarled, but beneath the bravado, I detected a tremor of fear. Real fear—the kind that settles in when a man realizes his life is no longer his to control.

Good.

Let him feel it. Let him feel what Sarah had felt that night.

I stepped further into the center of the cell, the crowbar hanging loosely at my side, my shoulders squared with purpose.

Calm. Collected.

The guard, Anthony, was the first to appear in my line of sight, pausing just outside the doorway, casting a brief glance in my direction.

The suit cleared his throat, as if this were some formal ceremony rather than a prelude to murder.

“On your time, Mr. Santorelli. Come get us when it’s done,” he stated, his tone too casual for the gravity of the moment.

“Wait… what the fuck is this?!” Newman’s voice boomed, laced with disbelief at the mention of my name. “You lot can’t get away with any of this!” The urgency in his complaint only intensified as I watched Anthony struggle to pull him into view.

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