Distorted (Alabaster Penitentiary Book 1)
Author: Nyla K
Date: 2021-03-17 00:00:00+00:00
Publisher: Nyla K.

Copyright © 2021 Nyla K.

All rights reserved.

eBook ASIN: B08VS3PFZD

Cover design by Ashes & Vellichor

Cover Model: Joe D. Martinez

Photographer: Travis Lane

Interior Formatting by Champagne Book Design

Distorted is the intellectual property of Nyla K.

Except permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system without prior written permission of the author.

This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, popular culture, corporations, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

Title Page

Copyright

About This Book

Foreword

Dedication

Distorted Playlist

Epigraph

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Epilogue

Epilogue

A note from the author…

Acknowledgements

Flipping Hot Fiction by Nyla K

About The Author

This is Alabaster Penitentiary…

Where they send you when the world thinks you’re dead. And trust me, you’ll wish you were.

We’re the stain on society. The freaks, the creeps, your favorite Netflix documentaries come to life.

They lock us up and throw away the key, because we deserve it.

But not me. I’m just a lowly bank robber. I don’t belong here, surrounded by psychopaths and killers with no remorse… At least, I don’t think I do.

Getting by unscathed is my top priority. Unfortunately for me and my fellow prisoners, those in charge are more dangerous than we are.

You see, the guards run the show, and I seem to have caught the attention of the most twisted one.

He has a name, but it might as well be Officer. We move around one another like a sun and a moon, revolving in an axis of confused lust and torment until the truth is distorted, and the thing I once feared becomes that which I crave; my vile addiction, somehow so exquisite.

Reality warps in the dungeon, and I’m left wondering which prison is worse… the one holding my body, or my mind.

*DO NOT READ OR POST SPOILERS! I am begging you to think of your fellow readers, in your reviews, your posts… everywhere. Revealing plot twists is a dick move. And I promise, it’ll be fun to go in blind.

**Distorted is the first book in the Alabaster Penitentiary series. It is a full M/M romance, with HEA. Each book in this series is technically a standalone, though they are interconnected, so it will be recommended to read in order, as references to this story will be made in future books.

Distorted is intended for mature audiences and open-minded readers ONLY! If you prefer the same old story, this book won’t be for you. This story is dark, probably darker for some than others, so please proceed with caution, and if you’re easily triggered, steer clear.

You’ve been warned.

You are about to willingly step into a prison.

Because of that, it should go without saying that this book is dark, as will be the entire series. I’m still a major advocate of dark and taboo concepts being subjective. Do I think this book is extremely dark? No. Do I think it will be extremely dark to some readers? Absolutely.

Personally, I like to think of this series as Tarantino-like romance. And if that’s the case, then this book is Pulp Fiction. It contains subject matter that could be triggering to some, and while I don’t personally think it’s that bad, I still must advise that you proceed with caution.

This book is not your typical romance, and it’s most definitely not your average story. The darkness is just an appetizer. You must go into this book with an open mind, and if you do, you’ll be rewarded.

Most importantly, please… please please please do not read or post spoilers. You’ll understand why I’m being psycho about this after you read the book. And I’m telling you right now, reading spoilers will ruin your reading experience, just like you sharing spoilers will ruin the reading experience for others. Even if you’re someone who claims spoilers don’t affect your enjoyment of the story, I have to urge against it. Please trust the author on this.

I’m begging you to be courteous and respectful, in your reviews, your posts, in Facebook groups. Remember that one rogue comment can wreck the whole thing for someone else.

Don’t be that guy. The blurb is here to guide you without giving anything away. Outside of that, if you want to know what happens so badly, read the damn book.

Have I ever steered you wrong before?! Don’t answer that ;)

This book is dedicated to anyone brave enough to embrace your issues…

Courageous enough to dance with your demons.

Here’s to the beautiful deformities in us all.

Listen on Spotify!

TROLLZ (with Nicki Minaj)—6ix9ine

Never Satisfied—CORPSE

Machine Gun (F**k The NRA)—YUNGBLUD

LOCKED UP PT. 2—6ix9ine, Akon

Prison Bound—Social Distortion

Heathens—Twenty One Pilots

Take What You Want (feat. Ozzy Osbourne & Travis Scott)—Post Malone

Man in the Box (Live at Glasgow Barrowland)—Alice In Chains
body bag (feat. YUNGBLUD & Bert McCracken)—Machine Gun Kelly, Travis Barker

Monster—Shawn Mendes & Justin Bieber
bloody valentine (Acoustic)—Machine Gun Kelly & Travis Barker
casual sabotage—YUNGBLUD

Paint It, Black—Ciara

Down In A Hole (Live at the Majestic Theatre)—Alice In Chains

Blood—In This Moment

Pain (Stripped Acoustic Version)—Three Days Grace

You Know What They Do To Guys Like Us in Prison—My Chemical Romance

Kill Somebody—YUNGBLUD

Tourniquet—Marilyn Manson
parents—YUNGBLUD

It Is What It Is—Mayday Parade

I Think I’m OKAY (with YUNGBLUD & Travis Barker)—Machine Gun Kelly

Freak On A Leash feat. Amy Lee—Korn
cotton candy—YUNGBLUD

Addicted (Acoustic)—Saving Abel

Prison Sex—TOOL

Little Lies—Fleetwood Mac

Give ‘Em Hell, Kid—My Chemical Romance

BITE—Troye Sivan

Wicked Game—Daisy Gray

Prison Song—KZXV

Mood—Fame on Fire
love song—YUNGBLUD

In The End (Mellen Gi Remix)—Tommee Profitt
weak when ur around—blackbear

Mother—Mindy Jones

Hold You Down feat. Chris Brown, Future, Jeremih—DJ Khaled

Every Time You Leave—I Prevail, Delaney Jane

Into It—Chase Atlantic
ice cream man—YUNGBLUD

Blurry—Don Vedda

BLUE—Troye Sivan, Alex Hope

Hurts So Good—Astrid S

Chills—Why Don’t We

Hold On, We’re Going Home—Pia Mia

11 Minutes (with Halsey, feat. Travis Barker)—YUNGBLUD

Mind Is A Prison—Alec Benjamin

Titanium—Madilyn Bailey

Colors (Stripped)—Halsey

Crimson and Clover—Heart

“Tell me every terrible thing you ever did and let me love you anyway.”

—Sade Andria Zabala

War Songs

You can escape from just about anything… Anything but yourself.

All those nights I dreamt of breaking free, of getting out, I never knew that I was locked up deep in the confines of my own self. Surrounded by metal bars and held down in chains stronger than any that could ever bind me physically.

A disease is much like a prison, though it consumes from the inside. The same can be said for denial.

How does a butterfly continue to flutter in a glass jar?

How does a bird still sing from within its cage?

Did I deserve everything I had coming to me? I assumed so.

And yet I never would have processed any of it, if I hadn’t awoken to the sounds of laughter…

“Fuck, man. You hit him too hard.”

“What are you talking about, asshole? I barely touched him.”

“Dude, he’s out cold.”

Laughing, echoey and strange. Unfamiliar, though it reminds me of back in high school, when the bigger kids would taunt me. Slap my books out of my arms as I walked to fourth period study.

I hated jock motherfuckers then, and I sure as shit can’t stand them now.

“Oh, look. He’s waking up.”

My eyelids peel open, the glow from a massive fluorescent light above me prompting some heavy blinks. The side of my head aches like a bitch, radiating pain down my neck and right shoulder.

Glancing around the room, I see two vaguely familiar faces. The ones who dragged me into this dingy room from another dingy room. Right, I remember now…

And bashed me in the head for a reason I can’t entirely recall, though I’m sure was justified.

“Nice to have you back with us, sunshine.” One of the dickheads hauls me to my feet where I wobble for a moment, noticeably looser without the chains. “Now, let’s try this again. Strip and bend over.”

“You’re such a queer, man,” the other guard chuckles.

“In your dreams,” the first one shoves me against the wall while addressing his coworker. Then his eyes are on me again. “Look man, this is the only time in this place where you’ll be bending over by choice, so if I were you, I’d savor it.”

I know what’s happening. I’m not stupid, and as much as I’ve felt it all my life, I’m not insane.

I just really wasn’t looking forward to this part…

I consider fighting again, though it didn’t exactly work well for me the first time. Plus, I’ve been eyeing the stun-guns on the left hip of each guard, and the real Glocks on the right. I’m not sure why they need both, but I have a feeling if I don’t cooperate, I’ll find out sooner than I’d care to.

Hesitantly, and slow enough to earn me sighs of frustration and eye-rolls from both guards, I yank my t-shirt over my head, then unbutton my jeans and slither out of them. Once in just my boxers, I stand there for a moment, scowling to the best of my ability.

Unfortunately, the guards just look bored, and completely unaffected by my stare. So I exhale a long one and shove down my favorite hot pink boxer briefs with the ice cream cones on them that Lola gave me for my birthday. Not exactly my ideal choice to be wearing in front of these dudes, but I hadn’t anticipated this happening when I got dressed yesterday morning.

“Whoaaa, look at that dick!” One guard shouts while the other claps.

“Bravo, kid! That’s quite the python.”

What the fuck?? I lift a brow, and they both burst out laughing.

“Kidding,” the one on the left folds his arms over his chest. “We’ve seen a zillion dicks. Yours isn’t special, so stop acting like this is a striptease for our benefit. This is literally the worst part of my job.”

My eyes dart to the one on the right as he jumps in, “Yea, when I graduated high school my guidance counselor failed to mention that not going to college would result in searching rectums for drugs and weapons as a career path.” The other guard laughs. “For the love of God, just turn around and bend the fuck over so we can get this over with.”

Gritting my teeth, I do as they say, turning slowly and bending at the waist. I stare at the cracks in the concrete to distract myself from the footsteps behind me. And the snap of a rubber glove. And the cold, completely unlubricated feeling of a finger pushing inside me.

Jesus Christ, this is awful.

That one crack runs all the way down to the floor. And look, there’s a dead cockroach. Solid.

After what feels like an agonizing hour of probing me for weapons that could somehow fit in my asshole, the one guard sighs, “Alright. He’s clean.”

“I think you enjoyed that too much,” the other guy laughs. I can’t tell if he’s talking to me or the one who just cavity-searched me.

Must be the latter. Because that was the least enjoyable moment I’ve had in a long time.

One of them opens the heavy door to the room for a moment and takes something from someone. They appear to be clothes.

A jumpsuit. The most faded shade of gray I’ve ever seen.

“Put ‘em on,” he tosses the fabrics at me, and I catch them just in time.

Examining the jumpsuit in my hands I can’t help but notice…

“No boxers?” My chin lifts in their direction.

One of them snickers while the other smirks. “Is that gonna be too uncomfortable for you, princess?” I open my mouth, but he keeps going, “Don’t care. We’re not here to cater to your needs, and we sure as shit don’t give a fuck if going commando makes you unhappy.”

I blink at them a few times before shuffling into my new wardrobe. The clothes are starchy as hell, and I have to pull the string in the pants almost all the way to tie them securely around my waist.

“These things suck,” I grunt for no one’s benefit, not even my own.

“Everything here sucks.” The guard bends and refastens chain-linked cuffs around my ankles, then forcefully grabs my wrists and does the same, while his buddy opens the door and steps out in front of me. He holds out his hand before a long stretch of ominous hallway, “Welcome to Alabaster Penitentiary.”

1 Week Ago…

My mind feels like a TV station that’s all static. No programming.

No worries, no thoughts; nothing at all. Just blankness. For now.

This is what I like. The quiet. When the noise builds up, it makes me want to do crazy things just to silence it.

Smoke from my cigarette swirls in the air, dispersing and spreading out in the room. There’s a haze since Lola and I are both smoking right now. We like to each smoke our own cigarette when we’re done fucking, and it’s because we’re separate. We don’t share a smoke as some easy, comforting post-sex ritual, bonding us together while we lie naked and sated in her tiny bed. We’re not that kind of thing.

We’re not any kind of thing. If I share a butt with Lola, it’s before we fuck, when I’m in my frenzy and she’s preparing to take what I give, to rid myself of the loudness. But after I come, and it’s died down, we’re two individual planets, twirling around in space, nothing linking us to one another.

That’s why I like Lola. She expects nothing. She wants nothing. And nothing is what she’ll get with me.

Empty.

“My brother wants you to call him,” she finally speaks after what seems like an eternity in a switched-off mind. “He said he’s got something for you.”

“Thanks.”

Rolling off the bed, I go for my pants, dressing hastily. It’s perfect timing to call Kent. I was about to start looking for my next job, anyway. I need more funds, being that I’m saving up for a new life and all. Someday I’ll work up the nerve to go elsewhere… To travel.

Get away from that the detective from the sixty-first precinct who has it out for me. I’m pretty sure I’m being tailed.

Of course I know how to lose a tail. I’m not an amateur. But it’s still inconvenient.

As I’m reaching for the knob of Lola’s bedroom door, her small voice assaults my back. “You wanna do something this weekend?”

I peer over my shoulder at her. She’s sitting up in her bed, the sheet only covering her lower half, tits on display. They’re not very big, but still nicely shaped. Lola’s twenty-one, and her body has that youthful tautness to it, though her pale skin is often sprinkled with random bruises. She gets up to stuff; I know she does. But I don’t ask.

Because I don’t exactly care.

She blows a strand of jet black hair out of her face. “Like pizza and movies?”

What she’s suggesting is out of the ordinary for us, and it might be because lately I’ve been drifting. Not drifting anywhere in particular, but I think the current of my behaviors is taking me away from Lola. I can’t tell if that upsets me or not.

I enjoy her company, but mainly because she’s unassuming and down for whatever. She doesn’t ask questions and helps me calm the noise, which is very necessary on those days when I come back from a job, raging on fear and adrenaline, requiring more attention than just my hand could ever give.

The last time, I couldn’t stop laughing; maniacally, like the Joker had huffed laughing gas. She crawled over my hips and slid down on me while pressing her thumbs into the perfect position on my throat.

The stars were alive, swimming in my vision, like a kaleidoscope.

“I’m not sure if I’ll be around this weekend,” I answer, watching her blue eyes for a sign that she’s disappointed. I see nothing and again, I’m not sure if I’m disappointed.

I’m also not sure I’m capable of sensing such things in other people.

“Going somewhere?” She stubs out her cigarette in an ashtray on the nightstand.

“No. But if this job from your brother checks out, I’ll be working.”

“So you might be around?”

“I’m always around…”

“Right.” She flops onto her stomach then waves a hand in my direction.

Conversation over. Time to leave.

I’m out of her apartment in less than ten seconds, and out of her building in ten more. My beautiful baby, Zadira, sparkles at me from the curb and I almost grin.

That lilac candy paint job came out sick. I barely remember what she looked like before I gave her the ice cream makeover.

Sliding into my Audi R8 Spyder, I peel away, zipping down the side streets to Ocean Parkway as I bid ta ta for now to Crown Heights, and cross back over into my territory. Brooklyn has been my home for all my life. I don’t know any world outside of New York. The furthest I’ve gone from my home is the Hamptons.

I have dreams about fleeing to a warm climate. It usually happens after a particularly harrowing escape, while I’m lying in whichever locale holds me secure in my post-orgasm daze. I see sand and sun, clear blue waters and colorful birds. Pink fizzy drinks with umbrellas in them.

That’d be nice.

It’s finally warming up in the city again after a treacherous winter. I can go outside in only a t-shirt and jeans for the first time in six months.

I place a call with Bluetooth and only a half-ring later, my friend Kent is grumbling through the speakers.

“Sup, Reznikov? I thought I might not hear from you.” He sounds like he’s eating, which is gross. I hate when people chew into the phone.

“Well, you’d hear back a lot sooner if you’d just call me instead of relaying messages through your sister,” I roll my eyes, though the only people who can see me are the robots in the traffic cam of the red light I just ran.

“What can I say? It’s in my best interest to keep you in my family,” he chuckles, and my teeth set.

I’m not in his family, and I never will be. I’m not marrying his fucking sister.

“Okay, let’s get to the point, dumbass. You’ve got something for me…”

He breathes out a sound. “I do indeed. My cousin, Ray… You know him. Anyway, he knows a guy who can get you into the Municipal on Flatbush.”

Palpable chills rush through me.

I’ve been waiting for an in at Municipal for a while now. Their security is ridiculous and they keep a lot of unmarked on hand. I know the layout already since I’ve been fucking around in the area pretty much all my life. A couple weeks of prep time and I could be strapped enough to go on that getaway I’ve been saving for.

“There’s just one stipulation, though,” Kent’s voice cuts into my thoughts and I wait for him to elaborate, likely on how his guy’s guy wants a bigger cut. That’s usually always the stipulation. “It has to be this weekend.”

I’m so surprised I almost slam on my brakes by accident. “What?? This weekend? That’s in like five days. Fuck no. I’m not a moron.”

I’m not. My father taught me to be better than some two-bit petty cash thief. More importantly, he raised me to follow one rule above all else:

Don’t get caught.

Without sufficient prep time, it’s almost a guarantee that rule will be broken.

“Come on, Dash. You’re a fucking pro,” Kent goes on, as if flattery will really convince me to do this. “I know for a fact you’ve been scouting Municipal for years. It’s not like you don’t already know the place well enough.”

“That has nothing to do with it.” I turn on my seat warmers since I’m suddenly shivering. “I don’t work like an amateur. You should know this by now.”

“I do. But I also happen to know that as of Friday afternoon, Municipal will be carrying more unmarked bills than any bank in the city.” My mouth is watering. “And by Saturday evening most of it will be picked up, which means you only have a window of about eighteen hours. My guy can get you in.”

“Ray’s guy,” I correct him, making sure he knows he’s not eligible for any sort of extravagant cut here.

He chuckles. “Yea. Ray’s guy. So should I tell him you’re in?”

My gaze sticks on the yellow lines disappearing under my vehicle as I drive. I’m not sure I should do this. Actually, I’m almost explicitly sure I shouldn’t.

My father taught me well, and I know if he were here right now, he’d smack me upside the head for even listening to this debil.

That’s moron in Russian.

I make a right and turn down my block, pulling Zadira along the curb in front of my house. Turning off the engine with an exhale, I peer over at it.

My home, which hasn’t felt like home since I was fifteen. It’s a torture chamber. A nine hundred and fifty square-foot cluster of calamities and rotting expectations.

Discomfort. Distrust. Disgust.

“Dash?! You there, man?? Hello??”

I blink. “Yea. I’ll call you back.”

I hang up on Kent while he’s still talking and force myself out of the car. Each step up the stoop is heavier than the last, and my hand still shakes as I unlock the front door. It’s like this every time.

I hate it here. I dread coming back.

I don’t have many friends. And the friends I do have are assholes, like Kent, always just looking for something from me. I can’t consider them my homies or anything… None solid enough to let me crash with them.

The thing is that I have enough money to get my own place. Or even to stay at a hotel… I’d like to make more money for my exit strategy, but I do have a decent chunk saved.

And yet I can’t get myself to leave her…

It’s sick, I know. I should want nothing more than to desert her, like Dad did. But I just can’t do it. I can’t, and it makes me dizzy.

Stumbling through the door, into the kitchen, my eyes dart around to make sure she isn’t up. She’s rarely up. She never leaves her bedroom, unless she comes into the kitchen to pour herself a drink, or maybe grab something small to nibble on.

I make myself scarce, so we don’t have to cross paths.

Walking quietly toward my bedroom, I pass hers and shudder. Time slows down as I stare at the wood, thinking about what lies on the other side.

Shaking my head, I force myself to move and step into my room, closing the door as gently as I can behind me, locking it with the padlock I bought from the hardware store. Once I know no one else can get in, I’m able to breathe better. The fuzz around my vision clears and I feel my heart rate even out.

I should take a shower, since I smell like sex and cigarettes, but I usually wait until the middle of the night to do so, to ensure she’s passed out. Instead, I slip my shirt over my head and toss it onto the floor. Passing the cracked mirror on the back of my closet door, my reflection catches my eye.

Sifting my fingers through my platinum hair, I tug on it briefly. My hair is naturally pale blonde, so changing it to this shiny silver color wasn’t difficult. Weeks later and no roots showing. I like it.

I’m not overly vain in a lot of areas, but when it comes to my hair, and my tattoos, I enjoy fitting the visions I have of myself. I’m not really sure what that means…

I’m kind of tired.

The dark circles under my eyes are evidence of that. They’re not bad right now, but I don’t sleep much when I have no projects to work on. I need to keep busy. It’s the only thing that calms the noise.

Well, that and sex; some form of orgasm. I don’t know why I’m like this… I just am, and there’s no point in over-analyzing it. All I know is that I should come up with a next move soon, or I’ll start spinning out. I can’t let myself get like that again…

Hours pass with me pacing around my bedroom, considering whether I should take Kent’s cousin’s job. It’s stupid to even consider it, but the amount of money I could make in fifteen minutes over there is damn near irresistible.

Shaking my head, I drop to the floor and start doing push-ups. It helps me concentrate.

1, 2, 3…

It doesn’t have to be this weekend.

8, 9, 10…

I’ve been waiting a while for Municipal, but I’m sure it’ll come up again.

16, 17, 18…

I’ve scouted a few others. I’ll pick one and that’ll be it.

24, 25, 26…

Simple.

28.

Safe.

30.

“A sure motherfuckin thing.” I breathe out hard, springing my torso up so I can clap in between each one, getting lost in counting until I’ve done one-hundred and my arms are shaking.

Falling onto my stomach, I stretch, squeezing my eyes shut. Hundreds of thousands of dollars flash through my mind.

I’m not a greedy person. The only reason I want the money is because I have no other way of getting it. Sure, working at the shop could pay the bills… barely. I mean, this is New York City after all. It’s hard to find a job that helps you make ends meet and save for a potential getaway.

And I’m not exactly selfish, I just don’t have anyone I trust or care about enough to share my earnings with. Lola and I get pizza every now and again. Sometimes I go out for drinks with Kent and his stupid friends.

Outside of that… I’m alone.

My mind instinctively drifts down the hall… To Mom.

Sure, if I finally get up the courage to leave, I’ll have to make sure she’s dealt with. But that’s a headache I just don’t feel like thinking about right now.

Glancing at the clock on my nightstand, I see that it’s just after midnight, meaning I should be good to go for a shower. My stomach rumbles. I think I’ll order food with Postmates and have them deliver it to my window again, so I don’t have to risk the doorbell ringing, or noise at the front door drawing attention.

I grab a change of clothes and unlock my door as quietly as possible, tip-toeing past Mom’s room to the bathroom. In the shower, I make it quick, then hop out and get dressed, sitting on the edge of the tub while I order my Wendy’s.

But I freeze. My chin snaps up as I stare at the bathroom door.

I thought I heard something.

Holding my breath, I wait. Maybe it was the noise in my head… Sometimes it’s hard to distinguish from.

“Dascha!” A loud wail pierces my eardrums and I cringe.

I drop my phone and cover my head with my arms.

“Dascha, please, baby. Mama needs you!”

“Fuck off…” I growl into my knees, rocking back and forth. “Just leave me alone.”

“Dascha… please…!”

“FUCK YOU!” I roar and jump up, smashing the bathroom door open.

I storm to her door and bang my fists on it a hundred times while she cries my name from inside the room. Her voice bleeds into my skull like an open vein. Noise and noise and noise builds pressure like a shaken up soda can about to burst.

Dascha… You’re Mama’s dancing star.

No… please, no…

Finally, our neighbor from the apartment upstairs starts banging on the floor to shut me up, which it does. Momentarily, anyway.

I storm into my room and slam the door so hard it rattles the drywall. Locking my padlock fast, I run to my bed, jumping in and covering my ears with all my might.

Dascha, Mama loves you…

We don’t need Papa anymore, do we, malysh?

Tears fall from my eyes.

No. I suppose we don’t.

When my eyelids peel open, light streams in through the cracks in the blinds.

My head is heavy from all the stress of last night… The screaming and crying. It’s weighing on me, I’m sure. If I didn’t dye my hair white, it’d likely turn that way on its own, even though I’m only twenty-five and everyone in my family has notoriously great hair.

Blinking out of it, I stumble to my closet and move the false wall, reaching inside. I grab my small safe and enter the combination, something no one would ever guess, and the door clicks open.

I remove my stacks one at a time. There aren’t as many as I’d like.

Three-hundred forty-two thousand.

That’s not enough for a lifetime. If I try to leave with this little money, I’ll end up doing more jobs once I get where I’m going, which defeats the purpose of retirement.

Okay, think, Dash. This isn’t a big deal. Just finish scouting the other locations, narrow one down and make your move.

I sigh and close my eyes. Yea, that’s if I can avoid Detective Limp-Dick. He and his guys have been following me more and more lately. I hate constantly looking over my shoulder. Soon they’ll figure out my go-to slipping maneuvers.

“Fuck…” I know what I have to do. Putting all my stuff away, I go to my phone.

It’s risky, but Kent was sort of right. I’m a legend in these parts. If anyone could pull this off, it’d be me.

I place the call and resume my pacing from last night.

“You son of a bitch,” Kent chuckles into the phone. “I was hoping you’d come around.”

I rub my temples with my fingers. “Yea yea. Listen, tell Ray I need to meet his guy first. I don’t work with strangers.”

“Of course. What was I, born yesterday?”

“And if I’m doing this in four days, I’ll need to start now.”

“The usual spot?” Kent asks, sounding like he’s already up and moving.

“Tell him I’ll be there in ten.” I step into my boots then pause. “Make it fifteen. I need to dodge someone.”

1 day in

It takes some getting used to, walking with chains around your ankles. I end up shuffling along like a zombie while the guard who was knuckle-deep in my ass a few minutes ago drags me, huffing and puffing that I’m taking too long.

The corridor we’re walking is long. And dark.

This whole place is pretty dank. It really doesn’t feel like any prison I’ve been to before. I’ve never actually been in prison, as an inmate. I’ve been arrested, but usually they just hold me at central booking for a day until my lawyer gets me out, due to insufficient evidence to keep me.

That’s not what happened this time.

I think it was almost forty-eight hours ago that I was arrested. I never even made it to central.

I picked up on the fact that something shady was going on when my lawyer never showed up. And when they drugged me. Then I woke up blindfolded, on what felt like a boat or ferry.

“Where the fuck am I?” I ask, though I’ve asked it like ten times already, and no one will tell me anything other than the name of this damn place.

Alabaster Penitentiary.

I’ve never heard of it. The usual places are like Rikers, Tsing Tsing… You know. Federal prisons.

This place reminds me of an asylum.

“Shut up,” the one guard replies, pushing open door after door. We’ve been walking forever.

The vague scent of the ocean is what also leads me to believe we crossed water to get here. The drive before that, during which I was out cold, had to have been at least a couple hours. I’m so out of it already, and the atmosphere of this place is making it worse.

I don’t feel right. And I don’t like being confined. It makes me want to scream.

I gulp it down as we reach one final door. It’s opened and I’m shoved through it.

It’s darker in here, less fluorescents. My feet want to screech to a halt because of what I see inside: a single chair with a man sitting, his back to me, surrounded by six more guards standing in a line, side by side. They’re all in uniform, like the guys who brought me in here. And all their faces are stone-still. Emotionless.

It’s too dark to make out their features much, but I have to note that there is one female. She certainly sticks out amongst all these big guys. Not short by any means, but still shorter than the shortest of the men. She looks like maybe some kind of Asian descent, jet black hair tied back in a high ponytail.

Honestly, I think assuming her femininity could offer me any needed consolation would be foolish. Just from looking at her, she scares me more than any of these giant dudes.

The guard holding my arm shoves me forward as the door behind us slams shut. Then the two of them who were walking me take position next to the others as the man sitting in the chair rises slowly.

“Dascha Reznikov,” he speaks, back still to me as I blink, observing him.

He’s tall, probably taller than anyone else in this room. Maybe six-five or more. And he appears relatively slim, in a tailored three-piece suit. It’s strange to see, given where we are, but on this man, it seems to work. Still, he looks like he belongs on Wall Street, not in this dingy room in a run-down prison.

The man spins on his heel, delivering a sly smile my way. His face is familiar. I’m not sure how or why, or from where, but there’s something about him…

His face is all angles. High cheekbones, rigid jawline, but the part of him that stands out the most is his hair. It’s white. And not like the silvery color I dye mine.

His is the whitest white I’ve ever seen on a person’s hair. It doesn’t look like it comes from old age, because while he’s obviously older, he can’t be over fifty. And with eyes as dark as coal, he resembles a warlock, or a ghost or something.

“Manuel Blanco,” he introduces himself, voice smooth and crisp. I can visualize it coming out of his mouth, like a cloud of smoke. “I’m the Warden.”

Ah… The Warden. Splendid.

He motions to the chair. “Please. Have a seat.”

“I’m good,” I grunt. I’d rather stand and attempt some form of control than allow whatever he’s planning to do to me… In this secluded room, surrounded by muscle.

“That wasn’t a request,” he insists, in still such a melodious sound, it’d be easy to miss the bite behind it.

But I don’t.

Weighing my options, I decide to concede. Fighting back hasn’t gotten me anywhere yet, plus I might need to save my strength.

I take small steps, minding my chains, to the center of the room and plop down in the chair, resting my elbows on my knees while my eyes scan the line of correctional officers before me. Aside from the two who have been hauling me all over the place, I recognize a couple faces from when I was first brought inside. This place certainly appears sparsely employed, yet another thing reminding me that this isn’t operated like a regular prison.

On my way in, I saw no front desk ladies, no miscellaneous menial workers… So far, I’ve only seen guards, like these people. Do they do everything here? There must be at least a janitor or a cook, right?

They all stare down at me with vacant, yet menacing faces.

“I’ve heard a lot about you,” the Warden’s voice comes from my right and my eyes snap. “From my own research, I think you’ve been getting away with it lot for quite some time. And yet it was yesterday which served as the final nail in your coffin. You wronged the wrong person, Dascha. And now you’ll pay for your crimes.”

“I robbed a fucking bank,” I croak, holding his dark stare. “I don’t belong here.”

The Warden’s eyes narrow into slits as he folds his arms over his chest. “Au contraire, Mr. Reznikov. I believe you’re exactly where you belong.”

Something about how he said that prompts a burn, crawling up the back of my throat, like acid reflux. I swallow and shake my head, looking at my shoes, sans laces.

“I want to talk to my lawyer,” I whisper, kicking at nothing on the ground. I’d love to act hard right now, put up the front so they don’t think I’m weak, but I’m just so tired. Whatever drugs they shot me up with on the way here are really messing with me.

The Warden glides to stand in front of me. “Alabaster Penitentiary houses one-hundred inmates,” he speaks calmly, ignoring my request. “You’re number 101.” I glance up at him and the corner of his mouth quirks. “And I’m responsible for all of you. My officers as well.” He motions behind him. “It’ll do you best to think of me as something of a guardian. I’m here to watch over you all, Dascha. But make no mistake, disobedience will not be tolerated. You are in here because you are a menace to society. And rather than attempting correction in a federal institution, which would allow you opportunities for a renewed life on the outside, you’ve been sent to me. I’m sure you can understand what this means…”

His voice trails as he raises an opaque eyebrow. My mind is spinning through his words, searching for answers to my many questions which could be hidden away in his puzzle-like phrasing. He speaks as if he’s from another time. I’m not sure I’ve ever heard anyone talk the way this guy does… Perfect diction and pronunciation; no accent, though you’d assume from a name like Manuel Blanco that he’s some form of Hispanic.

He’s obviously educated, which has me wondering, more than anything else, what he’s doing running a place like this. Why him?

“Do you understand why you’re here, Dascha?” He bends a bit at the waist to stare down at me. “Truly?”

My thoughts swirl and swirl, memories of yesterday morning reaching through all the fuzz. I close my eyes and subtly shake my head.

“I… I robbed Municipal Credit Union…” my voice scrapes. The surrounding silence feels thick, strangling.

Reopening my eyes, I peek up at the Warden. He’s giving me a look as if he doesn’t understand what I’m saying, and it reminds me of when I was a child, my adolescence; people looking at me like I’m speaking another language.

Stop looking at me like that…

My knee bounces, fingers fidgeting in my lap. I tug against my chains and they clank, the sound echoing off the walls. Out of the barricade of guards standing before me, a single movement catches my eyes and they dart right, to the last man in the line of bodies.

He’s a big guy, tall and muscular, maybe more than the rest of them, and visibly covered in tattoos. But his left hand is what I’m watching. He’s tapping his middle fingertip and thumb together, slow yet precise. It’s distracting… Hypnotizing.

I note that he has something in his right hand, but it’s too dark to make out. It looks like black handheld device… Not a gun or a Taser. Those are on his holster, like the rest of them. Still, I can’t focus on what he’s holding because the tapping of his fingers on his other hand is synching with the thump thump thump of my pulse.

I can hear it. Like water dripping from a leaky faucet.

The Warden speaks again, but his voice isn’t registering. I’m too busy watching the man’s fingers.

Tap…

Tap…

Tap…

A throat clears, snatching me out of my trance. I glance up at the Warden, who’s staring at me, bemused. He snaps his fingers and nods, to which the tattooed guard steps forward. As he approaches me, he holds up the item in his hand so I can see it.

Oh, fuck no…

My mouth opens as the guy comes close, clicking on the switch of the portable trimmer which begins buzzing.

“Is this really necessary?” I protest, eyes bouncing back and forth between the guard and the Warden.

Neither of them acknowledges my obvious displeasure, the tattooed officer wrapping a large hand around the back of my head to hold me still as he brings the clippers to my scalp, wasting no time buzzing through my hair.

I watch as a platinum chunk falls to the floor, almost whimpering while it flutters in slow motion. Aw, man… Come on.

“You see, we have to uphold things ourselves here, Mr. Reznikov,” the Warden goes on while the giant douchebag guard proceeds to shave my head.

My hair… all my precious hair, falling on my lap and my shoes. And I just have to sit here, chained up, letting it happen.

This is so fucked.

“This place is my responsibility, and I entrust my officers to oversee all operations. They’re an extension of me when I’m not around. But there is one thing I would like to say to you, and I want you to hear me.” He grabs my chin and jerks my face until I’m looking up at him, forcing me to stop watching all my hair disappear. “You’re here to stay. You will not be leaving. Ever.”

His words are deep and possessed with every severe emotion I’ve ever heard or felt.

“Alabaster Penitentiary will be your home for the rest of your days,” he whispers, bony fingers digging into my jaw. “Let that sink in.”

He releases my face and straightens up, tugging the lapels of his suit jacket. The buzzing on my skull sends goosebumps all over my body, and I can tell most of my hair is gone because of how cold my head is now. I shiver, in fear, in realization; in both.

I’m in prison, for good. I’m not going anywhere.

No lawyer is coming to save me. No phone calls. No visitation.

Where this place is and how it’s set up…

This is where they send people to rot.

“I don’t deserve to be here…” My voice gusts from between my quivering lips. “I’m not evil.”

The Warden’s shoulder lifts in a mild shrug, as if to say, oh well. My stomach twists in to an unforgiving knot as I wring my hands in my lap over and over, my gaze dropping to the ground.

This can’t be happening. I can’t be here forever.

I can’t be trapped.

No. No no no… Let me out.

I feel my brain spiraling and I squeeze my eyes shut, my breathing labored. I try to curl into myself, but it’s not working. I’m chained up and cold and fucking trapped.

Suddenly the clippers go quiet and fingers graze the base of my neck. They’re warm, pressing the slightest bit into my nape. I take in a deep breath and hold it.

“Dascha, it doesn’t matter what you say,” the Warden goes on while I struggle at keeping myself together. “You fucked up. And now you’re gone.”

Gone?

Exhaling, I shake my head. But the fingers stay positioned holding me by the back of the neck, almost like how you hold a cat.

It freezes me up. I’m uncomfortable, and I can’t even pay attention to the Warden because this big dude who just shaved my head is still touching me and it’s oddly calming. It’s comforting and I don’t like it.

I try to jerk away, but the hand is so big and firm that I can’t really escape it. A finger, likely an index, traces the base of my skull. I have a tattoo there. Can he see it? Is that why he’s doing that?

Does it matter? I don’t want to be touched by this asshole. Jesus, I just got here and already I’ve had fingers in my ass and a big dude touching my neck. This is not what I want… I don’t like this.

The Warden leans in to inspect my new haircut then lifts his gaze to the guard behind me and gives him a brief nod. I’m guessing it’s in approval, because the guard removes his hand from my neck, though not without first sweeping his fingers down my nape.

It leaves me with chills and a disgusted knot in my gut as he steps away, rejoining his fellow officers. Our eyes meet and his dark expression is completely unreadable. All I can do is scowl, though he’s obviously unaffected by it. He gives me no reaction whatsoever.

My lips part, as if I’m about to tell him off, tell all of them off, but before I can even consider what to say, the Warden claps.

“Get Mr. Reznikov settled in his new home,” he glides toward the door, but stops before he gets there, facing me one last time. “Oh, and Dash? Remember… I’ll be watching.”

He smirks, but then leaves before I can even process his words. As soon as he’s gone, all the guards begin moving about. The two who were hauling me around before disappear through the doorway we came in from as two new people grab me; a guy with sandy blonde hair and the girl.

They each take an arm and force me to my feet. My eyes can’t help peeking toward the tattooed guy who just robbed me of my beautiful hair. He stomps away without words, leaving through a different door, and my jaw clenches.

I think I’ve found a new enemy. I have a lot of anger and aggression building in my muscles right now—being chained doesn’t help—and since I’m not one to become self-loathing, I need someone else to blame.

I think that big asshole will do just fine.

Before I can think too hard about it, the guards drag me to the opposite door.

“Let’s go, 101,” the female officer says, her voice raspy and yet somehow smooth, like that of a lounge singer.

“Time to meet your new roommate,” the guy chuckles.

I gape at him. “What does that mean?”

Of course they don’t answer me. They just shuffle me around, down long halls and through giant heavy metal doors, which always seem to unlock right when we need them to. Glancing up at the ceiling, I notice the cameras.

Maybe that was what Blanco meant when he said he’ll be watching. I guess they watch everything that happens. So there must be more people working here than the ones I see. More guards behind the scenes?

It almost seems bizarre that this building has a working server to operate security cameras. It’s so disgusting. The entire place is concrete everywhere, white streaks dripping from the corners from what look like water leaks, cracks in the walls and floors, black mold. It appears entirely unsafe. And since it’s clearly far away from the rest of civilization, I’m wondering if the general public even knows Alabaster Penitentiary exists.

I’d have to assume no, since I had definitely never heard about it before I arrived.

The last door we walk through brings us to the cells. They’re completely old-school-looking, just like you’d expect, matching the atmosphere of this place. Metal bars galore.

As I walk down the corridor my head springs back and forth, taking it in. The prisoners are fully visible, no privacy at all. Most of them are lying in their bunk beds, staring at nothing. A few are conversing with each other, but they all seem to go quiet when I walk by. Heads turn in my direction and I hear shouts coming from cells I’ve already passed.

“Hey, Joy! Who’s the new guy, baby?”

“He been claimed yet?”

“Rook… You coming by later?”

My head pivots to look over my shoulder but the female guard barks, “Eyes front.” I witness her glancing at the guy holding my right side, her lips curving. “Really, Rook? Ren? You think that’s a good idea?”

The guy guard, who I’m gathering is called Rook, rolls his eyes. “I’m not taking criticism from you, of all people.”

“Not criticizing. Just looking for some details,” the girl chuckles.

Rook’s eyes dart to me briefly. “Joy. Not now.”

“Sorry, kiddo.” Her smile widens and I can’t help but notice how white and straight her teeth are. She has a great smile, which you wouldn’t assume from seeing how scary-serious she can be. But then it disappears when her gaze lands on me, and she growls once more, “I said, eyes front.”

We get to the last cell on the end and the girl, Joy, opens the door which just so happens to unlock when she places her hand on the latch. It’s very odd. I look up at the ceiling again and squint at the camera.

“Luth, heads up. You’ve got a new roomie,” Rook says, disturbing the body lying on the top bunk, who looks like he might’ve been sleeping.

“Try not to bore him to death like the last one,” Joy croons, though there’s a bit of humor in her tone.

“I’d say he should be grateful they didn’t put him with Ren or Kieran,” the prisoner replies, jumping down from the bunk.

He looks me over while the guards unchain my wrists and ankles. I do the same. He has a shaved head, like me now, which I’m guessing must be a rule of the Warden’s. Some kind of power move, to keep us all in line. Uniform.

Saying nothing, the guards take my chains and leave the cell, the doors locking behind them.

My brow furrows. “Wait, that’s it? Don’t I get like some supplies or something? A pillow, a toothbrush… Soap??”

Both guards chuckle to themselves, shaking their heads as they walk away from us, leaving me with my new cellmate and all my questions. I hear voices shouting things at them from other cells. Actually, it sounds like they may have stopped to talk to another inmate.

“Bro, I don’t know what kinds of fancy shmancy resort-like prisons you’ve been to before, but you need to throw away all those expectations,” my cellmate says, and I look at him. “Seriously, that’s the best first day advice I can give you. If you’re waiting for someone to come for you, don’t. If you think someone here is going to give you something to make your stay more comfortable, don’t hold your breath. This isn’t a prison… This is Alabaster Penitentiary.”

I grip my wrists, rubbing some sensation back into them as I study the guy for a moment, feeling him out to see how I can survive sharing a cell with him. He seems pretty normal, though that means nothing. About my height, a bit thinner, no visible tattoos.

I’m not sure if I can trust him.

“I’m Dash, by the way.” I hold out my hand and he shakes it without hesitation.

“Oh shit! You’re the bank robber!” He cracks a smile. “We heard you were coming. You’re kinda famous on the outside, huh?”

“I don’t know about all that,” I spin around to check out the cell. It’s three concrete walls with no windows, bars for a door, a bunk bed, a cruddy sink and a silver toilet. That’s about it. “You got a name?”

“Yea, sorry. I’m Lexington, or Lex. Inmate 25. But everyone in here calls me Luthor.”

I peek at him, registering what he’s saying. “Right. Lex Luthor.” I can’t help but smirk. I totally get it. He definitely resembles the villain from Superman. “Are you smart or something?”

He laughs out loud. “Or something.”

His grin tells me he won’t reveal what he did to get in here. At least not right away, which puts me at a disadvantage since apparently everyone already knows what I did.

“Do you know where we are? Like where this place is located?” I ask him, smacking the mattress of the bottom bunk. It’s as hard as a rock. Great.

“We’re on an island. About ten miles off the coast of New York,” he tells me, leaning against the wall and folding his arms over his chest. “Alabaster Penitentiary is kept a secret from the general public. It’s a government-funded last resort. This is where they send criminals they want to ensure never get out.”

I swallow hard over my dry throat. “Sweet. So we just have no more rights then?”

He shakes his head. “This place is technically off US soil, in international jurisdiction. It’s completely fucked.”

“How long have you been here?”

Luthor cringes. “According to my count, about five years.”

“Jesus…” I breathe, scrubbing a hand over my face. “I don’t belong here. I robbed a fucking bank, man. I’m not… I didn’t…”

A scream pierces my brain and I shudder, closing my eyes tight. I reach for my hair to pull it, but it’s not there. It’s gone.

“Hey… don’t think about it,” Luthor says, his hand appearing on my shoulder. I flinch, eyes shooting open as I take a step back. These people need to stop touching me. He holds his hands up in defense and laughs, “Sorry, man. I wasn’t trying to cop a feel.”

I give him a skeptical look. “That guard… is she the only female here?”

His grin turns wicked. “Joy Jameson. Yea, and believe me, she’s tougher than most of the men. In this place, you have to watch out for them more than us.”

“Them meaning the officers?”

“Yea. There aren’t very many rules to keep them in line. They run this place for the Warden, who isn’t around all that much.”

“How often do you see him?”

“Rarely. Maybe like once a month he pops in. He lets the C.O.’s do whatever they want. He’s got his own shit going on, I think.”

I pause. “What do you mean by that?”

He pushes past me and sits down on my bed. I take a seat next to him, making sure to keep enough distance between us, since I still don’t trust this dude. Or anyone, for that matter.

“Alabaster Pen is located on an island, right?” He explains. “Well, the officers can’t exactly commute here every day. So instead they live in the Warden’s mansion, on the other side of Alabaster Isle.”

My eyes widen. What the fuck??

“Yea,” he huffs a laugh. “None of us have ever seen it, obviously. But I’ve heard from a few officers that the Warden has this giant mansion on the opposite coast. Probably a couple miles from the prison. He has his separate wing and gives them free rein of their side.”

This is a lot of information to take in at once. And I still haven’t even asked him about when we eat, if we get to go outside… If I’ll ever get boxers.

I glance around the cell again. “This place is nasty.”

He nods, “Yea. And it’s just getting worse. The building is falling apart, and I’ve heard through the grapevine that there’s really no funding. The food sucks, the electricity goes out all the time…” My eyes light up. But before I can even voice it, he shuts me down. “It doesn’t affect the locks or the cameras, so don’t even go there. The server is on a separate power supply.”

“Damn, man. This sucks.” I flop onto my back.

“Yup. And you better get used to it, newbie. Listen, I’m probably the best cellmate you could ask for in here. I’m clean and quiet. I keep to myself, and I don’t have visitors coming and going every hour like Ren.” I glance at him and raise my brow. This is the third time I’ve heard that name now. “All I ask is that you accept the nature of our situation. My last cellmate… Well, let’s just say he had a hard time adjusting to his circumstances. He started to drive me, and the others insane with his incessant whining. It was too fucking much. Trust me, you don’t want to be that guy.”

My stomach twists a bit as I ask, “What happened to him?”

Luthor stares at me for a moment, a solemn expression crossing his face, pale green eyes darkening significantly. Without saying anything, he gets up off the bed and climbs up to his own.

The deafening silence lasts in our cell for several minutes before he speaks again.

“Get some rest. We’ll eat in a few,” his tone is serious, even cautious. “You can use my toothbrush until we figure out how to get you one of your own.”

I sink into my rough blanket and think about the fact that I’m now existing in a place where I can’t even have my own fucking toothbrush.

3 days ago…

My rituals for the day before a job are almost more enticing than the job itself.

I said almost.

The night before, I always go to my favorite diner and pig out, knowing I probably won’t eat for another twenty-four hours after that. The stress and adrenaline really kill my appetite. Tonight, I had chicken parm with spaghetti, and followed it up with waffles, extra butter and syrup.

Then I went to Lola’s for a quick blowjob before we got ice cream from the Mr. Softee truck up the block. I have a major sweet tooth. Dad used to yell at me about it, but then he left, and I got what I wanted.

Sort of. Not really.

Anyway, cherry-dipped vanilla soft serve is life.

I’m actually feeling good about tomorrow, which is what leads me to follow Lola back inside her place and spend forty-five minutes licking her pussy like it’s a damn ice cream cone. I love when she wraps her legs around my head and suffocates me in her cunt. It was so good I had to make her come four times.

Now I’m cruising Zadira through the streets back to my house. I’m in no rush since I know I won’t sleep tonight. I’ll be too busy going over the plans for tomorrow seventeen more times to make sure I haven’t missed anything.

Berries in my rearview have me rolling my eyes. Great timing, dipshit.

I pull over and take my license out of my wallet in preparation, not like I’ll need it. I already know who this is, and he definitely knows who I am.

I’m rolling down my window as Detective Limp-Dick strolls over with that cocky swagger that makes me gag.

“Out for a late night meeting, Mr. Reznikov?” He murmurs, taking my driver’s license as I hand it to him.

“Actually, just coming from my girlfriend’s house, Linnick. You should probably know that, since you’re an obsessive stalker.”

He huffs. “Right. Lola Reed,” he smirks. “How’s her brother?”

“Still a moron. Did you pull me over just to make small talk, or are you gonna give me a ticket for going one mile above the speed limit again?”

He grins and glances at my license, as if he doesn’t already have the som-bitch memorized by now. Then he looks up at me and narrows his gaze. “How’s your mother doing?”

My stomach drops, flops and tightens. I swallow slowly, hoping he won’t notice, squeezing my hand into a fist at my side.

“She’s fine.”

“You know, if you ever need anything… any help with her, or something, I’m sure we could get someone to come by.”

“Not necessary. Are we done here?” I reach through the window and snatch my license back from him.

His eyes widen momentarily, but he brushes it off like he’s unaffected before straightening up. “Sure thing, Dash. Have a great night.” He turns to walk away but stops and glances over his shoulder. “And hey, see you around.”

He salutes me, like a fucking corny loser, and stomps off to his cruiser, hopping in and driving away without hesitation.

I exhale slowly, my head flopping back against the seat. I’m sure this could be viewed as a bad omen… A lesser man would read further into this little stop, and maybe pump the brakes a bit.

But I’m not lesser than anything, I remind myself as I pull back onto the road, driving home.

It’s in my blood. And I’ve got a fucking job to do.

I crush a third can of Red Bull in my fist, tossing it out my window. I’m vibrating. Buzzing on no sleep and extra extra caffeine.

Zadira is parked up the block, out of sight of any potential cameras. And I’m sitting inside her, breathing steadily. The adrenaline is already building, mixing with the energy in my body like a tornado, cycloning my insides.

I’m ready to go.

Reaching into the backseat, I grab my go-bag. Inside is my mask and my Scorpion, both necessary for the show.

For today’s excursion, I went with one of those masks like Scarecrow from Batman. That burlap sack-looking thing with two holes cut out for the eyes. It’s actually more comfortable than it sounds. I hate how sweaty I can get beneath the rubber ones, so this will work fine.

I take out my gun and check the mag just to be sure. It’s full, like I knew it was, and I have a spare clip in my pocket. Stepping out of the car, bag in hand, I jog up the block and through the alley, toward the back entrance of Municipal Credit Union. I pull my mask over my head as Ray’s friend, Mike, is already opening the door for me, just as planned. I pull my machine gun out of the bag and sling the strap over my shoulder.

The Scorpion is a last resort. I always pray I won’t need to use it, but as my father used to say, better safe than sorry. If I get surrounded, you best believe I’m going down in a blaze of bullets.

“You ready?” Mike asks, guiding me quickly in through the back, but not without first looking around for anything out of the ordinary.

Of course I already did that too, and everything looks fine. But let him do what he wants. This is his place of employment, after all. And from what I understand, he’s been stealing from it for a while, in much smaller quantities. He has his way of doing things, and that’s fine, as long as it doesn’t interfere with my way.

Ignoring his question, I stomp down a long hallway and make a right, then a left, based on the blueprints I’ve been studying for two days. Glancing over my shoulder at Mike, I give him a quick nod, and he nods back, eyes still darting all over the place.

He must be nervous. That’s cute. I suppose this is a bigger deal than pilfering a few fifties a week for petty cash.

Pushing through a door, I swoop my machine gun off my shoulder and into my hands.

Everything slows down as if I’m underwater.

The employees notice me. Their eyes widen. Their faces pale.

They stare.

And for a few perfect seconds, things are quiet. Calm.

Easy.

But of course that doesn’t last. And the next thing I know, my voice is barking out orders.

“Alright, ladies and gentlemen! Everybody on the fucking ground!”

A woman screams. Then another one.

Panic ensues until I shout, “Now!”

They drop to the floor.

“In case you haven’t picked up on it yet,” I speak clearly from beneath my mask, stepping through the room, over the arms and legs of people laying on the floor, “This is a robbery. If you all remain calm, you will get out of this alive. Anyone moves, they die.”

I reach down and grab Mike’s arm, lifting and tugging him with me, making it look like he’s my hostage, not my accomplice. “Take me to the safe,” I demand. And he does, shaking. I can’t tell if it’s for show, but honestly it doesn’t seem like it. He seems really nervous.

But I can’t be concerned with that right now. I have approximately five minutes before the cops arrive, triggered by the silent alarm that I’m sure has just been pushed.

My pulse is even, my breathing steady as we move among the bodies. I look over each of them, making sure their noses are in the carpet. Anyone who has the gall to look up immediately smashes their face in the floor as soon as they meet my eyes.

I think I have them under control. I just don’t want the patrons inside the bank acting up, or trying to be heroes, so I have to make sure these people’s stress stays contained.

“Remember what I said,” I bend down next to a blonde girl. She’s crying, quietly, forcing herself not to look at me. “If you move…” She’s sniffling like crazy and I roll my eyes. “What happens if you move, blondie? Don’t make me rip out your pretty hair.”

“W-we die,” she sobs into the floor. “If we move, we die.”

“Good girl,” I whisper, unable to resist brushing my fingers through her hair and she shivers, weeping openly.

I sigh and stand up, dragging Mike with me to the safe. The next minute and a half ticks by too fast. It takes us that long to get into the safe, while I’m busy checking on my friends on the floor, ensuring that no one is moving which, to their credit, they’re really not.

They’re damn still. They look like dead bodies.

My head swims and I blink hard, focusing back on the safe which is now opened. I go for the unmarked, filling my bag until it weighs a ton, then I shove Mike out of the way.

Making a beeline for the exit we entered from, I check the clock on the wall. I have less than two minutes to get into Zadira and haul fucking ass.

“Thank you all for your cooperation,” I mumble, moving through the door and up the hall.

I push on the rear exit of the bank, but immediately slam the door shut again once I see what’s waiting for me out back.

Fucking prick.

My glare sets on Mike, and he has the nerve to look apologetic.

He holds his hands up. “Dash, I’m sorry. I didn’t —”

I cock my Scorpion and fire a round into his fucking skull.

Fuck fuck fuck.

The asshole ratted me out. There are cops everywhere.

“Fuck!” I dart back into the bank.

The gunshot clearly riled everyone up because now they’re all screaming like freaks.

“Stay down!” I roar, “Or you’ll be next.”

I have to get to the front of the bank and secure the doors. They’ll have me surrounded. Going out there myself is too risky.

I need a hostage. Goddammit. This is going south fast. That’s usually how it works, I suppose.

I scoop up blondie by the arm and haul her to her feet, dragging her along like a child who doesn’t want to leave a toy store.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” I hiss, trying to comfort her because she’s practically falling down, she’s so scared. “Just do what I say and you’ll be fine, okay?”

She doesn’t look convinced, but she nods, pressing her trembling lips together.

“Do you have the keys to the front?” I ask her. She nods hesitantly. “Good. Come on.”

Unfortunately, it’s not that easy. Somehow these police know something I don’t. As soon as I peer through the partition that separates the back from the front, I see my worst nightmare.

The bank is already full of cops. They’re advancing. Trapping me inside.

That rat fuck! He told them where I’d be and how long it would take me. Good thing he’s dead.

My blood is rushing in my ears and I can’t think. Everything is blurring up. I struggle to focus on the sounds of the girl crying; her slender arm stiffening in my grip.

My vision swims again as a cop spots me.

“Freeze!”

“Let the girl go!”

I aim my machine gun at her head and drag her backward.

“Fuck fuck fuck,” I hum to myself, trying hard to think.

How can I get out of this?

Flashes of Dad come back. Of him yelling.

Mom crying… Dad breaking things.

None of this is making sense.

“We’re getting out of here…” I mumble, though I barely recognize my own voice.

“What?!” The girl squawks. “No, please. Just let me go!”

Ignoring her, I yank her with me back through the rear, but this time I make my way to another exit, at the side. She’s crying and crying.

Please please please.

“Shut up,” I growl as I bring her to the door. “I really hope you make it…” I say and she squeaks.

Opening the door, I shove the girl through and step out behind her, my gun in her back.

The sun shines in my eyes, a pleasant breeze brushing through my platinum hair.

I like it. It feels nice. This feels… good.

But good things don’t last.

And everything fades into red.

Red like lots and lots of blood.

1 day in

Movement wakes me up. More like startles me awake, and I panic for a second before I see the bright eyes and pale face of my new cellmate.

“Sorry, man. Didn’t mean to freak you out,” Luthor says. “It’s just that it’s dinnertime and you should probably eat. The drugs from the transport really fuck you up. Food helps.”

I nod reluctantly and sit up as he backs off, running a hand over his shaved head.

“Just a bit of a warning,” he goes on while I stand and stretch. My entire body is sore, especially my head. “Some of the guys are cool, but we’re all in here for a reason… because we’re fucked up. Just be careful.”

I lift a brow at him. He ignores it.

“O’Malley and Kang like to scrap, but they’ll only start something with you if they’re on edge or cornered. And Ren…” His voice trails before he huffs. “I wouldn’t tell him anything personal about yourself. And definitely don’t make any deals with him.”

What the hell does that even mean??

Instead of asking the zillions of questions I have, I simply nod and look around. He said it was time to eat, but I don’t see any guards at the door.

But then, right on cue, an officer shows up, and the cell unlocks. I vaguely remember this guy’s face from earlier, with the Warden. He’s tall and built, like most of them seem to be. This dude’s distinguishing feature is his brown hair tied back into a man-bun.

He looks like a douche.

“Alright, inmates,” the guy grumbles. “Backs on the wall.”

Luthor is pretty much already there, so I follow his lead. The guard steps up to us and pats me down, then does the same to Luthor. I’m not really sure what he’s checking for. Maybe shivs or something? Who knows.

“Let’s go, ladies,” he sighs then leaves the cell, Luthor behind him. I follow them.

As we pass the other cells, I note that some inmates are still in there, while other cells are empty.

“Do we eat at different times?” I ask Luthor.

“No talking,” the officer barks, still faced forward, walking us up the long hall.

I peek at Luthor and he smirks, shrugging. Then he nods toward the officer in front of us and mouths the words power trip.

I shake my head. This place is fucking strange.

I can barely comprehend what’s happening. I still don’t really know why I’m here, in this secluded, Alcatraz-esque place. I mean, I know I’ve been getting away with robbing banks for years, and I finally got caught. But there’s no way they could link me to my other robberies from this one. And there’s absolutely no way in hell they found my safe. The hiding place used to be my dad’s. It’s survived multiple search warrants over the years.

But even if they found my escape fund, which would really suck, how would that justify sending me here? This place is a death sentence.

Worse. At least with a death sentence you get to live in a maximum security prison that still allows your own toiletries. And then you get to die, eventually. No muss, no fuss.

I can already tell this place is pure mussy fussy.

I know Luthor said to accept my situation, but it’s really hard when I have no information, and I basically just woke up here, no phone calls, lawyers, or trial involved.

The last thing I remember, I was surrounded by police outside Municipal Credit Union. Once they somehow had me in custody, someone put a bag over my head and injected me with something.

And then I woke up, woozy in the back of an SUV crossing water to this god forsaken shithole, memories full of holes and head swimming with questions.

My troublesome thoughts are silenced when ol’ Man-Bun decides we’re allowed to speak, engaging Luthor in conversation.

“So, Luth, are you getting along with your new roomie?” He smirks over his shoulder. We’re still walking, through hallways and doors that unlock as we approach them.

“What’s it to you, Velle?” Luthor asks, not sounding all that enthusiastic to be speaking with this particular guard.

“Just wondering,” the officer lifts a casual shoulder. “You know Darcey’s been itching for some company. I could’ve put him in there if I wanted, you know.”

He could’ve put me somewhere? Isn’t it the Warden’s decision?

“Yea? Well, why didn’t you?” Luthor asks. The officer shrugs again. “Trick question. Because you know damn well Darcey can’t have cellmates. It doesn’t work.”

“Maybe you’re right,” he says, then steps in front of us, blocking the double-doors. “But it’d sure as shit be entertaining to watch it happen. For however long he lasted, anyway.”

The guard grins at me, a straight-white-toothed shit-eating smile that makes me want to punch it a few times. Bloody it up a little.

I squint at the guard, and he winks. Then he turns and pushes the doors open, leading us into the shoddiest cafeteria I’ve ever seen.

The room is just as grimy as the rest of the place. It consists of more stone walls, cracked and stained, a few metal picnic tables arranged in the center of the room. No windows. Fluorescent lights. God, this place sucks ass.

Luthor nudges my shoulder. “Come on.”

I follow him over to where it looks like there should be a buffet of food being served, like in a usual cafeteria. But it’s not. Instead, there are a bunch of trays lined up, each with one wrapped sandwich on it. And a fucking juice box. Like the smallest size available.

“Is this really our dinner?” I ask Luthor, gaping at it in mild disbelief while he picks up his tray.

“Yep,” he sighs. “You’ll learn to appreciate the sandwiches. We don’t get them often. Usually it’s a pile of mystery meat that’s been reheated fifty-thousand times before it gets to us. I think this expired ham and cheese is probably better. Probably.”

He wanders away with his tray. Looking around, I notice all eyes on me, so I pick mine up and move, not wanting to associate with anyone else. Luthor seems more normal, at least compared to the incontinent freak shows he described earlier, and I’m not looking forward to getting cornered by any of them.

Luthor takes a seat at a table by the edge of the room and I plop down next to him, still making a face at my sandwich when two guys sit down across from us.

“Who’s this?” One of them says, raising a dark brow. His eyes dart back and forth between Luthor and me, and I can’t help but notice how blue they are. Seeing them makes me realize how much greener Luthor’s eyes are than blue.

“New guy,” Luthor grumbles, unwrapping his sandwich. I expect him to say more, since he hasn’t been shy with words up until this point. But he doesn’t elaborate.

“Come on, Lexington. You can’t stay mad at me forever,” the guy with the bright blue eyes says. He smiles, a charming one. “Sooner or later you’ll have to forgive me.” I peek at Luthor.

He glares across the table. “Your behavior affects us all. I don’t understand how you still can’t see that.”

“You’re a real stick in the mud, you know that?” The guy grins, leaning back in his chair.

My eyes dart briefly to the man sitting next to him. He’s an Asian guy with a giant dragon tattoo on his neck. And he’s watching the interaction between Luthor and the other guy closely, seemingly invested.

“Ren, for fuck’s sake,” Luthor shakes his head subtly, picking apart the sandwich he has unwrapped. “The guards are Velle’s.” His eyes lift. “All of them…”

So that’s the Ren I keep hearing about?

The guy crosses his arms over his chest. “Are you jealous?”

He’s grinning, but Luthor does not look amused. “Enough. Are you at least getting something out of all this—”

“All this what?” Ren jumps in, narrowing his eyes.

Luthor stays quiet for a moment before he answers, “Canoodling.”

Ren’s eyes light up, and he throws his head back, letting out a booming laugh. I can’t help but notice a very minuscule smile pass over Luthor’s lips, though he crushes it before it can become fully visible.

“Canoodling. I love that. That’s the word of the day.” He turns to the guy at his side. “Byron, what’s the word of the day?”

“Canoodling,” the Asian guy repeats, blinking a few times at Luthor, amusement written on his face.

“I really like it,” Ren sighs out his chuckles. “And for your information, yes. I am getting something out of the canoodling.” He pauses, eyes flitting to me briefly before he says, “I’ll tell you later. Can you get to mine? Since you’ve got a guest I don’t know…”

He gives me an appraising look. I can do nothing more than sit here and try to appear bored.

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” Luthor rips a piece of bread off his sandwich and stuffs it into his mouth. “By the way, Dash, this is Ren and Kang. Guys, this is Dash. He’s 101.”

I nod at them, unsure of what to say. The Asian guy, Byron Kang, nods at me and murmurs a weak, “Sup.”

But Ren is still staring at me, eyes sliding up and down over and over. It’s making me feel strange as I distract myself by unwrapping my sandwich, addressing the only relatively normal person on that side of the table.

“Are you two cellmates?” I ask Kang, nodding between him and Ren.

Kang laughs. “No, thank God. No one wants to be roomies with this guy. He’s got too many visitors.” He glances right, and Ren finally stops staring at me long enough to wink. Kang rolls his eyes. “My cellmate is a crazy Irish prick named O’Malley. He was on his way in, but he got lost along the way…”

Luthor gives Kang a look, to which Kang shrugs and shakes his head. I just got here, and I’m already lost. It seems like there’s a lot going on, and I don’t understand any of it.

I’m not sure I want to understand any of it.

“Don’t worry, Byron. I’m sure your roommate is just fine,” Ren chirps to Kang. Then he leans forward to drop his elbows on the table, resting his chin on his hands, eyes stuck on yours truly. “Dash. That’s a cool name. Is it your real name? I like knowing people’s first names. Nicknames and last names are great and all, but I enjoy getting more personal, feel me?”

“Not really,” I rasp at him. “I just like being called Dash. It’s a nickname.”

We hold one another’s stare for what feels like minutes on end. I don’t want to give in to whatever games this guy is trying to play, especially after what Luthor said earlier. And just seeing how Luthor reacts to him… There’s something about this dude. I’m suspicious of him.

Unfortunately for me, Ren doesn’t budge. He just sits there, head on his hands, leering at me.

I decide to take a bite of my sandwich, a move I immediately regret.

I spit it out the second it touches my tongue, coughing while the guys laugh.

“Sorry, man,” Luthor chuckles. “Little initiation joke. Don’t trust any dairy they give you here. Ever. Cheese included.” He nods at the sandwich.

I pull the bread off and realize the cheese, or what was once cheese, is now green and fuzzy.

“Jesus Christ,” I cringe, spitting onto my tray. The guys are still laughing at me. “That tastes like shit.”

“Chances are the ham’s alright. The bread is okay, too. But the cheese… Yea, no,” Kang says. “That shit looks like the things growing in the downstairs shower.”

“You’re right,” Luthor agrees.

“So this place is, like, really fucking terrible, huh?” I ask them, and they all nod.

“Affirmative,” Ren says. “So when our friend Luthor here shames me for canoodling, you can probably understand why I’d want to acquire certain outside products.” My eyes light up. I can feel it happen. “I have been here for fifteen years, after all.”

“Wow,” I can’t help the word gusting from between my lips. “Fifteen years? That’s a long damn time.”

Ren nods, though I can’t help but notice Kang clenching his jaw as he pulls the moldy cheese out of his sandwich, whipping it at the wall behind us.

“Yea. So if I can try to score stuff, you best believe I’m going to use my exceptional skills to do so,” Ren grins directly at Luthor, who glares at him.

“Exceptional,” Kang scoffs, and Ren elbows him.

“Oh yea? What did you score this time, Warren?” Luthor lifts his light brow.

Ren appears to beam at Luthor’s use of what I’m guessing is his real first name.

“I told you, I don’t trust this fool,” his thumb juts in my direction. “But if you come by later, I’ll share.” Ren leans forward. “Skip shower. For me?”

“Absolutely not,” Luthor mumbles.

I don’t care about whatever drama is going on between these two. My ears are perking at mention of stuff. From the outside.

“Can you get a toothbrush?” I ask Ren in a bit of a whisper, with what I’m sure is desperation drowning my tone. I feel Luthor seething at my side, but I can’t help myself. I have a thing about brushing my teeth.

I don’t even feel like a human until I get a good brush on in the morning. I’ll survive through a lot of nonsense, but not having a toothbrush of my own might be the thing that drives me completely insane.

Ren grins. “I’m sure I can. But I don’t help people who aren’t my friends. And I don’t know you…” He gives me a look, and I sigh.

“My name is Dascha. Dascha Reznikov. I’m a bank robber.”

Kang is glaring at me like I’m an idiot. I don’t even want to see how Luthor is frowning at me, but it’s palpable.

Ren’s smile widens. He’s got a bit of a pretty boy look about him. I think I’m understanding what Luthor was warning about before, because he seems like he’s probably good at manipulation. I’m not sure what that means for why he’s here, or what me being in here with him could mean either.

I just want a fucking toothbrush. And maybe some boxers.

“I know,” Ren replies calmly. “We all heard about you before you even got here.”

“How?” I ask. “I mean, do you guys have any connections to the outside world? TV? Internet?”

This time they all chuckle. “No, darling. We don’t get anything like that. Unless we canoodle the guards for it.” Ren peers at Luthor who rolls his eyes. “And as much as my friends here act like I’m a hooker, selling myself for supplies, you’d have better luck counting the inmates who haven’t done that than those who have. It’s just a part of being here. But you’ll find that out soon enough.”

I glance at Luthor, and his eyes move to the floor. Then I look to Kang and he does the same.

“Are you fucking serious?” I gape at Ren. “So you’re telling me the only way to get anything in this place is to fuck the guards??”

“Well, I wouldn’t be so dramatic about it,” he mutters. “But yea, sort of. The officers are our only links to the outside. And I’m sure you can tell from the conditions here, the funding is nonexistent. They only give us the bare minimum to keep us alive. And even then, sometimes it’s not enough.”

Ren goes quiet, and the three of them share a look.

Okay, I’ll have to ask about that another time.

“Wait, so if you already knew my name and what I did, what do you want me to tell you?” I grip the table. “I really want a toothbrush, man. No offense to Luthor, but the thought of sharing one with him is making me want to die.”

Ren chuckles. “I don’t blame you. Who knows where his mouth has been.”

“Dick,” Luthor growls at Ren.

“That was exactly my point,” he grins and Luthor is practically fuming. “Anyway, I don’t need any information from you in particular. I’m just thinking I might need a favor at some point. If you agree to owe me one, I’ll see what I can do.”

I’m stupidly impulsive. I realize that as I say, “Deal,” and reach across the table to shake Ren’s hand.

“You’re a moron,” Luthor sighs, nibbling at more stale bread.

“Toothbrush,” I say to Ren, gripping his hand hard. “See what you can do.”

“You got it, Dascha.” He winks.

Okay maybe this was a mistake.

Before I can overthink my foolhardy decision to make a deal with someone who apparently takes pleasure in getting around a prison of all male inmates, the doors to the cafeteria burst open and everyone’s heads turn.

One of the guards who brought me into my cell earlier, Rook, comes in tugging an inmate in chains along with him. The inmate… Well, let’s just say if you saw him out of the jumpsuit, handcuffs and shackles, you’d expect him to be in a classroom at Harvard solving elaborate math problems like Will Hunting. Or even singing the first versions of rock ‘n’ roll in the fifties, Buddy Holly style.

The dude is the definition of preppy. He’s got the black-rimmed glasses and everything.

Rook brings him to an empty table and shoves him down as the other guard from before, Velle, stomps over, visibly raging. Everyone goes quiet in an attempt to hear their conversation.

“What the hell is he doing up here?” Velle hisses at Rook.

“I don’t know, man,” Rook sighs and shrugs. “They told me to bring him up for dinner this time. I think the dude from solitary—”

“I don’t give a fuck who said what,” Velle cuts him off. “That was a rhetorical question, asshole. I’m in charge of this place, got it? Next time someone tells you to do something, you make sure it’s been cleared by me.”

Rook stares at him for a moment, puzzled. “Don’t you think that could get inconvenient? Waiting to verify everything, I mean…”

One of the other guards watching the doors snickers. Velle glares at him.

“I don’t like your insubordination, Rookie. If you knew what was good for you, you’d listen and say yes, Sir. No argument.”

Rook cocks his head to the side, though there’s not much resistance on his face as he speaks, “Yes, Sir.”

Velle’s eyes stay locked on Rook’s face for a moment, and I can’t see what’s happening from where we’re sitting, but you can certainly feel the tension.

“Go grab him a tray,” Velle eventually orders Rook in a hoarse whisper. Rook’s lips move, but I can’t hear him.

My eyes move to the inmate, trying to figure out why he looks so familiar. This isn’t the first time I’ve felt like this since arriving here. The Warden definitely looked familiar too, though I’m still not sure why. But with this inmate, my brain finally clicks into place and my eyes widen.

“Oh, shit…” I whisper. “Felix Darcey. That’s who he is, right?” I look to Luthor, then Ren, then Kang. They stare back at me, and their faces are all the confirmation I need.

The Carver.

Felix Darcey, known to the outside world as The Carver thanks to the media, is an infamous serial killer. He was all over the news a couple years back when he was allegedly killed by police during an attempt to arrest him.

They said he was responsible for the deaths of at least thirty-five people. He would strangle them and carve up their faces into various expressions, leaving their bodies on display in strange places. His last victim was found strung up on top of the Christmas tree at Rockefeller Center like some kind of deranged ornament.

“They said he was dead…” I gasp, unable to stop staring.

Darcey’s face turns toward us, and Luthor kicks me under the table. I look away just in time, but I can feel him staring our way, prompting me to peek up once more. It’s just crazy how theoretically normal the guy looks.

It’s always the normal ones, I guess.

“Yea, well… Clearly, he’s not,” Ren sighs. “He’s been here for a while, but we don’t see him much. Usually they keep him downstairs.”

“Last year they gave him a cellmate after he begged and begged…” Kang mumbles, then swallows. “It didn’t work out well.”

Watching all of their faces, I don’t need details.

He’s the Carver, after all.

Rook brings Darcey a sandwich and sits down next to him, unwrapping it and ripping off pieces, feeding them to him slowly. As weird as this is, I’m fascinated. The guy’s so dangerous, he’s not even allowed to eat for himself.

Velle is watching Rook closely, his eyes dark and observant. It has me wondering…

“That dude… Velle,” I start, looking to Ren first, since he seems to have the scoop on everything. “Is he like, important or something?”

Ren nods. “He’s the head C.O. The Warden leaves him in charge since he doesn’t come around much. Velle and Joy run the place for the Warden. Joy’s tough, but fair. Velle, on the other hand… he’s a snake. You can never really tell what his intentions are.”

Luthor snorts and Ren’s eyes flit to him. “I’m sorry. Just sounded like you were talking about someone else for a second.”

“Lex, we get it,” Ren sighs. “You don’t trust me right now. But I’ll win you over again, I promise.”

“Yea, good luck with that,” Luthor shakes his head.

Much to my own dismay, I’m finding myself suddenly interested in the drama between the two of them, though I know I should stay out of it and keep to myself. It’s only my first day… The first day of the rest of my life, apparently. God…

The last thing I want is to get swept up in the nonsense of this place. I need to stay smart here.

Dad’s voice echoes through my brain…

Keep your eyes open at all times. Listen and observe.

Derzhi glaza otkritimi.

My mind flashes back to the bank, two days ago.

Screams and gunfire pulse in my brain, and I close my eyes.

I must have spaced out for a moment because the next thing I know Luthor is shaking me by my shoulder.

“Dash. Dude… we gotta go.”

I peek up to find him standing. They all are, and the guards are barking at us to get moving.

Rising slowly, I look around for Darcey, but he’s gone.

Rook herds the rest of us out of the cafeteria and back down the many hallways leading to the cells. And all the while I’m flinching from the sounds of gunshots and screaming.

Ten Years Ago…

“What do you see, Dascha?” My father asks, then gives me an expectant look.

I try really focusing on what we’re watching, desperate to see what Dad sees and make him proud. My limbs are a bit shaky, but I ignore it and watch the two men unloading the armored truck. Using the binoculars, I study what they’re doing, lifting and setting, concentrating on what Dad would be zoned-in on.

I notice a difference in the numbers on their cargo and gasp, “Those are unmarked bills. Stacks of them.”

“Very good,” my father grumbles from the driver’s seat.

I lower the binoculars and peek at him, smothering my grin so it doesn’t seem obvious that I’m ecstatic over his tiny praise.

“And what would that mean?” He asks and I freeze for a second. “Think. What day is it?”

“Friday…” I whisper, mostly to myself, considering his words and what he’s been teaching me, for years. “They’ll be back tomorrow afternoon to collect.”

“Tomorrow morning, likely,” he corrects me. “This bank is only open until noon on Saturdays.”

I nod, scolding myself inside for not remembering that. Stupid.

My face springs in his direction suddenly. “So does that mean you’ll hit it tonight?”

“No, son. We are scouting this location, learning the patterns.” He starts up the engine of his old black Cadillac. “It is important to remember that a rushed job ends only one way… With you behind bars.” I nod again, but my father continues to stare at me. “What’s the number one rule, Dascha?”

“Don’t get caught,” I utter with confidence.

He gives me a small nod of approval and purses his lips together, the closest thing my father does to a smile. I’ll take it.

As we’re driving back home, his voice interrupts the sound of Lyube playing through the tape deck, “I am going to bring you on my next job.”

My head flings and I gape at him, shocked. “Really?” His face remains stern, as usual. “That’s awesome!”

“You will need to be prepared, Dascha,” he goes on. “This is not something we do for fun. I am introducing you to the family business, as my father did with me, and his father before that.”

“Sure, of course.” I try to make myself as serious as he is. It’s tough, though, when I want to jump up and down in celebration.

I’ve never done a job of my own. I’ve stolen things from stores before, boosted car stereos, shit like that. Just enough minute crime to appease myself while keeping it contained so my father wouldn’t find out. He’s been bringing me along with him on jobs for years. Last time, he let me be the getaway driver, which was an honor.

But actually allowing me into the job? That’s next-level. I can’t wait to show him what I’m made of.

A voice whispers something to me, but I close my eyes and shake it away. When I reopen them, I see my father’s eyes dart away from mine. Gulping down my insecurities, I face forward for the rest of the drive.

When we get home, Dad pulls into the driveway and I hop out of the car, waving at our neighbor from upstairs, Mrs. Petrovsky, as I head inside. Dad lingers behind, speaking to her in Russian, asking her if she needs anything while I move through the hallway into our apartment.

I’ve lived here my whole life. My parents fled Russia when my mother was three months pregnant with me and moved in with my great aunt on my Dad’s side, who owned this apartment. I don’t really remember her; she passed away when I was little, but I know that I’m named after her, as she was important to my father. I was born and raised here in Brooklyn, this small apartment serving as a setting to my entire childhood.

It’s not a bad place. Not very much space, but it doesn’t matter. I’m an only child. I have a few cousins who live in the area, and I used to hang out with them when I was younger. But in the past few years, everyone has sort of disappeared.

It’s not hard to guess why…

As I make my way into the kitchen, my pace slows. My mother is up, pacing around the table in her bathrobe she always wears. Her naturally silverish-blonde hair is hanging in her face, looking a bit stringy and unwashed. And she’s mumbling to herself.

I swallow and consider running away in the opposite direction, but just as I’m about to back up, her face lifts and our gazes lock. Her green eyes are shiny, the pupils almost nonexistent in their state of pin-dot. She stops mumbling and gives me a soft smile, motioning for me to come to her. It’s then that I notice what’s in her right hand. A knife.

“Mom…” I mutter, eyes locked on the knife she’s holding awfully close to her wrist.

“Dascha, malysh, come help Mama,” she beckons to me, her voice smooth as it’s always been.

My mother is beautiful on the outside; gorgeous, really. But inside she’s damaged.

“Mama, uberi nozh,” I tell her softly to put away the knife. “Papa’s going to be mad.”

“Zabud’ o nem,” she scoffs, blinking at me. “He does not understand. You are like me, Dascha. You are Mama’s dancing star. Papa will never understand the chaos, not like us.”

My jaw clenches with my fists. “I’m not like you.”

“But you are, sladkiy. It cannot be helped.”

I shake my head. No… I refuse to be like her. I’m not broken. I’m not…

The voices whisper, Yes you are. You’re broken, too. Someday that will be you.

“No!” I growl, ripping my hair at its roots.

“Dascha, they are telling us what to do,” she speaks, her voice echoing and melting together with the noise in my brain. “We must listen.”

At that moment, my father storms into the room. My eyes fling to him, fear clutching at me from the inside. My father has a temper when it comes to my mom and her… issues.

His eyes grow dark, the lines of his face turning severe as he glares at my mother. The emotion I see, radiating from his body like a dark aura, is hate. I see hatred on my father’s face for my mother and in that moment, every memory I have of their incessant fighting, sometimes loud and even bordering on violent, clicks into place.

I have never seen my parents hug or kiss. I’m not even sure I’ve seen them touch, nor has my father smiled at my mother, in years. They’re not in love, at all.

I don’t even think I would know what love looked like if it smacked me in the face.

“Lana,” my father’s voice seethes at my mother like a snake about to strike. “Hvatit.”

“You do not own us, Alexander.” My mother straightens, pressing the knife into her wrist. “They tell me you are an evil man. I should believe them.”

“You crazy bitch,” my father hisses and I can see the blow to my mother, as if she’s been shot. I feel it myself. “Dascha, go to your room.”

“Dad, please…” I mumble, but he cuts me off with a withering glare.

“Now, Dascha.” His eyes return to my mother and they stare at one another in silence as I eventually force my feet to move and I shuffle toward my room.

As soon as my door closes behind me, the shouting begins. I’m used to it, of course. My parents fight a lot, but even more than their fighting is their ever-present exhausted indifference. My father is tired all the time. He barely even seems interested in the jobs he does anymore. And my mother, well, she’s a shell of a human being.

This episode today isn’t something that happens all that often. Usually she stays locked away in her bedroom, listening to music and reading Nietzsche. My father destroyed so many copies of her books, convinced that the reading contributes to her scattered thoughts and erratic behaviors, but she always manages to locate more. She becomes possessed with the notion of the Ubermensch, Nietzsche’s idea of a Superman, or a person who has achieved true self-actualization.

I’ve read the books before. It used to bore me to sleep, but as I got older, it started to make a little sense. I’ve always loved the idea of breaking free from societal norms. I know I’m not like everyone else. I don’t feel like a normal boy, and as much as I deny it, there are differences in the things I think and feel…

My needs are developing the more I grow into adulthood.

I only just turned fifteen, but the lack of attention from my parents forced me to grow up quicker than someone else my age might. I spend a lot of time on my own, and I have since I was a small child. My mother really only raised me as she needed to; she gave me the bare necessities, but as I grew in adolescence, she pulled away. And my father is always out with his friends, working. Always working. Sometimes he doesn’t come home for days, and it’s always been like that.

I lost my virginity last year, to a girl from school. I wasn’t as desperate for it as some of my friends, but she offered so I accepted. I’d been jerking off for years, so to finally experience the sex that everyone’s always raving about was more enticing than the act itself. The girl, Megan, did most of the work, which I sort of liked. She shoved me onto her twin bed, held me down and took what she wanted, which turned me on more than she did. And thankfully my dick stayed hard long enough for it not to be embarrassing.

It was good. So we did it a few more times after that, until she got a boyfriend. Then I did it with a couple of her friends, but it always seems to end the same way, with the girl leaving our casual arrangement for something steadier. Ditching me for someone who’s emotionally equipped, which I suppose I’m not.

I’d like to be, but the feelings aren’t there. I can’t force them.

I’ve thought about faking it, but the idea of intentionally conforming to what someone else wants goes against Nietzsche’s code.

I don’t want to be controlled by the shoulds of the world.

Shouting outside my door turns to crashing and smashing, and I don’t realize until it finally goes silent out there that I’ve been pacing my room the entire time. Glancing to my bedroom window, I see that it’s dark outside. Hours seem to have passed, and I didn’t even realize it.

I sigh and plop down onto my bed. You’re broken, too.

Covering my face, I breathe into my hands. It doesn’t matter, none of it does. I’m going on a job with my father. I’m taking over his trade…

A thought that just now prompts a new idea, one that weighs heavy on my shoulders.

What is the end-game in a life of crime?

2 days in

The next morning I’m awoken from my uneasy sleep to the sounds of banging.

It’s not even the worst of all the incessant noises I heard last night. I’m surprised I could get my mind to turn off at all. Must’ve been the leftover drugs in my system…

Reaching for my thin pillow, I cover my head with it, but the banging keeps going.

“Rise and shine, bitches!” The voice shouting at me is female, so I know immediately that it’s Joy.

I hate that I already know things about this place. I don’t want to be here at all, let alone be recognizing the guards by their voices. Ugh.

“Shower time, Luth,” Joy barks from the other side of the bars she was just smacking with a billy club.

“Five minutes, Jamesy,” Luthor whines from the top bunk. “Please?”

“Two minutes,” Joy grumbles then wanders off, banging things around on other cells.

I hear Luthor sigh, his shifting about wiggling the entire rickety bunk bed. He leaps down and rubs his eyes.

“You wanna use the toothbrush first?” He asks me.

I lift the pillow from my head. He doesn’t look excited about his offer, but I have to appreciate it, anyway.

“Thanks, man,” I croak, rolling out of bed.

Wandering to the shitty metal sink, I pick up his toothbrush, which looks very clean. Thank fucking God for that. I turn the left knob for the hot water, but nothing comes out.

“No hot water…” I turn the right knob for cold. “Why am I not surprised?”

“There’s hot water in the showers,” Luthor says while taking a piss literally five feet away from me. I’m trying not to focus on it. “Well… warm water.”

It takes everything I have not to sigh out of extreme contempt for this shitfucked situation while I look around for toothpaste. Luthor must catch on because he jumps in.

“Oh yea, sorry. I hid it under my mattress,” he nods to the bed. “Far left side. Use as little as possible, please. I’m not sure when I’ll be able to get more.”

I lift his mattress and grab the tube of Colgate, squeezing out a pea-sized dollop before putting it back where I found it.

“Do I even want to know what you had to do to get this?” I glance at him before proceeding with my brushing. It’s very satisfying, since I didn’t get to do it yesterday, what with waking up in that strange vehicle.

“Nope,” Luthor grumbles, shoving me aside to splash cold water on his face.

I finish brushing and spit in the sink. “At least tell me it was Joy you were able to bribe for the contraband.” I rinse the brush thoroughly before handing it to Luthor. Noticing the look he’s giving me, I freeze. “Oh shit, sorry. If you’re into guys, it’s totally cool. I just didn’t get that vibe from you. I mean, there was some tension between you and Ren, but that might just be him…”

Luthor chuckles and shakes his head, going for the toothpaste himself. “Man, you really are a newbie.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He sighs. “The thing is that lines get blurred in this place, bro. We’re in here for the rest of our lives… Joy’s the only female, and she’s Velle’s property. Even if she wanted to bang one of us, it’d be like sticking your dick in a hornet’s nest. I’m sure it’d feel good for a couple seconds before you’d be wishing you were never born.”

I blink a few times. “Oh. So Joy and Velle are… together?”

Luthor grins. “Why? Planning on asking her on a date?”

I chuckle for the first time in days. It feels foreign. “No, I just mean… I don’t know. I’m trying to get a feel for what goes down here. It seems a little like a soap opera.”

Luthor laughs. “Days of our Guantanamo lives.” I laugh with him. “Like I said, lines get blurred. When you’re banished to a hellhole like this for the rest of your days, you kind of just focus on doing whatever you can to feel like you’re still alive. This isn’t a regular prison. We don’t get TV time, they don’t allow books, letters, writing…”

My stomach drops. “You can’t even write or draw?”

He gives me a sympathetic look and his mirroring tone repeats, “The only way to get things is through the guards.”

I’m getting it now. After years with literally nothing to do but stare at a crack in the wall, what’s a sexual favor to someone you’re not attracted to if it gives you a piece of paper and a goddamned pen?

That’s probably the most depressing thought I’ve had in a while.

I think Luthor notes the dismal look on my face, because he pats my shoulder, then goes on brushing his teeth. He’s spitting in the sink when Joy comes back, opening up the cell.

“Ready to go, slackers?” She stands to the side, motioning for us to leave. “That was obviously rhetorical. Get moving.”

“She’s a ray of fucking sunshine in the morning,” Luthor says to me on our way past Joy. She kicks him in the shin, and he groans in pain, though they’re both smiling.

I’m realizing that Luthor seems to have a decent rapport with the guards. Well, at least with the ones I’ve seen him interacting with. I assume since he’s been here for five years, they must have gotten to know each other a bit. As weary as I am to associate with the guards, Rook and Joy don’t seem awful. Velle worries me a bit, though.

We walk for a while through all the long corridors, taking a different route this time, away from the cafeteria.

“So Joy, since Dash is new and everything, don’t you think it’d be nice to show him the basement?” Luthor asks, and Joy gives him a look over her shoulder.

“That’s a once a month privilege, inmate,” Joy warns, but Luthor puppy-dog pouts at her. I can’t help but grin, because it’s pretty funny to witness. Someone who looks like Lex Luthor pouting. “You look like a serial killer when you do that,” she laughs, then sighs. “Kang’s been begging me to spar, so maybe I’ll come get you guys when we go.” Luthor does a little fist pump, but she shuts it down. “It won’t be for a bit so don’t get too excited.”

“Sure sure,” Luthor grins. “Of course. Thanks, Jamesy.”

“Anything for my Luth,” she whispers, then scowls. “Back in line, inmate.”

Luthor smothers his smile and winks at me when Joy’s not looking.

When we finally arrive at the showers, my nerves return, full-force. It’s another room made up of three concrete slabs, cracked and streaked white on the walls. The floors are also stone, and the drains are few and far between, meaning you’re basically standing in everyone’s dirty water.

I’m cringing just looking at it. Joy has to shove me forward to get me inside.

There are five shower heads in a line, separated by a wall that’s about six feet high, so most of us are taller than it, followed by another five shower heads. Basically, you can get some privacy if the shower’s not full, but right now I count at least ten other inmates milling about. Some of them look like they’re finishing up, but as Luthor and I are entering, I see Kang and Ren coming in, along with two other guys whose faces I only recognize from the cafeteria yesterday.

Joy leaves us in the showers, and I don’t see any of the other guards at the moment, but I can hear them just outside the doorway. I can’t help standing here, frozen. I don’t really know what to do. I haven’t felt this uncomfortable since the first time I had to shower after gym class in middle school.

I’m fine with nudity, and I’m comfortable enough in my own skin. It’s not that. It’s me not knowing these people, who are wandering around me with their dicks out. I don’t trust them. And I don’t like being vulnerable around people I don’t trust.

I decide to just watch Luthor again, like I have been, since he knows what to do. I can try to play it off like I’m not the new guy if I act like I belong. The last thing I want to be right now is the new guy, naked in the showers. I feel like that has me at a massive disadvantage.

Luthor grabs a towel from a sparse pile of them then steps out of his shoes and strips out of his jumpsuit, folding it and placing everything on top of the wall that separates the showers. This seems to be what everyone’s doing, so I creep around the wall to the shower no one’s in yet and strip, balancing my stuff on top of the wall. I turn the rusty knob for the water, and it sputters out freezing for at least three minutes before it finally warms up. While it does, I focus on locating some soap, since they didn’t give us anything to use.

I can’t help but notice that a couple of the guys have Ziploc bags with their own soap bars inside. Who knows what they had to do to get those…

The thought makes me wince as I press the dispenser on the wall a few times until it squirts out a little liquid. It smells like hand soap. My skin is going to be so fucked up after this…

At least I don’t have to worry about my hair anymore. Maybe that’s why they shave our heads, so they don’t have to pay for shampoo. Not that they would do that if we had hair…

My thoughts are wandering as I wash, surprised I have this stall to myself. There are four unoccupied shower heads next to me, which has me suddenly uneasy. Why am I alone in here?

Then I hear a noise that clenches my stomach. It’s a distinct sound.

Peering around the corner of the wall into the other showers, my eyes widen.

Ren is on his knees in front of Luthor and Kang, the two of them huddled together. It appears the reason they’re so close to one another in so Ren can get both of their dicks in his mouth at once. It doesn’t work exactly like that, but Ren’s alternating between jerking one and sucking the other, then licking them together. And unfortunately, I don’t even notice that I’m sufficiently disturbed by this scene until I’ve been watching it for many generous seconds.

Blinking hard, I turn away, shaking my head. I don’t want to see that. Sure, people can mess around with whoever they want. I don’t have a problem with same-sex relations. Do you.

But I’m straight, and I’ve never been attracted to guys. And the thing is I can’t tell if these guys are actually gay, or they’re just passing the time with each other. Like Luthor said before, about blurring lines.

That’s fine for them, but that’ll never be me. I can’t just fool around with a guy because I’m bored and there’s no pussy nearby. It doesn’t work like that for me.

A heavy grunt pulls my attention back to the other shower. It sounds like someone’s struggling, and I have to look. Peeking around the wall again, I witness Kang shove Ren against the concrete. He pumps a handful of soap into his palm from the dispenser, then strokes it onto his erection.

I know where this is going and I look away once more, going back to my private shower. I guess that’s why they all wanted to be in there together… I mean, good for them I suppose. But I’m not interested.

The grunts are getting louder and turning from aggrieved noises to groans of pleasure. The only thing I’m curious about is what Luthor is doing during all of this. I think it’s apparent that Kang and Ren are fucking, but there was definitely some kind of tension between Luthor and Ren yesterday.

Maybe they used to be an item, but Ren is clearly very popular in here… I suppose Luthor wouldn’t like something like that. Then again, what the hell do I know about any of this?

Inching my head back again, I see Luthor leaned against the wall, watching closely as Kang drills into Ren from behind.

I swallow hard, my throat as dry as a desert. My stomach is rolling in disgust, sending a tightness up to my chest. I’ve never seen anything like this; certainly not in real life, but not in porn or anything else either. I’ve never watched guys together, because it’s not my thing.

And yet for some reason when I glance down, I realize my dick is hard. It’s poking right into the concrete wall.

My brow furrows as I stare at my erection, wondering what the hell it’s doing. Are you feeling alright, dude? This isn’t what we like to watch.

The sex noises are bouncing off the walls, and I keep my eyes trained on my dick because I’m terrified to lift my gaze. I don’t want to look at that anymore. It’s disgusting. Super gross.

Where are the guards? Don’t they stop stuff like this? I suppose they wouldn’t…

My eyes slide, slowly, back up to the scene before me, just to see if anyone else is around. There are actually a few other inmates wandering away from the showers, completely unfazed by what’s happening. Kang wraps his hand around Ren’s throat from behind, using the other to hold him open while he…

Fuck. What the hell… This is awful. How could anyone like that?

“Fuck me,” Ren releases a gravelly whisper. “Harder, Lex.”

His words register and I realize that his eyes are locked on Luthor, even though he’s being smashed by someone else. Luthor is staring at Ren, his cock hard, though he’s not touching himself. He’s just staring, with some very intense emotions on his face.

“Lex… please,” Ren growls, and I see his hand reach out to Luthor.

Hesitantly, Luthor’s fingers slide over Ren’s. But then he blinks heavily and clamps his jaw, turning and storming off. I watch him leave, dressing hastily as he stomps to the exit of the showers.

It’s after he’s vanished that I notice a set of eyes in the direction he just disappeared, watching me. Dark and familiar…

It’s the tattooed guard from yesterday, the one who shaved my head. He’s standing at the entrance to the showers, staring at me.

My brows zip together as I look at him, wondering why the hell he’s standing there and why he’s looking at me like that. His eyes dart to Ren and Kang, who are still fucking, loud, despite Luthor having left their little party. When his gaze comes back to me, it falls below my waist.

It makes me want to cover myself up. I peek down at my hard-on, still standing at a full salute. But really, it’s not my dick’s fault. He doesn’t know what’s going on. He just heard sex noises and got excited. My dick gets hard all the time during uncomfortable situations. It’s always been a problem for me.

I watch the guard, and he stares back at me, cocking his head to the side. Honestly, what the hell does this asshole want?? Can’t he just go away.

“Enjoying the show?” A deep voice startles me, and I flinch, glancing right to see Velle sauntering over.

Of course he’s fully clothed and I’m fully naked, which makes me uneasy. I reach for my clothes, but he grabs them first.

“Hey. Not so fast, inmate,” he murmurs. “You sure you’re all cleaned up? We can’t have you going back to your cell still dirty.” His deep eyes glower into me. “Especially after a show like that.” He nods toward the sounds of Ren getting fucked.

“Give me my clothes,” I puff my chest as much as I can. The dude’s bigger than me, not by too much, but he’s definitely taller and sort of broader.

I don’t care though. I’m not afraid of this asshole.

“I said not so fast,” Velle growls. “You’re still new so I’ll give you a pass, but you’ll learn not to disobey me. It’s in your best interest to get this right off the bat, 101. I own you.”

“Fuck off,” my teeth clench.

The sounds of fucking are distracting me. My mind is wobbly, irritating since I need to be sharp right now. I can’t let this prick walk all over me.

“Wrong,” he sighs, and shoves me up against the wall. “See, you can act pissed off, but your dick is hard. That means you like what you see. Or what you’re hearing.”

My eyes dart to the doorway where that huge tattooed guard was standing. He’s still there. He’s watching this asshole push me around and he’s not doing shit to help.

I guess I’m not surprised. I’m on my own.

“Listen to them,” Velle crowds me. “Ren likes it rough, and Kang’s fat cock does the trick, apparently. You’d like to see some more, wouldn’t you?”

“Absolutely not,” I seethe in his face, not backing down.

“Wrong again, inmate,” he grabs my face and twists until I’m forced to look over my shoulder again. I gulp at the sight of Ren gripping the wall, lost whatever sensation he’s getting, hard and deep.

I squeeze my eyes shut and force my head back, glaring at the big douche before me.

“I heard you yesterday,” Velle breathes, his hand running up my neck and he pins my naked body to the cold stone wall with his body weight. I struggle against him, but when his left hand drifts to his Glock, I swallow. “You want a toothbrush. You know, I can get you one. I can get you better food, too.” He leans in, lips brushing my ear. “Would you want that?”

My stomach rolls. I’m not trying to think about the fact that I can feel his erection on me through the layer of fabric separating us. Muscles stiffen all over my body as I straighten up.

“I don’t ask for much, inmate,” Velle murmurs, the sound of his voice grating my brain.

My rage is bubbling. I know it’s not smart to attack someone with his hand on a gun… But I’m sure it’s not cocked. I’m sure it’s not.

“I’m sure you could make me come with that pouty mouth of yours in about, oh I don’t know… ten, fifteen minutes. And then you’ll get a toothbrush.” He uses the right hand to touch my lips and I feel sick.

I’m going to vomit. Then I’m going to murder him.

“What do you say, inmate?” He grinds into me and I seize the opportunity.

I lift my knee to his groin, hard. And in a split second, when he’s backed up a bit, I headbutt him, right in the nose.

“Argh! You little fuck!” He roars.

“I say go fuck yourself,” I hiss at him while he drops to his knees, cupping his balls.

Grabbing my clothes fast, I jump into them while rushing out of the showers.

Unfortunately, I don’t get far.

2 days in

I can’t see shit. It isn’t working well for my attempts at walking, which I suppose is why I’m basically being dragged.

I can’t tell where I am or where I’m going. This must be deep in the building somewhere because the smell of mildew and sea water is much more pungent. And it’s significantly colder.

“You really fucked up, inmate,” the voice hisses and I flinch.

My eye is already sore, and I can feel it swelling from where Velle hit me.

I don’t regret what I did. Not yet, anyway… But I’m sure that’s subject to change.

The bag is ripped off my head, and I blink hard, looking around. I’m in front of a cell… But it’s not mine. It’s very different from mine.

First thing, it’s less than half the size of Luthor’s and my cell. The bed, if you want to call it that, looks like the mattress part of a cot, lying on the floor with one measly blanket on top.

No sink. No toilet. A fucking bucket in the corner.

“W-what is this?” I ask, glancing up at the guard. It’s a guy whose name I don’t know, and he’s glaring at me like I’m completely fucked. It doesn’t make me feel good.

He doesn’t answer me, of course, and shoves me inside the cell, slamming the door shut behind me. The door isn’t made of bars like in the other cells. This one is metal, obviously heavy, with a small plexiglass window at the top, only a few inches by a few inches.

I swallow and look around. I don’t need an answer from anyone to know that this is solitary.

Solitary confinement. Otherwise known as punishment inside punishment.

I can one-hundred percent believe that attacking Velle landed me in solitary. He’s in charge. And maybe that makes him feel like he can just harass everyone, but I don’t do that. I don’t let people walk on me. Never have.

Not since…

I close my eyes and shake my head. No. Not going there now. I need to try and keep my wits about me. I need to stay cognizant in here. I’m sure I can make it. How long can they really keep me down here, anyway? A few days? A week?

That’s just a week of quiet. And shitting in a bucket…

Breathing out steadily, ignoring the pit of unease in my gut, I amble toward the mattress on the floor and plop down. Covering my face with my hands, I try to relax. I’m not great with small spaces, but I’m trying not to think about it.

My eyes travel the walls surrounding me. It’s so dark in here I can barely even see, not that there’s anything to look at, anyway. It’s just concrete, everywhere. The only light is streaming in through the small window on the door and the one-inch crack beneath the bottom. Even with that, it’s not much.

I stare at the door for what feels like hours, but of course I have no idea what time it is or how much has passed. All I know is that my ass is now as sore as my eye from sitting on it so long. Sleeping on this thing is going to suck.

“Fuck…” I grunt out loud, to no one. “Fuck fuck fuck.”

“Sounds familiar,” a muffled voice comes from behind me and I squint, turning around to face the wall.

“Who’s there?” I press my palm to the concrete.

“Tell me your name first,” the voice says, and I can almost hear a smile in it.

It’s not comforting.

I shouldn’t tell this person anything. They might use it against me. Who knows how long I’ll be in here… The last thing I need is some asshole in the next cell fucking with me.

“I don’t need to tell you shit.” I trace a crack in the wall with my finger that runs to about an inch above the floor.

“Well, yea. I know you don’t need to,” the voice goes on. “But you should.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because you’re gonna start to go a little nuts in here. Talking to someone can definitely help.”

I narrow my gaze at the wall, trying to picture the person on the other side.

“Well, I haven’t told you my name yet and you’re still talking to me,” I point out.

He laughs. “You’ve bested me, mystery man. Congratulations.”

My lips quirk, but I smother it fast. “I’m proud. How long have you been in here?”

Quiet. I hear nothing but silence, and silence in here is very silent. The only thing audible is the sound of water dripping from somewhere off in the distance.

“No response? That’s cool,” I tap my fingers on the wall. “You don’t have to answer that, I guess…”

Still nothing. I roll my eyes. What a prick.

“The silent treatment. Real mature,” I flop onto my back on the mattress pad. I’m so cold, wrapping my arms around myself. “Is it always this freezing in here?”

Silence.

“Fucking stubborn asshole,” I mutter and close my eyes.

Maybe I should try to rest. That could help the time go by faster. Catch up on my beauty sleep.

I keep my eyes closed for a while. Again, unsure how long. But eventually I reopen them because I can’t sleep. I’m wired from the sheer fucked-upness of all this.

I wonder what Luthor is doing… If he even knows where I am. I wonder what was going on with him earlier in the shower. Ren was being fucked by Kang, but it seemed like he wanted it to be Luthor…

So much drama in this place. At least in solitary I’m away from it all.

I’m away from everything…

My limbs are vibrating, filled with buzzing energy. My fingers tap, my toes wiggle in my shoes while I think about my dirty socks… I wonder if I’ll ever get to wash them.

Rolling onto my stomach, I cover my head. My mind won’t stop. Everything is so loud.

If I don’t move right now, I’ll explode. I jump up from the floor and start pacing.

What’s going on outside? Is it raining? Is it sunny? Is there a rainbow?

What happened to Mom…? Is she still there? Is she wondering about me?

Pacing pacing pacing. Wearing a hole in the concrete floor.

Is Lola alright? Did her and Kent hear about what happened? Did the cops tell everyone I died when they sent me here so no one would ask questions?

Fuck.

I drop to the floor and start doing push-ups, counting in my head, over and over, to distract myself. My brain is going off the rails. I need to control it.

Trapped.

No. Don’t think about that. Just count.

I get to one-sixty-two and collapse onto my stomach, out of breath and spinning. Whether I close my eyes or keep them open, all I see is black.

No color. The color is gone.

Curling into a ball, I try to forget about all the things I miss. Hours pass by, palpably, until I’m stiff.

My stomach grumbling wakes me up, meaning I apparently passed out. I haven’t eaten since yesterday, and it was basically just a piece of bread. I haven’t had water since this morning. My mouth tastes weird.

I force myself to sit up and glance at the crack beneath the door. The lighting is still exactly the same. I’d have no clue what time of day it is from anything around me. A slight shadow flickers in the light, as if someone is nearby.

Crawling closer to the door, I lay on the floor, peering underneath to check if I can see anything. I can’t, but I hear faint footsteps.

“Hello?” My voice scratches from within my throat. Of course no one responds.

I count out another two hours on the floor, staring through the crack, waiting to see if someone will come by. Maybe they’ll bring me water, at least.

But no. It doesn’t happen, and I finally pick myself back up. I’m cold and woozy as I decide to make lists in my head, to pass the time.

Wrapping my blanket around myself, I name all fifty states. I count all the US Presidents I can remember, state capitals, car makes then models, and by the time I’m done listing off the entire McDonald’s menu, I’m lying on my back, staring up at a black ceiling.

I can feel the weakness overtaking me. I think it’s been almost thirty-six hours since I was brought inside here, but of course I don’t know for sure. I can’t tell if it just feels like an eternity or if it really has been. Maybe it’s been longer…

Closing my eyes, I tap my fist on the wall at my side. “My name’s Dash.”

Quiet, but only for a moment this time, until, “Glad you came around. I’m Felix.”

My eyes shoot open.

Darcey.

The Carver.

It’s been three days, according to my calculations. Darcey agrees with me, so I think it’s an accurate guess. We’ve gotten no food or water yet.

And I’m fading.

Darcey sounds like he’s doing better than me, but sometimes he goes silent and I think it’s because he passed out. This isn’t good.

We won’t last much longer.

Come to think of it, he’s been quiet for hours. I smack the wall as hard as I can with no strength, which isn’t hard at all.

“Hey,” I rasp. “You alright over there?”

It takes him a moment before he says, “Yea. My tongue is really dry.”

“Same. They can’t starve us to death, can they?”

“They can do whatever they want,” he says, and I shiver, tightening my blanket around my shoulders. “But they won’t. This is just what they do. The longest I’ve gone without food or water is four days, so hopefully by tomorrow they’ll give us something.”

“I can’t believe this…” I whisper, mostly to myself, but Darcey responds.

“Can’t you, though?”

Felix Darcey seems like an okay enough guy, though at this point having anyone to talk to is a blessing, so I’ll take what I can get. We’ve been chatting for days, just trying to keep our minds occupied; keep ourselves distracted from the hunger pangs, and the loopyness that comes with starvation and dehydration.

That said, we haven’t talked about anything serious or personal. I refuse to scare him away or piss him off by asking about his crimes or why he’s down here and apparently, he feels the same. Or he just doesn’t care.

Either way, we have a couple sports teams in common, which has been enough. We don’t talk about food, because it’ll drive us nuts. Same thing goes for sex and travel. If we can’t have it right now, then there’s no point torturing ourselves.

Instead, we’ll stick to who won the last few Superbowls, favorite movies, and books we had to read in high school. We both agree Lord of the Flies seems oddly applicable now.

“Heads up,” Darcey says as footsteps approach.

They’re heavy, stomping down the hall. I hold my breath, praying for food and water. I don’t know how much more of this I can take.

The sounds of keys jingling tings my brain. It’s the first time I’ve heard that since I’ve been in Alabaster Pen. The server controls all the other doors. Apparently not these, though.

The door opens and a shadowy figure I can’t make out tosses a bottle of water at me. It’s already opened and only half full, but I’ll take it. Then a plastic tray slides across the floor, the door slammed shut and locked before I can get a look at the guard.

I don’t even care though because I’m too busy frantically opening the water bottle and gulping, as slowly as I can, so I don’t choke or spill it. My hands are trembling as I drink, the much-needed hydration feeling foreign in my throat. I swallow and sip again, observing my bottle. There’s not much left, and I need to save the rest.

Glancing at the tray on the floor, I see the crusts from a sandwich and an apple core. My bottom lip trembles, but I grind my jaw to push past it. I’m being fed garbage… like a fucking hobo.

I can’t… I don’t…

My eyes start to water, but I shake my head and force myself to buck up, picking up the crust and eating it slowly.

Listening for sounds in Darcey’s cell, I hear what I think is his door opening. Then mumbling voices. I move closer to the wall so I can listen.

“On your feet, inmate,” a voice says, and I hear chains.

I press my hand to the wall. They’re taking him.

My stomach drops in disappointment. I know they bring Darcey places on occasion, like that day in the cafeteria. He told me they bring him to the showers too, usually when no one else is in there.

I’m glad he gets to leave solitary, and sure, I’m jealous. But what can I do? Right now, I’m more concerned with the fact that my only source of entertainment is leaving. My only friend, if that’s what he is, is gone. And I’m alone.

His cell door closes, followed by the distinct shuffling of them dragging him up the hall. I sigh and drop my head to the wall, depression hitting me hard and fast. I’m weakened, body and mind, which I’m sure is the point of having me in here. They’re trying to break me… And it feels like it’s working.

The next few hours tick by slower than they have in three days. I feel every single second that passes. I eat all the crusts and nibble at the apple core.

Another day passes. I eat the seeds and the stem.

I finish my water, because I can’t help myself. I’m so thirsty, so hungry I’m beginning to hallucinate.

The lights in the hallway flicker.

“Where are you, Dascha?” I whisper in the dark. “I can’t find you.”

My vision fades and I pass out for a while. When I come to, I reopen my eyes to see other eyes staring back at me, through the window in the door. I’m sure it’s a hallucination, but I can’t look away from them.

They’re deep and ominous. Watching me.

“Why are you always watching me…” My voice creeps from my throat.

The eyes keep staring.

“Are you watching me die…?”

My lids droop once more.

When I wake up, I’m stiff and freezing. My entire body feels like it’s filled with lead, and my mouth is dry and chalky, reminding me that I haven’t brushed my teeth in days. I hate this feeling… And it’ll only get worse, since in here there isn’t even a Luthor to share his toothbrush with me. I suppose I have bigger worries now…

I remember the eyes from last night, unable to tell if it was a strange dream brought on by the starvation, or if there really were dark eyes staring at me through the glass. The thought festers.

Rolling my neck to the side, I startle when I see a fresh bottle of water on the floor next to me. A full one. And a whole apple. It’s not even bitten.

I get up as fast as I can and grab the bottle, drinking half right away. It feels incredible; the water sliding down to my esophagus. I sit and eat half the apple slowly, chewing while smiling the whole time. I can’t tell what kind of apple it is from the flavors bursting on my tongue, though biting into it seems to clean my teeth, marginally anyway. It’s something.

Time passes as I stare at the door, watching it like it’s a TV set. I imagine that The Big Bang Theory is on. I like that show.

I eat the rest of my apple, savoring each bite. The sugar is giving me some pep, and I have to appreciate it. I feel warmer already.

Sheldon says something ridiculous and I chuckle.

A few more hours drift by, and I think my Big Bang memories are getting mixed up because the episodes aren’t making much sense anymore. Instead, I get up and walk around the cell, glancing at the bucket in the corner. Thank God I haven’t had to take a shit yet, I’m guessing because I’ve barely eaten anything in days. I’m not looking forward to it, though. I can already vaguely smell the piss in there, burdening my senses.

My mind sparks with an idea. Wandering over to the mattress on the floor, I drop down and start picking at the seams of the edge. Hours go by as I do this, and eventually I get some material loose. I rip and rip, carefully, until I’ve removed a two-foot sheet. I bring it to the bucket and drape it over the top, using it as a makeshift toilet lid. Then I go back to the mattress and rip off more pieces, small squares that I can use as toilet paper when I ultimately have to shit.

It’s gonna suck, but at least this is something.

All the work makes me tired, so I lay down and stare at the door some more. After a while, footsteps approach and I tense in anticipation. Maybe they’re bringing more food. Or bringing Darcey back. I don’t hear shuffling or chains, so probably not the latter.

Someone approaches my door, but I don’t hear the keys. I can’t see anything through the window, and yet there are shadows in the crack beneath the door. Someone’s standing out there.

I sit up straighter and watch. Nothing happens. It doesn’t move or speak, but I can feel the presence from the other side. I resolve to get up and wander to the door.

When I’m about six feet away, I choose to speak.

“Hey…” My head cocks as I observe the shadow. “Who’s there?”

There’s no response, which doesn’t surprise me. I’ve been talking to myself a lot lately. I’m getting used to it.

“Do you know how much longer I’ll be in here?” I ask, taking a step closer. “Or if I can take a shower soon…?”

Stepping closer still, I can truly feel the presence. It’s cumbersome, like a thickness in the air I can’t understand. I think I hear breathing, but I can’t tell if I’m imagining it.

“Can’t you just fucking say something?” I seethe, my frustrations taking over.

I’m so fucking sick of being in here. I’m sick of starving to death. I’m sick of pissing in a bucket. I’m sick of smelling my own sweat.

I fucking hate this.

Stomping to the door, I bang on it hard. “Hey! Fucking answer me, asshole!”

That does it. A face appears in the plexiglass window and I almost stumble backward.

It’s the guard. That giant tattooed asshole who shaved my head, then watched as Velle tried to molest me. His dark eyes are hard and etched in a dangerous ferocity, but I don’t care. I’m fucking pissed off too, and I have more of a reason to be than this guy. After all, he’s free and I’m not.

I fucking hate him.

“The fuck is your problem, prick?” I hiss through a clenched jaw. “You retarded or something? I asked you a question.”

His gaze narrows at me, and though he doesn’t speak, somehow I can hear what he’s thinking. Or at least, what I think he’s thinking.

Watch it, inmate.

“Just tell me when the fuck I’ll get out of here…” I rub my face. “Please.”

He sighs, still glaring at me through the smudged window.

That’s not my answer to give you.

I turn and begin storming around the room. I’m so fucking over this, I can’t stand it anymore.

“I’m gonna make a noose out of my blanket and fucking hang myself,” I mumble, purposely being a stubborn idiot. I can’t help it. My emotions are going haywire and I’m so goddamn hungry and tired. “I’ll find a way… Can’t be that hard.”

A loud smack on the door stops my pacing. I glance up at the window where the guard is giving me an intense look.

“Don’t do that,” he growls.

I have to register that I’m hearing his voice for the first time. Interesting that I’ve encountered this creepy behemoth over a few instances and yet this is the first one in which he speaks.

Don’t do that. The words echo, in a cavernous brogue.

I stare back at him for a moment. “Well, what else am I supposed to do?”

He huffs a roguish noise, kind of like an animal, then turns and storms away, heavy footfalls moving up the corridor.

My forehead lines and I shake my head. What the hell was that?

Don’t do that.

The guy is a fucking weirdo. I probably shouldn’t talk to him anymore. He seems worse than Velle… The quiet ones are always the worst.

Purposely putting that strange encounter out of my mind, I busy myself with a few more hours of pacing and thinking, though after a bit my energy fades. I try to keep it up by singing songs to myself, but eventually I lie down on my thin mattress, curl into myself beneath my blanket and pass the fuck out.

When I awake, it’s in a cold sweat, while I’m rutting against the floor. I hear soft moans and as I come to, I realize they’re coming from me.

Swallowing, I reach below my waist to adjust my dick. It’s as hard as a fucking rock. It actually hurts. My balls are tight, almost like they’re being tied up with an elastic.

It occurs to me in this moment that I haven’t come in over a week. Not since I was last with Lola, and now it’s catching up with me. My head is stuffy and clouded with noise, and I know what this means…

I need to come, but I don’t exactly want to jerk off in this place. Although I think solitary is probably the most alone time I’ll get in prison. Maybe I should just get it over with.

Rolling onto my stomach, I thrust into the mattress, imaging I’m stuffing my cock inside Lola’s tight, warm pussy. It doesn’t feel the same, but I keep going, really trying to remember the sensation.

Warm and soft and pink…

Fuck me, Dash. Harder!

I grumble out of frustration. This isn’t working. I can’t get off like this.

I need something else… I need more.

Hesitantly, I try gripping my throat, digging my fingers into the pressure points while I hump the bed, praying for something to ease this tension. I’m not good at doing it to myself, but I can try…

Footsteps. I freeze and roll over, looking to the window. I don’t see anyone, but now I can hear someone walking away, quietly.

Someone was watching me. Was it that guy?

Jesus Christ… Does he watch me sleep every night??

Does he look at me? Look at my dick?

I wave of shame rolls through my stomach at the thought. It should kill my libido, but unfortunately for me, shame doesn’t cut down my erections. It usually just makes it worse.

Still, I can’t jerk off now, not when I’m thinking about that asshole lingering outside my door like a fucking creep.

Not understanding that we’re calling it quits, my balls throb to match my racing pulse. I’m very worked up, and I’m not sure why. I suppose chalk it up to not coming in a while…

Either way, I ignore it and let the thumping inside rock me back to sleep.

The next morning, I think, I wake up excited for the possibility of another apple, and more water. But when I see nothing on the floor, it weakens my spirit more than I want to admit.

I hate being controlled like this. They’re puppeteering my emotions, giving me hope for food and water, then snatching it away. It’s fucked up, which I think is definitely part of their plan. I should attempt to outsmart them. To get past it, though I’m not sure how.

I’d love to ignore the next food and water they give me, but I can’t shut off what my body needs. It requires nourishment for survival, and right now it’s getting the bare minimum.

I spend the day singing, in various positions. First, while walking the circumference of the room, second while sitting cross-legged, and third lying on my back. I sing different songs I remember, and after a while I don’t even know what I’m singing. It just comes out.

I don’t care. I don’t have the energy to reflect anymore, and I just need to keep my mind occupied, without thinking about food, or what’s happening outside.

Hours later, I pass out on my mattress and wake up sweating again. Dragging air into my lungs in the dark, I can feel the sheen over the exposed skin of my forehead and arms. My body heat is a contrast to the cold nip of the air brushing my sweat-kissed skin. I touch my dick and whimper at the sensation. Wrapping my fist around it, I tug slowly, my eyes drooping shut. I stroke a few times, but then I stop, my eyes flinging open, darting to the door.

Eyes. I thought I saw eyes again. I can’t tell if they’re real or not.

Looking to the crack at the floor, I don’t see a shadow. At the window, the eyes are gone. If they were even there to begin with.

No one was there, Dash… It’s in your head.

I breathe out slowly, the uncertainty causing me to cringe. I can’t jerk off if I think that dude is out there. It’s gross. I don’t want to think about him watching me touch myself.

Letting go of my dick, I flop onto my stomach and cover my head with my arms.

“Fuck off, pervert,” I mumble into my bed.

It takes me hours to fall back asleep, nightmares and whispers possessing me.

The next day, again, I’m guessing, while slowly pacing through my exhaustion, I hear footsteps. Then keys.

My muscles tense at the sounds, but I have little time to prepare.

“Up against the wall, 101,” a voice rumbles, and I immediately recognize it from the other day.

Backing up gradually, I watch the door as it swings open, and the big tattooed creeper comes trudging inside my cell. He’s holding a tray and a bottle of water.

Giving me a severe look, he places the tray on the floor, and I glance at it. Half a granola bar and a moldy peach?

“Someone call Gordon Ramsey,” I mutter, and the guard lifts a brow.

I haven’t seen him up close like this since the day he shaved my head, and even then, I wasn’t really looking. He’s very large. I’m not a small guy by any means, but he has a couple inches on me in height, and what looks like probably at least fifty pounds on me in muscle. And where my own body is casually decorated with scattered tattoos, he’s draped in them; damn near every inch. Every visible inch, anyway.

Crossing my arms over my chest, I wear my scowl proudly, making it known that I will not allow him fuck with me.

“You’re a long way from Hell’s Kitchen, inmate,” he says, then holds out the bottle of water.

My eyes stay with his for a moment before dropping to the bottle. It’s full and unopened. Reaching out, I try to take it, but he grips onto it for a moment. My teeth grind as I tug harder until he releases it with a subtle smirk.

“It’s cold,” I whisper in disbelief. All my bottles up until now have been piss-warm.

“You’re welcome,” he grunts, then turns and leaves the cell without another word.

Not much for chitchat, that one.

My mind processes the familiar sound of the heavy door slamming and the keys jingling, turning to click the lock into place. Followed of course by his footsteps clunking down the hall.

I stare at the door for minutes before opening the bottle and drinking half of it in one satisfied gulp. Then I sit on the floor and eat my granola bar, waiting a couple hours before scooping the mold out of the peach and eating the good part for dessert.

I can barely even remember how long I’ve been in solitary at this point. I lost count after day six, and thinking about it makes it hard to breathe. It’s so small in here; so dark and dank and terrible. I don’t want to think about how long it’s been since I’ve showered. I don’t smell awful, but then how would I know anyway? It’s not like anything smells good in here.

Leaning against the wall, I close my eyes, in an attempt to calm down. The noise is building up, and my skull is heavy. Something tickles me and I flinch, opening my eyes to see a cockroach crawling over my leg.

“Fuck!” I jerk and shake it away, watching as it scurries to the door and leaves underneath. I sigh and slam my head back against the wall. “Like it’s really that easy…”

It feels like night again as I’m falling asleep. I’d like to think my body naturally knows the difference between night and day, after years of conditioning it to attempt sleep and waking up at the normal times. That said, I’ve never been good at sleeping, and my own internal alarm clock is definitely broken.

My eyes close as I lie on my bed, my hand drifting to my cock, even though I know I shouldn’t. One touch has it inflating like a balloon. I haven’t gone this long without coming in longer than I can remember.

Since I was a kid, first hitting puberty and all that, I discovered that orgasms are a perfect way to calm the noises in my head. When it builds up too much, the only thing I can do to release the pressure is to get off. That said, regular jerking doesn’t exactly do it for me anymore.

My hand slinks down to my balls, rubbing and squeezing, enough for a little ache that makes my toes tingle. I use my right hand to keep going on my nuts while the left grips my shaft hard.

“Mmm…” I can’t help the sound that rumbles from my throat as I tug.

I picture Lola behind my eyes, spreading her legs to reveal her pink little pussy. My pulse picks up as I stroke, slow and tight. That’s right…

I swallow, needing more; needing something else.

My mind wanders and a blonde girl I saw at Municipal pops into my head. Her wet lips tremble while she cries.

I grunt as my dick reacts to that image, thickening in my palm. I jerk myself from balls up, teasing underneath my head while I imagine shoving her to her knees and forcing my cock down her pretty, scared throat.

A scream echoes in my mind, the smell of blood and gunpowder overpowering me.

What the hell…?

My eyes pop open and I my heart thuds.

Holy fuck. He’s watching me.

The sinister eyes of the big tattooed guard connect with mine as he stares at me, a threatening heat emanating in his gaze.

I stop jerking, taking my hands off myself completely, removing them from my pants.

“Go the fuck away, pervert,” I mumble, unable to stop the breathiness in my voice.

I expect him to glare at me, hoping he’ll just go. What I’m not prepared for, however, is the gun that flashes in the window. My heart lurches.

He taps the plexiglass with his Glock. “Keep going.”

My eyes widen. “No.”

I can see his jaw clench from where I’m lying. “Keep fucking going, or I’ll come in there and do it myself.” His threat, in a deep and seething tone, reaches me through the door.

Do it himself?? What the hell? No way!

“Fuck you,” I hiss at him from my tiny bed on the floor, standing my ground.

But then I hear the jingle of his keys in the door lock and panic rises. I don’t want him coming in here. The door is the only protection I have from him. I need that buffer.

“Okay, okay,” I concede. “Jesus. Please don’t come in.”

His eyes come back to mine and he lifts a brow, expectantly. It pisses me the fuck off. My muscles are tense with hatred for this fucking prick.

Who the fuck does he think he is anyway?? Fucking threatening me… Giving me food when he feels like it. He’s probably the one who decides when I get to eat, meaning he’s been starving me for like a week, on and off.

Fuck this asshole. He’s a goddamn psycho.

“Well? Let’s go, 101,” he snaps. “My patience is wearing thin.”

I gape at him for a moment, feeling only mildly helpless. All I can see is his face, thank God, though it’s not very comforting. He looks like your typical meat-head, with very light brown hair, and dark eyes. I actually don’t know what color they truly are, they’re so damn rich, almost matching the black in his Glock nine.

It’s overwhelming, just like the idea of jerking off in front of him. But I suppose I should wrap my mind around it. If I don’t do it myself, he’s going to come in here and I can’t have that. Plus, I need to come. It’s been too long, and my head is fucked up.

I need this orgasm. I need to quiet the chaos.

Lying back and settling into the mattress, I close my eyes and pretend I’m anywhere but here. My right hand reluctantly slips back into my pants, fondling my cock, which is still hard as stone. It hasn’t gone down knowing that dude is out there, watching.

I gulp and imagine a wet pussy waiting for me to push inside.

“Pants down,” the sound of his deep rumbling reminds me of where I am, taking me right out of any fantasy I was attempting.

My jaw tightens as I tug my pants down below my ass, keeping my eyes shut because I don’t want to see him looking at my dick. I don’t want to see him reacting to me.

Swallowing the saliva suddenly filling my mouth, I stroke slowly, balls to tip, using my thumb to tease under the plump head. It feels good. It feels… better than it usually does, just jerking with nothing else.

I let out a soft gasp while my hand moves, head tilted back until…

“Open your fucking eyes, inmate.”

When I peel my lids open, our eyes lock, dead-center. His face is still; no emotion, no reaction. He’s unreadable, which is honestly a bit of a relief. I don’t want to know what he’s thinking right now…

“Keep. Going.”

So I do, because I have to. My hand works on my cock, slow and hard, just like I like it. I jerk myself off, eyes sticking on the guard’s and his to mine. He’s not even looking at my dick, his gaze melting into mine.

It’s disgusting. I feel sick over what’s happening, my gut twisting in shame and unease. But of course my dick is still hard. It’s always hard at the worst times.

Actually, it’s stretched throbbing, my balls aching with the need to come.

I use my left hand to palm them. That gets him. His eyes drop below my waist, and my dick fucking pulses.

“Fuck your fist. Harder,” he demands, broad chest moving visibly at the bottom of the window.

“You like watching, you sick fuck?” I breathe, though it doesn’t stop me from fucking my fist, hard, while he eyes it.

“Mmm… Keep going,” he hums before his eyes bounce back to mine. “Tell me how much you hate it.”

“I hate this,” I groan, then spit into my palm to get some lubrication before I burn my fucking skin off.

“You hate being here, don’t you?” His voice ripples into me, through the metal door, from across the room. “You hate being controlled…”

“Yes…” I whimper, my eyelids drooping from how good this feels. But a loud smack on the door prompts them to shoot back open.

“Look at me, inmate,” he growls. He’s so close to the door, it’s almost like he is the door. Or there’s no door.

He could just walk in here right now… He has the power to do that.

Would he do it? What would he do if he came in?

The thought sends a chill of fear through my body that lands heavily on my chest. Ignoring it, my hand works faster on my cock while I watch his dark eyes.

“I don’t want this,” I gasp, beating my dick rougher. “I hate you.”

“You fucking hate me?” He whispers, his tone downright filthy, arousal dripping from his voice.

It occurs to me that I can’t see his hands. What if he’s jerking off, too?

Jerking off watching me…

“You’re disgusting.” I bite my lip.

“Mmm… yea. You fucking hate me so bad,” his eyes fall to my cock again. For some reason every time he does, it throbs at the attention. “You have no control, Dash. You’re helpless in here.”

My name on his lips sounds bizarre. It’s disturbing, but my balls seize up with the need to come, my orgasm looming.

I lift my shirt to make sure I don’t come on it, since I know I won’t get another one. The guard’s eyes rise to my abs and he licks his lips.

“Fucking queer,” I slow it down, jerking deliberately for his dark eyes. “You like my dick, don’t you? You want to come in here and touch it?”

Whoa… where did that come from?

His eyes find mine, and he looks unsure as terror grips my throat. I don’t want him coming in here. I don’t know why I said that. I was just trying to taunt him, and it came out. Why the fuck am I taunting him anyway?? He’s forcing this…

“Right now, I just like looking at your mouth,” he says, eyes on my lips. “You’ve got some DSL’s, inmate.”

What is that?

Rather than commenting, playing into his hand, I just focus on my orgasm. I can feel it coming… And I want it. I need it.

“Shut the fuck up, asshole,” I stroke harder.

“You hate me?”

“I hate you… fuck you…” My eyes roll back into my skull as I milk the cum out of my dick.

“Come for me, 101,” the voice sneaks inside my brain while I erupt into a staggering orgasm.

I moan, pulses of cum decorating my abs. “Not for you… never for you…”

Too many days of backed up tension blow from my cock as wring them out, my lips trembling through words I can’t even pinpoint.

My eyes stay on the window and I watch as the guard’s close, his head dropping forward to the plexiglass.

“Fuck…” he sighs and my cock jerks in my hand.

I swallow hard, blissed out in a daze. I finally see colors again and I can’t look away from the face in the window. The only piece of light in this dark room.

My fingers absentmindedly trail up to the slippery stuff on my abs. The guard’s eyes open and he stares at me, visibly breathing heavy.

Everything is quiet. Just breaths. Mine and his.

Eventually he speaks again. “Why did you hit Velle, anyway?”

My brow lines in confusion, but I answer, “He wanted me to suck his dick for a toothbrush.”

The guard smiles. It reminds me of when the sunlight hits a jewel.

Then he laughs, quietly; nothing more than a scant puff of breath. And he taps on the window with his knuckles before turning and walking away.

12 days in

I’m awoken at the familiar sound of keys jingling and the door hinges whining.

My eyes creep open as a big guard I don’t really recognize stomps inside my cell and folds his arms over his chest.

“Get your crusty ass up, inmate,” he grins and nods to the wall. “You’re gettin outta here.”

A small glimmer of hope sparks in my chest as I sit up slowly. “Out?”

The officer laughs and shakes his head. “Out of solitary. Against the wall, 101. I don’t have all day.”

My stomach falls a tad, but I decide to remain optimistic as I stand and back against the wall. He lifts his brows and tosses a pair of handcuffs at me, so I put them on, as loose as possible, hoping to avoid the pinches. Then he quickly shackles my ankles, grabs me by the arm and starts dragging me. I silently bid farewell to my disgusting little cell of confinement, hoping I’ll never have to set foot in here again.

We amble up the hall, and as we approach the door, it opens before us, another guard stepping through, holding the arm of Felix Darcey.

I blink at him, my lips parting as if I want to say something, though I can’t think fast enough of what that should be before I’m being dragged through the doorway he just came from. I glance over my shoulder and Darcey gives me a quick head nod, before the guard holding him kicks his leg.

“Move, inmate.”

We walk for a while, through hallway after hallway, and it gets slightly warmer, which my freezing cold skin appreciates. I can’t help but notice they didn’t bother covering my head with a bag on the way out, nor did they do so to Darcey. It must have been for effect the first time.

Once we reach the corridor of cells I recognize, my breathing becomes easier, and I blink slowly. I never thought I’d be so relieved to see jail cells, but this is significantly better than where I’ve been. I can’t wait to see Luthor’s pale face, to sit on a toilet… To rest my head on a pillow.

We turn the corner and walk past the rows of cells. Inmates immediately start hooting and hollering.

“He lives!”

“101, you hungry, kid?”

“Yo, they at least give you a bucket, newbie?”

“Hey Skeletor, was it worth it?!”

I gulp and ignore the calls, focusing my gaze forward. We finally reach my cell and I’m grateful as hell to see Luthor hopping down from the top bunk. The door opens, and the guard shoves me inside, removing my cuffs with little enthusiasm. He leaves without a word, and I glance at Luthor, not sure what to expect.

I don’t know if he’s going to smack me upside the head and call me a moron, which would be fully justified. Of course he doesn’t do that.

Instead, he lunges forward and gives me a solid hug that lasts only a second. “I’m glad to see you, bro. But damn, you stink.”

He pulls away and laughs at my misfortune. I can’t help smiling in return. I’m glad to see him, too.

“How long was I in there?” I glance around our tiny cell, which looks like a massive hotel suite compared to where I spent the last however many days. “I lost count after a while.”

“It’s been ten days. Apparently long enough for you to grow that scruffy little white trash goatee,” he grins and reaches out, tapping my chin.

I roll my eyes and smack his hand away, then rub my jaw. I don’t grow good beards, which is why I never try. It comes in patchy, so I like to stay clean-shaven. I’m sure it’s the least of my worries, but I’d like to shave if possible.

Nodding at him, I say, “You don’t have a beard. That mean they give you guys razor access? I can’t imagine they would…”

“If you ask nicely, Joy will shave your face for you at shower time,” he tells me, and I almost laugh until I realize he’s not kidding.

This place is fucked. Whatever, it’s better than being starved in the basement.

My stomach grumbles audibly and Luthor gives me a look of humor mixed with concern.

“You missed breakfast, but at least we’ll get a shower in a bit,” he tells me, and pats my shoulder, then stomps toward the bed. “I’ve got something to hold you over until next mealtime.” He rummages around in his mattress. “I stashed a couple granola bars in the mattress for emergencies. I just gotta find them…”

“Thanks, man,” I mosey over to the bed. But before I can sit down, I notice something.

It’s a toothbrush. A brand new Oral B, inside a plastic package, resting on top of my pillow.

My forehead lines as I stare at it for a moment, in shock. Stepping over, I pick it up and inspect it, confusion riddling my thoughts.

“Luthor… Did you leave this here?” I mutter, gaping at the toothbrush like it’s a cross between an unexpected gift and the calling card of a serial killer.

“What?” Luthor asks, not paying me any attention while he searches for his hidden snacks.

“It’s a toothbrush…” My voice comes out in a disturbed huff.

“Huh?” He looks down from what he’s doing at the item in my hands. “No. No, definitely wasn’t me.”

“Well, did you see who left it?” I lift a questioning brow.

“Nah, man,” he shrugs. “Nobody comes in. Unless someone left it while I was in the cafeteria.”

“Who would…” My words trail at the memory of intense, dark eyes, staring at me through a small plexiglass window.

Did that big fucker leave this for me? Is this supposed to be some kind of gift… after what happened last night?

I gulp rough over a scratchy throat. I don’t want to accept this if it’s something that’ll keep me linked to that creepy asshole. But then my mouth tastes fucking foul, and I can feel the days on my teeth since the last time I brushed. I hate this feeling more than anything. I’m telling you, I’m like anal about it.

I physically need to use this toothbrush, more than I need to shower or shave. So despite my internal alarms warning me about accepting a gift from a potential predator, I rip open the package and take out my shiny new plastic toothbrush, marveling at its beauty.

“While you’re digging in there, wanna toss me the toothpaste?” I ask Luthor, who has resumed his foraging. He looks up at me. “Please?”

Darting over to the sink, I wet the thing just in time for him to toss me the tube. I squeeze out a small dollop and as soon as the brush enters my mouth, I close my eyes in pure ecstasy.

“You think it was from Velle?” Luthor asks, and my eyes open, flicking in his direction. “I mean, I wouldn’t put it past him to send you to solitary then give you what you wanted. He loves to play games. Mind-fucking is his side-hustle. He’s like Ren that way…”

At mention of Ren, his face turns a bit sour, though there’s some visible longing that can’t be ignored. But he seems to push it away, watching me while I brush and shrug at his question. I can almost guarantee this toothbrush wasn’t left here by Velle, but I’m not about to get into the whole thing with the big tattooed guard from solitary who forced me to jerk off while he watched.

I’d rather pretend that whole thing never happened.

For minutes after I’m done brushing my teeth, I can’t stop running my tongue over them. It’s amazing how much more human I feel in an instant. Luthor finds me a granola bar, and even though I just cleaned my teeth, I scarf the thing down in three bites, washing it down with water from the sink. It tastes like a penny, but it’s better than nothing.

Lying down on my bed—exponentially comfier than the mattress pad on the concrete floor—I listen as Luthor catches me up on everything that happened while I was in solitary, which wasn’t all that much. Still, it’s nice to be in the presence of another human again. If there was one positive to spending time in solitary, it definitely made me appreciate what I have in here, though it doesn’t seem like much. Apparently, you can always lose more, which is a frightening, sobering thought.

The next thing I know, we’re hearing shouts from the other cells, which are specific to the presence of a certain guard. And sure enough, the delicate yet impenetrable gaze of Joy Jameson arrives at our cell. I sit up, and the bed shakes around, I assume as Luthor does the same.

“Hey, 101,” Joy grins through the bars. “Good to see you’re still with us. Well, not for you, but ya know.”

I scoff and get up, moving to the wall, while Luthor jumps down and does the same. She comes in, with Rook right behind her, and they put our cuffs and shackles on.

“Do we have to be cuffed every time we go anywhere?” I ask, out of nothing but curiosity. “I mean, where are we really gonna go?”

“Listen up, inmate,” Joy rumbles, tugging me forward and shoving me through the doorway to the cell until I stumble. “We cuff you because we fucking feel like it. And you don’t get to ask questions. Now walk.”

Jeez. Someone’s grumpy.

We walk to the sounds of chains clanging, and other inmates conversing while guards corral them toward the showers. When we arrive, Joy and Rook remove our cuffs and shackles, reminding me of how nervous I still am to go into the shower. This time, however, the anxiety is easier to ignore since I know how badly I need it. I’m looking forward to having water on my skin enough that I’m grabbing a towel and stripping before I can even remember my nerves.

“Joy,” I hum in her direction before she can post up outside the doorway. She turns to me and raises an impatient brow. “Is there any possible way I could convince you to shave me?” She gives a strange look, the corner of her full lips quirking a bit. “My face, obviously.” I grin and she laughs.

“Normally I’d say no, but I can’t stand looking at that Uncle Kracker bullshit for one more second,” she sighs, eyeing the overgrown hair on my face. I chuckle as she elbows Rook and tells him, “I’ll be right back.”

Joy disappears and I use the opportunity to wash up. Squirting some soap onto my hands, I rub them together and lather up, stepping beneath the warm water and washing my body, quick yet thorough. I face the wall, ignoring the other inmates, who are all talking, yelling, fighting, fucking. There are all kinds of noises happening around me, but I’m doing a decent job of blocking them out and keeping to myself.

Closing my eyes, I let the water run over me for a moment, savoring the feeling. Images flash behind my eyes, clicking through my brain like a slide projector. Many things run run run, picking up my heart rate.

When I turn and open my eyes, I’m met by the plaguing gaze of my stalker. Great.

He’s lingering at the far side of the showers, by the other exit. He looks like he’s supposed to be one of the guards on duty, policing us to make sure we’re not killing each other, which confuses me because I thought he was the guard for solitary. What the hell is he doing up here?

I squint at him as I dry off, feeling the heat in his glare, which makes me want to cover myself up, though I refuse to do so. I refuse to give him the satisfaction.

“Alright, 101,” Joy’s voice drags me away from the big dickhead. “Put on these cuffs.”

“Can I get dressed first?” I ask with a little extra attitude in my tone, because I definitely don’t want to be handcuffed naked.

She rolls her eyes. “Whatever, just make it quick. I’ve got better things to do with my time.”

Okay…

I jump into my clothes, then put on the cuffs, standing still while Joy rubs shaving cream onto my jaw. My eyes dart unwittingly toward the back of the room. The officer is still standing there. Watching me.

Always watching.

“Who is that guy?” I ask Joy, my eyes stuck on the tattooed motherfucker. His irises are so damn dark, you can’t tell where they end, and the pupils begin. It’s worrying.

“Stop talking, inmate,” Joy grunts, dragging the razor up the curve of my chin. “Unless you want me to accidentally nick your carotid artery.”

The lump in my throat moves with my swallow, but she keeps going, shaving my stupid patchy wannabe beard until my face is nice and smooth again. And my eyes stay on the large dude in the corner, watching him while he watches me, all the while wondering what the fuck he wants.

I’d really rather not have any attention on me, especially from huge scary guards who like to wave Glocks around. I’d love to punch him in the fucking face, but I’m sure it wouldn’t work out well for me, like retaliating against Velle didn’t.

“There you go, 101,” Joy says, wiping my face with a towel. “All better.” She smiles and I take a moment to admire her white teeth.

“Thanks,” I go to step away, but she grabs my arm.

“Listen, inmate. I’ll only say this once,” she starts, giving me intensity in her brown eyes. “You’re new so you don’t know this yet, but hopefully you’re figuring it out… You don’t want to go toe-to-toe with Velle. I know accepting your fate in here is a hard pill to swallow, but you have to swallow it. I can only keep him in line so much. John Chevelle is on a long leash here, and he still loves breaking free from it.” She pauses to let her words sink in, which they do. “Just be careful.”

I can’t really formulate a response right now, so I simply nod, to which she nods in return, then grabs me and drags me out of the showers. My head turns on my way out looking for the tattooed asshole, but he’s gone.

I can’t sleep. There’s too much noise, in my head and in the surrounding cells. I have no idea what’s going on in this place, but I don’t remember it being so loud. Or maybe I just got used to the silence of solitary.

Getting up, slowly, so as not to wake Luthor, though it’s unlikely since I can hear him snoring, I go to the middle of the room and drop into push-ups. I do about fifty before taking a break to stretch on my knees. When I lift my head, I jump so hard I almost fall backwards.

It’s the guard. He’s fucking standing there, outside my cell, staring at me. Again.

“Fucking stalker,” I breathe in disbelief, my heart hammering behind my ribs.

His head cocks to the side, but he says nothing. I stand up slowly and look at him, wondering what the fuck he wants, or how I can get rid of him. My eyes fall to the name on his badge.

“Kemper,” I lace my fingers together as I stretch my arms over my head. “Good to finally put a name to a creeper’s face.”

I quirk an eyebrow at him, feeling pretty proud of my smartass comment. Until I realize his eyes are on my abs. Or rather, my lower abs, exposed by my t-shirt, lifting as I stretch. I drop my arms fast.

He drags his eyes up to mine. “Did you like your gift?”

I freeze. The toothbrush. It was him.

“I didn’t ask you to give me that,” I say, unable to think of anything clever in response. I wish I could say I hadn’t opened it, or maybe throw it back in his face. But the thing is like my most prized possession at this point.

“You don’t need to ask me for anything, Luscious,” he rumbles, gaze cutting into me like goddamn razors. “I’ll give it to you, regardless.”

His dark eyes light up with amusement, though he doesn’t smile or even grin. Before I can respond, he turns and stomps away, loud footsteps clunking up the hall.

My hands fist at my sides, anger bubbling inside me. This is fucking complete crap.

I don’t want this motherfucker’s attention on me. I don’t want him showing up everywhere, constantly watching me. I don’t want him giving me things… And I certainly don’t want creepy, cryptic messages from him.

I’ll need to remember to ask Luthor about this guy tomorrow. To see how dangerous he really is.

I’m wired after that interaction, and I end up lying in bed staring at the underside of Luthor’s mattress for hours until my eyelids finally fall.

Only a few hours later we’re woken up for breakfast, which I’m very excited for. I’m fucking starving, and I don’t care how terrible the food is. At this point I think I’d eat fucking dog food.

To my surprise, they give us Eggo waffles and microwave bacon, which according to Luthor are delicacies in Alabaster Pen. The waffles have obviously been freezer-burned to death because they’re all warped and hard as rocks. And of course there’s no syrup or anything. But still. It’s fucking delicious. I eat two, and four withered strips of bacon, since Ren is nowhere to be found and there’s an extra tray.

It would be a little awkward to look at Kang without remembering how he was hammering into Ren last time I saw him, but fortunately my hunger distracts me from giving a fuck. That and he has my interest piqued when he tells me about how he and Joy spar together in the basement.

“It’s like the only recreation we get,” he explains from across the cafeteria table while I basically inhale any remaining crumbs from my breakfast. “Joy sometimes lets me bring people down with us, so I’ll make sure you come with.”

I nod. “Thanks. Why do you get to spar with her?”

“We’re both Korean,” he shrugs. “I guess that means we have something in common. Plus, she needs a sparring partner and the rest of the guys don’t understand a little thing called form.” He scoffs and shakes his head, which makes Luthor chuckle.

A few minutes later, guards storm in and start gathering us up to go back. Joy comes to get Luthor and me, but Rook scoots in and grabs my arm. She shoots him a look, and I do too, but he ignores it, bringing me out of the cafeteria ahead of everyone else.

“Where are we going?” I can’t hide the apprehension in my voice.

“Don’t worry about it,” he grunts, but I am worried, and I put my brakes on, skidding to a halt until he has to drag me. “Come on, inmate. It’s nothing serious, just fucking walk.”

I swallow my nerves as he brings me through a few doors, ending up at a room that looks like it’s supposed to be a doctor’s office of some kind. There’s an exam chair in the middle of the dingy room with shackles attached to it. Fear rises in my throat until I see Ren step out from the corner. Now I’m sufficiently confused.

“What the fuck is this?” My head bobs between Ren and Rook.

“I’m good. Thanks,” Ren nods at Rook, who shoves me further into the room.

“You have ten minutes,” he adds, then steps out of the room, slamming the door shut in my face.

My head pivots slowly toward Ren. “Why am I here?” I look around the sketchy room. “What the hell is this place?”

Ren shrugs. “It’s a random empty room. I just needed somewhere private to talk to you for a second.”

“Talk to me about what?” I back up a little, but he steps closer.

“About your cellmate,” he sighs, and I squint.

“Right. You and Luthor… You guys have something going on, huh? It’s pretty hard to miss.”

“See that’s the thing,” he squeezes the back of his neck, eyeing the floor. “We almost had something going on. But then… I sorta fucked it up. It’s a long story, but that’s why I need a favor from you.”

“Well, I don’t think I owe you anything,” I fold my arms over my chest. “I already got a toothbrush on my own. No thanks to you.”

He huffs a laugh. “Dude, you disappeared. I wasn’t sure if you were still with us.” His eyes glow at me, and I get the meaning of his words.

“There’s nothing I can do to help you, Ren,” my chin juts. “If you fucked up with Luthor, you’ll have to figure out how to fix it yourself.”

“Dascha,” he takes another step closer. “Luthor is very… complex. He’s not like the rest of us. Definitely not like me. And I love that. But it’s hard for me to be myself and try to keep him. He’s…” Ren stops speaking and releases a solid breath. “He’s mine. He just doesn’t know it yet.”

I can do nothing more than blink at him. I really don’t know what any of this has to do with me.

“All I want is to get close to him, but he won’t let me. He doesn’t work that way. So instead I have to get close to him through someone else.” He closes in on me, and I back up into the chair, stumbling to a seated position in the damn thing.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” I attempt to stand back up, but he leans over me, gripping the handles on either side of the chair, caging me in.

“I need you to be like a proxy,” he inches closer to my face until I duck away.

“I’m not into guys,” I try to stand once more, but he places a hand on my chest and shoves me back down.

“I know, I know,” he says casually. “But everyone has needs, Dascha. I can suck your dick so good you’ll go cross-eyed for minutes afterward.” He tugs his bottom lip with his teeth, and I can’t help my eyes dropping to it. “I’ll pretend you’re Lex and you can pretend I’m some girl from back home. Have you ever had your cock throated by a dude?”

His dark brow arches and I give him a look like he’s insane. “I haven’t been in here long enough to be that desperate.”

“Yea, well, it’s not about desperation, sweetheart,” he hovers his large body over mine. “You’re never getting out of here. Might as well take a little entertainment out of death row.”

I pause for a moment, gaping up at his face. His blue eyes are bright, shining in the dim lighting of the room, dark stubble lining his angled jawline.

My chest is tight, as if he’s fucking sitting on top of it.

“I don’t understand how sucking my dick will help you with Luthor,” I mutter.

His hand drops to my thigh, index finger running a line up to my groin. My stomach rolls in protest and I grab his hand hard to stop him.

His pupils dilate visibly. “I told you, I have to pretend. You can go back to your cell and tell Lex what happened. He might be mad, but deep down he’ll like it.”

“I’m not gonna fucking tell him shit,” I shake my head.

“Then don’t,” he shrugs. “He’ll find out, regardless.”

“This sounds like a stupid fucking plan,” I scoff. “I think you’re just gay as fuck and desperate to swallow cock.”

His shoulder lifts again. “So? How is that a problem for you? You get to come down my throat, and I get what I want, too. Win win.”

My mind is spinning through the lack of sense this whole thing makes when his hand moves to my pants, pulling the drawstring until it unties. I give him a scathing look that does nothing to intimidate him, because he proceeds to tug at the waist of my pants. And for some stupid fucking reason, I don’t stop him.

I don’t help him either, though. I don’t lift my ass so he can get them down, I just sit there, solid and unsure about all of this. I have no clue what’s happening, but I’m frozen and I can’t seem to stop it.

Ren gets my pants down just enough to take my dick out, squeezing it in his hand as he strokes all the way up. It’s not hard, but it’s filling up rapidly, which is fucking ridiculous. I can always rely on my erections to betray me in uncomfortable situations.

I slam my eyes shut tight, imagining that a hot girl is palming my cock, then my balls.

“You have a really nice dick,” Ren whispers, and I peek down at him.

I growl, “Don’t fucking talk,” to which he chuckles, which annoys the fuck out of me.

“Sorry,” he breathes, wasting no time sealing his lips over the head of my cock.

I hiss, eyes drooping closed again. I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing, or why I’m doing it, but I can’t say it doesn’t feel good. I guess that’s always been the problem with me. Sex feels so detached, I never really know what I’m going to like. I’m barely connected to myself while it’s happening, let alone to the other party. It seems kind of like I enjoy everything, as long as it’s different. I have no control over my sex-drive, and apparently even less control over my sexuality.

All I know is that I’m not attracted to this guy, but his mouth feels damn good as it slides up and down my length. I keep pretending it’s a girl’s mouth, and it works well enough with my eyes shut. The tongue lines the underside, teeth sheathed behind lips. Warm, wet, featuring delicious sucking noises.

My dick is rock-solid in a matter of seconds while I fuck the mouth being offered to me, wanting to reach forward and grab the head, but refraining, since I know I’ll feel the short hair of a dude and that will certainly take me out of it.

Breaths escape in between the sucking, and they feel fantastic. Fingers tug my balls while my cock nudges the back of the throat. It moves further and further, pulling a moan out of me. Then an even louder one when I feel the throat tightening around my shaft in a swallow.

“Jesus fuck…” I cover my eyes with my hands, just in case. “Suck my fucking dick.”

A soft rumble of approval comes through me from the mouth and I don’t hate it. It doesn’t matter. My cock is being owned by this mouth. It’s so fucking good… The tongue, massaging, swirling around my head, the spit-lube, the suction. God, the suction is so good.

I hate where my thoughts are going, but I can’t stop thinking about how he was right… He’s really fucking good.

“Swallow my cock again,” I demand, and he does, taking it all the way, choking on it. It feels fucking phenomenal. My body is warm all over. “God damn…”

Slurping and sucking and mouth-fucking, my balls swell up and I can feel the orgasm looming already. And the thought of coming deep in this dude’s throat has me unleashed.

“You wanna drink my cum?” I gasp, fucking his face as my eyes open, against my will, but they do. And I peer down to watch him taking every inch of me and loving it.

He groans around my dick, the vibrations making me tingle. I know I’m about to burst, and it’s going to feel so fucking good.

The sounds of him sucking the life out of me ring through the tiny room, and it just makes the whole thing hotter. It’s fucking wrong… I don’t want this, and we’re not supposed to be doing it.

But my dick is buried in a tight throat and I’m about to come, hard.

“Fuck yes…” I grab the back of his neck as my dick pulses.

Just as I’m reaching euphoria, the door swings open.

My head snaps left, my eyes meeting the impenetrably dark gaze of Officer Kemper. My stalker.

Go figure.

But I’m fucking coming, and there’s no stopping it.

My head drops back, eyes stuck on the guard as he glares, watching my cock being deep-throated by Ren, streams of my cum filling up his mouth while he swallows it all.

Officer Kemper’s jaw clenches visibly as he shoots flames of rage at me, and I just pant through my climax with Ren humming on my dick, sucking and sucking and sucking until there’s literally nothing left.

I bite my lip, face flushed so bad I can feel it. I have no idea what to do. I don’t know why he’s here, other than that he’s stalking me, and now he looks like he wants to kill me, or Ren. Or both of us.

Finally Ren tugs his lips off of me and sighs, like he’s spent. Like he just came himself.

“Fuck, Lex…” he whimpers, and I gape at him. But he doesn’t care, and he doesn’t look at me. He just slumps on the floor by my feet, in his own daze. It’s fucking crazy that he was really imagining Luthor the entire time.

I think I was imagining someone else, thought it wasn’t anyone specific. I suppose I can’t relate to what he’s feeling…

I just come. Alone, even when it’s with someone else.

My chest tightens and I look to the door, to my crazy stalker guard. But he’s not there. The door is closed.

Narrowing my gaze at it, everything feels a little blurry. Ren pulls my pants back up and stands, winking at me.

“Thanks, Dascha,” he smirks, banging on the door once. “That was fun.”

13 days in

Rook walks me back to my cell in silence. Not that I expected him to chat with me, but I’m up in my head, and not in a place to talk at the moment, anyway.

When I get there, Luthor is already inside, lying in his bunk. He looks down at me when I wander in, an intense wave of guilt washing over me. It doesn’t make sense. I didn’t ask Ren to suck my dick. He came onto me, telling me it was his way of feeling close to Luthor, though now that I’m thinking it out loud after the fact, it makes even less sense.

Luthor gives me a look as I swallow my shame. I feel terrible even though, according to Luthor, he and Ren are nothing. I don’t know why I would care… Or why he would. Plus, I’m not into guys at all. I had to pretend he was a chick to be into it.

I think. I don’t really know… My head is fuzzy about it now.

“Where’d they bring you?” Luthor asks, not so much inquisitive as he is awaiting something. Like he already knows where I was.

I briefly consider lying, but then decide it’s not worth the effort. If he’s going to be pissed about this I’d prefer to know now, rather than dealing with the aftermath of the truth being uncovered later.

“Ren cornered me in some empty room,” the answer grates out of me. My eyes feel wider than usual.

Luthor sits up. “Yea? What did he say…?”

“It wasn’t really about what he said,” I cringe. “He uh… I guess he likes you?”

Luthor chuckles and shakes his head. “Yea. He has weird ways of showing it. I told you the lines get blurred in here, man.”

I fist my hands at my sides. “I’m not gay. This stuff is just… weird for me. I don’t…” I shake my head, not really even knowing what I’m trying to say. I’m suddenly exhausted.

“Yea, neither am I,” he says, and I give him a look, to which he laughs. “No, I’m really not. I’ve actually never even…” He trails and shakes his head. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter. I’m sorry Ren came at you like that, but I told you to be careful with him. He loves fucking with people, and you can’t trust him.”

“He wouldn’t exactly be high on my list of people to trust,” I drop onto my bed before lying down and feeling Luthor do the same above me. “I wouldn’t trust anyone in here. Except maybe you.”

“Aww I’m flattered,” he teases, and I scoff. “Hey, I was meaning to ask you… When you were in solitary, did you see O’Malley anywhere? He’s an Irish guy, pale, black hair…”

“I didn’t see anyone, really. Other than the guards, the only person I talked to was Darcey.”

“You talked to Darcey?” Luthor sounds surprised.

“Yea. He was on the other side of my wall.” I pause, wondering briefly if Darcey’s alright. Dude fucking carves people up for a living. I’m sure he’s managing. “Honestly, I didn’t get to see much while I was down there. I know there were other cells, but I didn’t hear or see anyone else.”

“Shit…” Luthor breathes, and it makes me nervous. I hope this O’Malley guy is alright, too.

I’m not sure why I care, but the sudden sense of camaraderie is hard to ignore.

Staring up at the bottom of Luthor’s mattress, I get lost in my thoughts. I haven’t been in Alabaster Pen for long and already I can barely remember what life was like on the outside. This place has a way of possessing you. I guess that’s why it’s so awful… Worse than a regular prison, because there’s nothing to do other than the fucked up shit they steer you toward.

No books, no TV, no recreational activities. I mean, fuck… I can see the need to find distractions in anything.

“Dash…” Luthor’s voice chirps.

“Yea?”

“How did it feel… with Ren?” His tone is riddled with hesitation, but I can still hear the curiosity, clear as day.

“Dude, I don’t—”

“I just mean, like, did it feel like he was really into it?” He sounds so hopeful, I’d feel inclined to give him the answer he obviously wants, even if it weren’t the truth. Which it is.

“Yea…” I sigh, blinking hard to erase the image of Ren hoovering my dick between his lips. “But not for me.”

“What do you mean?”

I pause for a moment before answering, “He said your name.”

I hear him breathe out loud. “He usually does…”

“I don’t know what’s going on with you guys,” I start, scrubbing a hand over my face. “But can you let him know I don’t want to get in the middle? I’m just trying to get by here.”

“I know, bro,” he mumbles. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. Just don’t expect it to happen again.”

I roll over onto my stomach, and soon enough Luthor is snoring. The sound lulls me into a rippling dreamland.

Voices and faces shimmer and twist.

They morph into each other.

Dascha. Please, malysh…

Keep Mama company. Please…

Stop.

Stop.

STOP.

Please don’t hurt me! Just let me GO!

A scream wakes me, and I shoot up in my bed. My head aches, heavy like it’s filled with cement. My eyes struggle to pry themselves open, and a familiar hardness under my mattress brings a rise of panic.

My eyes try to adjust, but it’s dark around me. When I finally rub them fully open, all I see is light streaming from a small window and an even smaller crack…

No.

“No,” I gasp, rolling over onto the icy floor.

I’m not in my bunk. I’m on the mattress pad on the fucking cement floor.

My breathing becomes ragged as I look around, the bleak, dingy cell so much smaller than the one I fell asleep in.

“What the fuck?!” Confusion snaps in my mind.

I’m in fucking solitary again. How the fuck is this possible?!

I didn’t fall asleep in here. I got out.

There’s no way… Why is this happening??

My mind is spiraling, spinning and warping until I can barely breathe. I can’t tell what’s real and what isn’t anymore. Curling into a ball on the floor, I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to calm my racing mind, but it isn’t working.

Everything is fucking cold and damp. When I open my eyes, I see the bucket across the room and retch. Why??

A scream erupts from my throat, vibrating off the thick walls. My head is so heavy, I can barely lift it.

Resting it on the floor and covering it with my arms, I rock myself slowly to calm down. My heart rate is out of control and I need to rein it in before I really start to panic. My breathing speeds desperately up.

The next thing I know, I’m waking up again, my eyes blinking open. I must have passed out.

What the hell…?

This is so confusing. What the fuck am I doing back in here? When did they bring me? Was I drugged? I don’t remember anything.

I eventually manage to stand, my knees wobbling as I do. Wandering over to the door, I attempt to peer through the window. I can’t see anything other than the empty hallway.

“Hey! What the fuck is going on?! Why am I here??” I shout. Of course no one responds.

But that reminds me…

I rush to the wall and bang on it a few times. “Darcey?? Are you there?”

No answer. Fuck.

This is such bullshit. I know I left here. I remember it…

I walk circles around the room hundreds of times until my feet ache and I have to plop back down on the floor. Shivering, I pull my ratty blanket over myself. This is the same room… I know it is. The blanket smells the same. Everything is exactly like it was when I left.

And now I’m fucking back. This is completely crazy.

I blink at the ceiling for a while until I hear heavy footsteps coming up the hall. I can almost guess who it is.

And the sure enough, the dark eyes appear at the window. My glare narrows as I sit up, skull throbbing, though I push past it. I glower at the face of Officer Kemper in that small square, dirty blonde hair disheveled and hanging in his eyes.

“Why am I back here?” I growl at him, wrath filling my limbs as I stand.

He says nothing, just stares at me while I approach the door. The giant slab of steel may as well not even be there because I could smash right through it to kill this asshole.

“Did you do this?” My tone is laced with subdued rage. His eyes stay on mine, though he still doesn’t answer. It’s fucking infuriating. “Did you put me back in here, you psycho fuck?!”

My voice raises by several notches on the word fuck, until the big asshole bares his teeth.

“You made your bed, inmate,” he snarls. “Too bad you chose the wrong company in it.”

My mouth drops open, but before I can retort, he turns away, storming up the hall.

“Hey! Get back here and let me out, you fucking piece of cunt garbage!” My voice roars through the place, but I know he’s long gone.

I let out a bellow and bang on the door a hundred times, knowing damn well no one is listening.

I think it’s been three days. I try keeping count, but it’s hard with no windows or anything, especially when your soul is deteriorating slowly with each second that ticks by. Usually the light is the best way to keep track, but down here there’s nothing. Just the same fluorescents coming from the hallway outside my door.

Yesterday I got a bottle of water and some food. Half a bologna sandwich that made me puke ten minutes after eating it. The apple was good though, thank God.

I spent a bunch of hours trying to figure out what I did to land myself back in here, but I gave up because it was driving me crazy. To think that big asshole might have drugged me and brought me down here because he saw Ren sucking my dick sends a blinding fury bounding through my extremities. If he thinks he has some sort of twisted claim on me, he needs to have his skull checked. I don’t give a fuck about that dude, and if he ever makes the mistake of stepping into this cell with me again, I won’t stop until I break his goddamn jaw. I don’t care if it gets me killed.

Depression sets in after a while, and I’m finding it hard to move. Seconds, minutes, hours, days. They’re all connected and they’re all meaningless. I have no concept of what’s happening anywhere other than inside this tiny cell that smells like mildew and piss.

The next thing that wakes me up is the sound of the door opening. I’m ready to lunge, but before I can, an apple rolls across the floor, knocking into my foot. Then the door slams shut.

“God dammit, you fucking scumbag!” I try to shout, but my voice is all scratchy. “Get back here!”

I’m too tired to back up my empty threats with any actions, so I just grab the apple and eat it angrily while listening to the loud footfalls.

The next day I manage to get myself up, and I sing to keep my mind steady. I’m wandering the perimeter of the cell when I hear footsteps again. This is it.

I creep over to the right of the door, hoping he’ll open it and I can dive through it, or on him, before he knows what’s happening. Unfortunately, he simply peers through the window, right at me, as if he already knew what I was going to try.

He nods to the back of the cell. “Up against the wall, inmate.”

“No,” I rasp. And he rolls his eyes.

I’m gonna stab this prick.

“Now, inmate, or you won’t like what happens even more than you’re already going to hate it.”

I can’t help but swallow the lump that appears in my throat, reluctantly moving to the far wall to stand with my back against it.

His keys jingle in the door as he unlocks it before stepping inside. I glare at him with all the hatred I have available, but of course he’s not affected. I’m sure it’s easy to feel secure when you’re that big. And you have fucking weapons hanging on your waist.

He stands about six feet from me and I just hold the wall, knowing I’m not at my strongest, and fighting this asshole probably won’t go over well. But I need to do something.

He’s making my life miserable and I don’t even know why.

“What do you want to say to me, 101?” He sighs, tone bored. Like I’m inconveniencing him.

“You’re a sick asshole,” I spit, jaw clenched in built-up animosity. “You put me in here because… of what you saw.” I didn’t mean to pause in the middle of that statement. It just happened.

“And why do you think that?” He lifts an easy brow, folding large arms over an even larger chest.

“You pretty much said it,” I huff. “I don’t fucking care, that doesn’t matter. Just let me out. You made your point.”

He eyes me speculatively, taking a step forward. “And what point is that, Luscious?”

“Stop calling me that,” my hands fist at my sides. “Fucking queer.”

He chuckles, taking another step. “Your mouth is so vicious. Strange that it’s also so tempting…”

A surge of confidence rushes through me with the desire to ring this creepy fucker’s neck. I straighten up and lean in.

“Oh, so that’s what this is then,” my eyes narrow. “Do you wish it was your mouth…? Instead of Ren’s?” His jaw ticks visibly. “Or did you want me wishing I was on my knees?”

His eyes stay dark, face unaffected as he moves in closer. Fear clutches me from the inside, but I force myself not to show it, though my hands are shaking a little. This guy is just so much bigger than me. I could try to attack him, but I know I’d get my ass beat.

While I’m weighing my options, he moves up to me, using his two or three inches on me in height to try and back me down. But I don’t.

“You messed up, inmate,” he murmurs, his breath hitting my face. It’s minty, which confuses me. “And now it’s time to correct you.”

“Correct me?” I scoff. “What does that mean? What are you going to do, beat me?”

“Mm-mm,” he shakes his head slowly, eyes dropping to my lips. “On your knees, 101. We’re gonna put that irresistible mouth of yours to work.”

What…?

“The fuck?” I choke. “No fucking way, fag. Fuck outta here with that shit.”

His lips quirk. “I have ways of making you cooperate, inmate.”

My muscles stiffen in protest with what he’s suggesting. I know he’s armed, but I also know there’s no way his Glock is cocked. I could knee him like I did Velle.

I think he senses where my thoughts are going because he unleashes a smile, one that’s brighter than I care to register. I don’t like what’s happening…

He inches his face in closer to mine and I back up instinctively.

“Fuck you, psycho,” I hiss. “Come near me and I’ll bite your dick off.”

He breathes a chuckle. “I don’t think you will…”

“You wanna test that theory, asshole?”

My adrenaline is jacked up a hundred notches, my entire body vibrating in preparation of making my move. I can’t get a good read on this guy, so I might have to just lunge at him and attack.

But before I can, he shrugs and whispers, “Your choice, inmate.”

He takes a step back and I see my opening. What I don’t see, though, is his left hand reaching into his holster.

The next thing I know, he’s lifting his Taser to my neck.

And harsh tingles zap through my body, burning and jerking my muscles.

It happens so fast I crumble to my knees, with no control whatsoever.

My body fizzles and tenses, again and again in such rapid succession, it’s like hundreds of volts are flowing through my veins at once. Even after the Taser has left my flesh, it’s still zipping about, swimming all over me. I let out a helpless noise, my body slumping forward, my head resting on his thighs, completely unintentionally.

My mind is blank for several generous seconds, and I can’t think anything. It’s all quiet fuzz, a very minute sense of peace warming me from the inside out.

Until I hear his growling voice from above my head. “That’s more like it, Luscious. See? That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

He takes my chin in his fingers and angles my face up so I can see him. My mouth tastes like copper, saliva gathering under my tongue.

“Now, open up, or you’ll get more. You don’t want that, do you?” He lifts his brows as if he wants me to answer, but there’s no way I could produce words right now.

I simply gurgle and rock my head a little, because no. No, I don’t want anymore. No more electricity, please.

That was a pain unlike any other. I didn’t know volts could subdue a person so effectively. I mean, I’ve seen it before obviously, but seeing it and feeling it are two very different things.

“Open your mouth,” Officer Kemper demands. My mind gradually speeds back up to real-time as I comprehend what he wants.

He wants to put his dick in my mouth. I can’t have that. There’s no fucking way…

I shake my head, mildly incoherent and still unable to speak or move away.

“Do as you’re told, inmate,” he growls, impatience coating his tone as his fingers tug my jaw, my mouth opening easily for him. I want to close it so bad, but it’s not fucking working.

I whimper, mouth hanging open just a bit.

He’s clearly not satisfied, because he snarls, “Wider.”

I make no moves to do anything so he grabs my jaw harder with his giant fingers, yanking it until it’s open almost as wide as I can get it. My jaw is tight from the shock, and it’s hard to get it wide. That and I’m trying to resist. I’m really trying.

I don’t want this. I can’t let him do this.

He holds my face tight in his fingers while his left hand works on his belt, then his zipper. My mind registers what’s happening, and inside I try like hell to fight, but my body won’t react. I have no control over my muscles. I can barely keep myself upright on my knees, which is why he’s holding me up, resting my body weight on his legs.

Fear and panic sting my mind when I see him take his hard cock out of his pants. It’s fucking huge and thick and I close my eyes, forcing my mouth shut. It works for a second until his jerks it back open.

“Don’t fight me, Luscious. Or I’ll turn up the next hit,” he threatens, dark angry eyes staying on mine. “Do you want that?”

I shake my head slowly, cringing as my gaze falls to the big dick in front of my face. It’s going to hurt me. It just looks like pain.

Without another word, he pushes it up to my mouth, the head shoving in. I grunt, squeezing my eyes shut, ignoring the taste of flesh I don’t want. It tastes like salt and soap as he rubs it along my tongue, moving just the first couple inches into my open mouth.

His large hand wraps around the back of my skull, reminding me of when he shaved my head. I thought that experience was the worst, but now this is happening.

I want to fucking die.

Keeping my eyes shut, he uses his other hand to squeeze my jaw, so it stays open wide, thrusting deeper into my mouth.

“Suck, Luscious, or this could get much more unpleasant,” he rumbles over me.

I don’t want any more unpleasant. This is already the worst thing ever.

Accepting my fate, I come to terms with what’s happening and what I need to do to get it over with. I imagine I’m anywhere but here, sucking the firm object hesitantly. The head is fat, pushing toward the back of my throat. I gag and he groans.

For some reason, the sound opens my eyes, and I peek up. His eyes are closed, and he’s biting his lip. I think he likes what I’m doing, and instead of using this opportunity to bite him, I swirl my tongue around his dick.

“Fuck, Luscious,” he sighs, his voice trembling a bit. The sound makes my cock move in my pants. And it fucking pisses me off.

My teeth drop the slightest bit on his skin, and his eyes snap open. He aims a warning glare at me, so I decide not to protest and just do what I can to fucking finish this. I sheath my teeth behind my lips and offer him my mouth, although I don’t do anything, because I don’t want to. If he wants to use my mouth, whatever, but I’m not making any effort.

He doesn’t seem to need me to, though, because he grips the nape of my neck harder and fucks my face, slow but rough. Grunts of air burst from my throat around his huge cock while he shoves it deeper and deeper.

“Mmm… Those luscious lips,” he groans, his thumb stroking a small circle on my jaw. “Please suck, Dash. Please…”

I have no idea what clicks in my brain when he begs, but something happens and it drives me to do what he wants, using my lips to suck his dick. It’s hard and long, thick and it makes my jaw sore. It’s hurting, and spit is dribbling from the corners of my mouth. At least it’s a little lubrication.

My brain is dazed. I don’t really know where I am… I’m tired and hungry and I don’t even know if this is actually happening.

My left hand sneaks between my thighs, brushing over my dick, which is throbbing.

“Mmf…” The noise rumbles around his big, fat cock and he moans a breathy sound.

I look up and catch his head dropping forward to the wall. “That feels so good. Suck harder…”

I do as he says, going harder and deeper, gagging, but wanting it over with. I remember what Ren did to me the other day and I do that, getting lost in a rhythm, pretending I’m not me.

This isn’t me. I’m not doing this.

I’m somewhere else… Far far away.

I’m in Tulum, on the beach, drinking a pink fizzy drink with an umbrella in it.

Kemper shoves his cock deep into my throat and I can’t help but swallow on it. It hurts, tears springing to my eyes as he fucks my mouth, rougher and faster.

“Dash…” his voice echoes as he goes so deep his balls slap my chin, over and over. “I’m gonna come down your tight throat, baby.”

Terror seizes me. I don’t want to do this… I don’t want him to come in my mouth. I try to pull back, but he holds on harder, keeping me in place.

“Drink every drop, inmate,” he demands, breathlessly. “Fuck… fuck fuck fuck yes…”

And the next thing I know, warm salty liquid is shooting down my throat. I try to swallow but it’s thick, and so much too fast. I cough and choke on it, some spilling from my mouth.

My own dick twitches out slippery liquid. I can feel it.

“Dascha… Jesus,” Kemper growls through a clenched jaw.

After what feels like an hour of him coming in my mouth, his dick stops pulsing and he tugs it out, breathing heavy while petting my head.

“Wow… you’re fucking perfect, Luscious,” he praises as I pull air into my lungs.

I lift my hand to wipe the leftover cum from my face, but he stops me.

“Lick it up,” he commands in a hoarse tone.

My eyes slide up him from where I’m knelt on the ground, locking on his dark gaze, pupils dilated while my tongue laps at the remaining slickness on my lips. He swipes some on my chin with his finger and stuffs it into my mouth, eyeing me wickedly until I suck it off.

“Mmm… You did so well, 101,” he croons, helping me stand.

My knees quaver, muscles shaking in my legs, stomach, arms… All over. My head is a quiet haze, and I can do nothing more that stare at him, feeling the wetness in my pants, but praying he won’t notice it.

I don’t want him to know some twisted part of me enjoyed some part of what just happened. I don’t know which part… It started out as the worst thing that’s ever happened to me, but my body rarely reacts the same way my mind does.

I don’t get it. I didn’t want that. I hated his dick in my mouth. I hate that I can still taste him on my tongue, and in my throat. His salty flavor is coating my mouth.

And I don’t even have my goddamn toothbrush.

“Can I have some water?” My voice grates. I blink, empty; deadened.

Officer Kemper smirks then holds my jaw gently, grazing my lower lip with his thumb.

“What do you say, inmate?”

“Please,” the word escapes before I can process it.

“Good boy,” he murmurs. His eyes, flick to my mattress pad on the floor. “Go get some rest. I’ll bring you water.”

I nod and stumble to my bed, crashing to the floor and lying down. My eyelids droop shut before he’s even gone. I fall asleep before I hear the lock click.

When my eyes reopen, I roll onto my side, and the first things I see are three bottles of water, two apples…

And a plastic container filled with warm Eggo Waffles and bacon.

19 days in

When the random guard brings me back to my cell, I can’t help looking over my shoulder every other second.

I’m jumpy, on edge. My stint in solitary this time was shorter than the time before, but certainly still worse, being that I was drugged and put there by a raving rapist madman.

I glance behind me again. No one’s there.

The guard tugs the chain linking my cuffs. “Keep up, inmate. If you fall, I’ll kick you in the face.”

I don’t even care about his threat right now. I’m too busy replaying yesterday in my head, flinching at the memories.

I was abused. It was a terrible experience. I don’t take the physical response my body had seriously at all, because that happens to me. It means nothing.

That big asshole violated me in a way I’ve never been before, and I feel like something inside me broke when he did it. I’ve never been perfect. My life has always been a tarnished stain of what you’d want your existence to look like. But still… This is different.

I’m not ashamed to admit I’m scared. I don’t want to see that dude again, and I can’t get sent back to solitary. When I’m down there, I’m left alone with him. I’m left vulnerable and under his control.

I can’t go back. I won’t.

We walk down the long row of cells toward the end, and the bellows flit past my recognition. I know they’re all shouting things, but I can’t hear what they’re saying. I’m a zombie.

“Dascha,” my first name sneaks into my ear and my head springs right, knowing who’s calling me. Ren’s holding the bars of his cell, giving me a look. I’m not sure what it means, but it doesn’t matter.

His little stunt in that room might’ve very well been what landed me in solitary this time. It certainly caught the attention of my stalker, and for that I have nothing to say to Ren.

I face front and keep walking, to the end, until we reach Luthor’s and my cell. I’m shoved inside and uncuffed, and as soon as the officer leaves, I plop down on my bed, releasing a long breath. I feel Luthor staring at me from his bunk, but I can’t even look at him right now.

I’m so drained, I feel lifeless.

“Dude, what happened?” He asks and my eyes open, peering at him as his head hangs upside down, concern on his face. “I woke up, and you were gone.”

“They drugged me,” I rub my eyes. “I woke up in solitary.”

“Why?” He gasps, then blinks. “Not like they need a reason, I guess…”

“I think it’s because of what happened with Ren,” I tell him. Luthor looks stunned. “The guard from solitary had walked in on us… He’s a fuckin weirdo, so I think that pissed him off and now I’m on his radar. It’s completely fucked.”

Luthor’s head cocks to the side, still upside down. “What guar—”

A bang cuts him off, and we look to the door of our cell.

“Alright, ladies! Pull on your panties,” Joy sings as she slides open the bars and steps inside. “Time to go.”

“Go where?” I stand, my body radiating tension. Unease stiffens my muscles until my fingers twitch.

“Rec time,” she says as Luthor hops down from his bunk. “Kang extended an invitation your way.”

“Nice,” Luthor sighs, then looks to me. “Trust me, you’ll like it.”

I’m hesitant to leave the cell, afraid of seeing Officer Kemper somewhere wherever we’re going. But I suppose it’d be nice to get some exercise; to workout anywhere other than in a tiny cell. I’m not sure where this sparring happens, but if Luthor’s cool with it then I’m sure I’ll be alright.

Well, maybe…

Joy only cuffs our hands, leading us up the corridor, stopping us while she gets Kang, and much to my chagrin, Ren.

Then she walks with for a while, passing guards here and there, giving them no more than a simple head-nod. I’m surprised, and not, that she’s bringing four male inmates to an undisclosed location by herself, with no back-up. I assume at least Velle knows where she’s going. Also, this is Joy we’re talking about. I’m kinda scared of her. She can obviously handle herself.

I feel Ren staring at me as we move through doors upon doors, and down halls and ramps which are clearly bringing us lower in the building. My jaw tightens, but I continue to ignore him, walking in silence.

Eventually he nudges my arm. “Dash… I’m sorry.”

“For what?” I snap, peering at him out the corner of my eye.

“I don’t…” he starts then pauses, likely to figure out how to respond. “If what happened had anything to do with you going back to solitary. I had no idea…”

“Yea, well, that guard who walked in is a fucking whacko, so for future reference I guess just stay the fuck away from me,” I mutter and roll my eyes.

I’m really tired. Hopefully, whatever activities we’ll be doing down here will pump up my adrenaline or something.

Ren is quiet at my side, and I turn my head to find him gaping at me. His brows are zipped together, and he’s giving me a look. That look, the one that makes me feel crazy.

Stop looking at me like that.

“Joy, can you please tell us what happened to O’Malley?” Luthor’s voice interrupts my angst. “We’re really worried about him.”

Joy is quiet for a moment, prompting my eyes to dart her way. She wears a mask of no emotion, which seems to be a trademark trait of all these fucking officers. Still, I can sense tension rippling from her as she stops walking, facing Luthor.

“Look, all I can tell you is that it’s not a Freeman situation,” she says, quietly. “He’s still here.”

“Is he in solitary?” Kang asks, then they all glance at me for a second, since apparently I’m the resident solitary expert.

“No more questions, inmates,” Joy barks, then turns and brings us through another door.

Everyone walks inside before me, and as I enter, my eyes widen, head pivoting back and forth to observe my surroundings. We’re in a massive room. The biggest I’ve seen since I’ve been here.

The conditions are just as shitty as the rest of the building, but at least it’s wide open. It’s about the size of a basketball court, which is fitting since it has two hoops. There’s some gym equipment against the far wall, a few basketballs, and what looks like a punching bag. Worn as fuck, but still.

Hope fills me at the sight of the hoops. I enjoy playing basketball. I’ve always been pretty good, and I used to school kids in my neighborhood, before Dad began taking me on jobs and teaching me the family trade.

Joy and Kang make a beeline to where the bag is set up, and I wander around slowly, watching as they tape up their knuckles. Joy steps out of her combat boots, and Kang kicks off his sneakers, tugging his shirt off. Joy whips hers off too, until she’s in only a sports bra and her pants.

I swallow back some drool. Her body is tight as fuck, and it’s nice to look at. My eyes move to Kang, watching him stretch. I’m intrigued by their sparring. I want to see exactly what they do together.

But I’m distracted by the sound of a basketball bouncing off the concrete. Luthor is dribbling, then passes the ball to Ren. Ren dribbles a few times then passes it back to him. They go back and forth for a moment, before Luthor takes off, darting toward the closest hoop. Ren’s on him just a fast, though, and he gets the ball in a matter of seconds, lunging at the hoop to dunk.

I lift my brow at him as he grins at Luthor. Ren’s a big guy, not too much bigger than me, but he’s certainly built for whatever the hell he’s doing.

“Dash!” Luthor calls me and I snap out of my thoughts. “Come on! Block this asshole for me.”

Ren laughs. “In your dreams, bitches.”

My mouth wants to smile, but I won’t allow it to react to Ren right now. I’m still pissed at him, and wary of whatever he’s trying to do to Luthor. To be honest, Luthor seems like a real wholesome dude. Smart, kind, easy-going and caring. I feel protective of him. He’s done nothing but help me since I got here, and the last thing I want is for Ren to fuck with him.

He’s sort of like the brother I always wanted, and Ren seems like a snake.

I jog over to Luthor, and he passes me the ball. Dribbling, I weave around Ren, who’s trying to pick me off, but it’s not working. I glide to the other hoop and twist away just in time to shoot. It’s all net, even though there aren’t actually nets in these hoops.

“Nice shot!” Luthor cheers. “Wow, I’m glad we brought you. I’m not great and Ren always beats me.”

“Two against one isn’t exactly fair though,” Ren gripes, tugging his shirt over his head.

Luthor does the same, so I follow their leads. I don’t exactly want to sweat all over my only shirt, which still hasn’t even been offered a wash since I’ve been here.

“Shut up. Don’t be a baby,” Luthor teases Ren, who honestly just looks excited that they’re spending time together. I really don’t understand why he can’t just act like a normal person who likes another person, instead of playing all sorts of games.

Not that I’m an expert on relationships. I have no clue what I’m even talking about.

We pass the ball around a bit, shooting here and there, and it feels fucking great. When I glance over at Joy and Kang, I see them punching and kicking at one another, blocking and advancing. I’m not sure what fighting style they’re doing, but it looks intense. Clearly this is why they only do this together. It’s something they have in common.

The game goes on for a bit, and mostly thanks to me, since Luthor was right and he isn’t very good, we’re beating Ren, though not by much. Ren’s really good. He’s big and crushes at defense. Plus, he definitely has more energy than me; they both do. My body is exhausted from a lack of proper sleep and nourishment. The adrenaline is working for me, but still, it’s just a Band-Aid. I can feel myself slipping.

Luthor gets the ball and makes his way to the hoop, dodging Ren. I run for the side, hoping he’ll be able to pass to me and avoid the intense defensive tactics Ren’s taking on. He’s all over Luthor, and I’m realizing how much he likes this. It’s time with Luthor, and I guess that’s all he wants.

“Come on, babe,” Ren taunts, covering Luthor at almost every angle. “You got this.”

“Fuck off, Ren,” Luthor growls, and I can tell he’s not teasing. Ren seems to think it’s a game, but Luthor isn’t playing.

“Since when do you let people push you around?” Ren smirks, bumping into him again and again.

My teeth grind as I move closer to them. I don’t like what’s happening here. My eyes dart to Joy and Kang, who aren’t paying us any attention, and when I look back to Ren and Luthor, my blood boils.

“Come at me, Lexington,” Ren keeps going, pushing Luthor until he finally stops, tosses the ball and squares up.

“Is this what you want, Ren?” Luthor hisses in his face. “A fucking reaction, you goddamn attention whore? Well, here it is!”

Ren sneers in his face, “I just want you to care.”

“Guess what, Warren?” Luthor leans in. “I don’t.”

I see Ren’s face shift, from one of mild amusement to pure rage. He lunges forward and shoves Luthor, who stumbles back a bit. He regains his foots and dives at Ren with a roar.

They fall to the floor, but with Ren’s size he gets on top of Luthor quick, looking like he’s about to swing at his face. Not giving him the chance, I jump on him, knocking him off Luthor. We scramble a bit, but I wind up on top, taking the opportunity to shut Ren up.

My brain is turned up to full volume, everything blaring in my ears. I can’t make it go away, and the next thing I know, Joy and Kang are pulling me off a bloody-faced Ren.

I blink a few times while they hold me back, my breathing heavy and my knuckles raw. Time is in slow motion while I look around. Ren’s on his back on the floor, nose bleeding down to his mouth, and he’s cackling out loud, like a madman.

Luthor’s face is still, paler than usual. He looks horrified. Kang, too. They both look like they have no clue what just happened.

I don’t really know either.

But when I look to Joy, she’s visibly fucking fuming.

“You’re going back to solitary, 101,” she seethes, wasting no time cuffing my bloody hands.

“No! Wait, please.” Time speeds back up and now I’m shivering. I can’t go back there.

I didn’t mean to do this. I don’t even remember what I did. It all happened so fast…

“Joy, come on,” Luthor mutters. “It was a mistake. He was just—”

“Shut the fuck up, inmate,” Joy seethes, then takes her walkie off her holster. “Velle, get down here. Bring back-up.”

“Joy, please!” I try to reason with her, but she’s out of breath, huffing and staring at Ren on the ground as he laughs hysterically.

He looks and sounds like a lunatic. It would be alarming if I wasn’t too busy losing my own mind.

I can’t go back to solitary. Not with… him.

“You fucked up, inmate,” Joy sighs. “It’s not up to me. We can’t let you get away with shit like this unpunished. It’s part of the rules.”

“What fucking rules?!” I shout. “There are no rules in this place! It’s fucking Hell on earth!”

“Yea, well, little piece of advice,” she shakes her head, and I hear heavy footsteps in the distance, growing closer. “If you’re stuck in Hell for eternity, it’d be wise not to poke the Devil.”

Swallowing as Velle and Rook stomp into the room, taking in the scene, I wonder who the Devil is in that analogy…

And how the fuck can I escape him?

19 days in

This is a different room. Not my usual one. There’s a bed in here.

Other than that, it seems about the same. But the flimsy mattress is on a metal bed frame. I wander over to the wall where the bed is pushed up and notice something carved into the concrete.

Peering at it, I read the words, born this way. I run my fingers over them, then pat on the wall. For whatever reason, I know this is Darcey’s cell. I can just tell.

I don’t know why they’d put me in here, but I think sleeping on a proper bed instead of the floor might be alright. We’ll see, I guess. I’m trying to keep myself optimistic, and not think about being back in here again, only a couple hours after I got out.

Time passes like it always does in solitary. Slow.

I get water and some scraps. I recite the episodes of Big Bang Theory I remember. I sing and do push-ups, though I can’t do too many with my energy this low.

I’m just trying to focus on anything other than my surroundings. I’m trying not to imagine that every sound I hear is a heavy footstep coming closer.

Despite that fear, I hear nothing. For at least two days. The only person who comes is the guard who brought me here. He delivers food, then a day later he brings me a bucket filled with warm soapy water and a washcloth. I give him a look like he’s insane, because this is definitely a first. I have no clue what’s going on in this place.

I ask him when I can go back, but of course he ignores me.

The next night, I believe, I awake to the sound of the heavy footsteps. At first, I think I’m having a nightmare, but then the keys jingling and the door unlocking clicks in my brain. My entire body tenses.

No no no… Please no.

Sitting up fast, I swing my legs out of the bed, preparing to run. Where to, I’m not sure, but I can’t do this again. I can’t be alone in a room with this fucker.

I’m so weak, and he fucking knows that. I think he likes it.

His large body is draped in shadows as he steps inside the cell and closes the door. I swallow, my head shaking slowly. As I stand up, he takes a step closer.

“Don’t move, inmate,” he commands, and my teeth grate together at the sound of his voice. I haven’t heard it since that night, and I was really hoping I wouldn’t, ever again.

No such luck.

“Please… Just go away,” I hold up my hands. “I don’t want you here.”

He steps closer still, the light from the small window on the door illuminating the side of his face. Stubble lines his jaw, dark eyes shining a bit as he pushes a strand of golden hair out of his face with his large fingers.

“Why not?” His head cocks to the right as he walks toward me.

I decide to take on another tactic. “Why am I in Darcey’s cell?” Maybe if I keep him talking and change the subject, he won’t advance on me. It’s reaching, but I’ll try anything at this point to keep him away.

“It’s a bit more comfortable, don’t you think?” He steps up to where I’m standing, the backs of my legs pressing against the bed. I’m trapped; there’s nowhere to run.

“What do you want?” My voice scrapes from my throat as I glare up at his face. I can’t stop myself from remembering what it looked like when he was gazing down at me on my knees.

With his cock pulsing in my mouth.

My stomach turns, and my chest tightens.

“I wanted to see something,” he mumbles, his voice deep enough that it almost vibrates into me. It makes me shiver, fear tingling my spine.

Before I can respond, he shoves me backward onto the bed. I land on my back and immediately try to jump up, but he climbs on top of me. I struggle against his size, as he uses his body weight to pin me to the mattress, thick thighs on either side of my hips.

“Get the fuck off me, asshole!” I shout, and he grabs my arms pinning them above my head. “Fuck you, faggot.” I spit in his face and his eyes close.

When they reopen, I swallow at the expression he’s giving me. Pure wrath.

“Calm down, inmate,” he holds my wrists with one hand while taking a pair of handcuffs off his holster. “You’ll just make it worse for yourself.”

He fastens the cuffs to my wrists around the metal bar of the headboard. I look up, frantically wondering if this is the only reason I’m in Darcey’s room.

Is it just so he could cuff me to the bed?? That would be completely fucked.

Once I’m secured, he grinds his hips into mine slowly, and I can feel the shape of him, solid, rubbing against me. Cringing, I turn my face, so I don’t have to look at him. I can’t believe this is happening.

“I came here to do something for you, Luscious,” he runs a hand up my side, lifting my shirt with it. “Don’t be insubordinate.”

“I don’t want you to do anything for me,” I breathe. “Please just let me go. Leave me alone.”

He chuckles like a sadistic asshole. I think he likes my discomfort, a worrying notion. His hand trails down my abs, tracing the lines and sinews of muscle to the edge of my pants. I flinch and struggle to squirm away from his touch, but he’s straddling my legs and I can’t fucking move.

“Why are you being so resistant?” He tugs my pants down just enough for my dick to pop out. It’s not fully hard, but firm enough, and he runs a large palm over it.

I close my eyes and fight against any reaction to his touch. I fucking hate this. I hate how much my body betrays me. I hate this guy. I’m not attracted to him, but my stupid dick just likes being uncomfortable too damn much.

He strokes me in his fist a few times, then moves down, positioning himself on my legs enough to hold me still, while aligning his face with my crotch.

“You got me thinking the other day,” he peers up at me. I close my eyes so as not to face him, but he keeps talking. “About how much you liked that little slut going down on you.”

At that, my eyes shoot open, and I gape at him. “What…?”

“You obviously came hard, Luscious,” he hums, drawing a line up my pelvis with his finger. “I saw you.”

“I didn’t want to,” I tug on my cuffs. “I’m not into guys. I don’t fucking want this.”

He ignores my protests. “I think I could make you come much harder though.” His tongue flattens, and he swipes it up my cock until it flinches.

“Fuck,” I gasp uncontrollably. My heart is racing, and I can feel sweat gathering on my forehead already; even in the cold of this room, I’m burning up.

“Have you ever edged, Dascha?” He flicks my head with his tongue once and my cock almost tries to lurch into his damn mouth. I whimper out of frustration. “Do you want me to edge you until you’re about to burst?”

“No… no, please,” I squirm.

Again, he ignores me, trailing his tongue to my balls, licking and sucking, gently, sending rushing blood to my cock until it throbs.

“Stop,” my eyelids droop. “I don’t want this.”

“Just pretend it’s a girl’s mouth,” he whispers, sucking my head between his lips. I groan then bite my lip to cover it up.

Keeping my eyes shut tight, I try imagining I don’t know who this is, like I did with Ren; that it’s some random girl. But the thing he’s doing with his tongue is something I’ve never felt before. I can’t help opening my eyes to peek down and watch.

His tongue is working on its own, tracing and teasing, my balls, my shaft, up my pelvis. He nips at the V-muscles then presses kisses all over my abs, working up to my left nipple before sucking it between his lips.

“Stop,” I whimper and flinch as a sharp bolt of pleasure zaps me. The skin peaks and when his mouth lets it go, cool air stinging with the wetness of his saliva. “Ah…”

“Your body is perfect, on display like this.” He sucks the nipple again, this time harder, while thrusting his hips against mine, grinding into my erection.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I pretend I’m somewhere else. The mouth moves to my other nipple and does the same worshipping, sucking and biting, licking circles and circles for what feels like hours. My cock is so fucking hard it has its own pulse.

He leaves my nipples tender and goes back to my dick, slurping the head between his lips until my back arches off the bed.

“I can taste you, baby,” he croons, holding my hips with his big hands while he takes me into his mouth, sucking deep and slow, coming up only to taunt me some more. “You wanna come, don’t you?”

I don’t even know what to do. I hate that he’s doing this against my will, but it feels so damn good. My brain is scrambled. His warm mouth on my dick is too much.

He sucks more, again and again, and before I can even process it, I’m watching him, small gasps fleeing my lips. His dark eyes meet mine, and they look black. Deep, like a bottomless pit.

He groans on my cock and I can feel the orgasm fast approaching.

My hips grind against his face and just when I think he’s going to suck the cum right out of me, he stops, removing his mouth and backing up.

“No… wait,” I breathe, tugging on my cuffs. “Why…”

“I told you, I’m going to edge you until you can’t move,” he says casually, palming himself over his pants.

My eyes stick on the outline of his erection while I blink, registering his words. I’ve edged before, because I like the burn of it, when I get myself right up to the side of the cliff.

But I don’t want this prick doing it. I don’t want him controlling me like this. I don’t want him at all.

My hips grind into the air, desperate for some contact on my cock, which is stretched, pink and pleading for something I definitely don’t want from this man. His hand gently runs up my inches, the tickle of sudden contact prompting a needy moan from my shivering lips.

Lust clouds my mind as I gaze up at him. I don’t think I’m attracted to him. He’s a man, and I’ve never looked at a man in any sort of sexual way. But in a way that’s not related to his gender, objectively, I guess he’s attractive. Maybe very attractive, if I was letting myself see him like that, which I’m not.

“Leave me alone,” I growl, shame heating my cheeks at the sight of my dick, so hard and aiming right up at him, like it knows where the good feelings come from.

“You’re so pretty, baby,” he leans in and sucks the crown of my cock, rough, making my toes curl. He pops off with a wet sound then sighs, “I want to taste you.” Our eyes connect. “You wanna come down my throat the way I did to you the other day?”

“No,” I lie.

It is a lie, because as much as I hate him, and want nothing to do with him, I need to come. It’s the only thing I can think about. This release is building in my loins, tightening like a vice.

“You drank so much of my cum that night, Dascha,” he purrs, dragging his pillowed lips up my shaft. “Do you like having me inside you? I could put other parts of me inside you, if you want…”

Fear lances my chest, and I shake my head. “No. No, I don’t want that. Please, just…”

“Then tell me what I want to hear,” he murmurs, kissing my head over and over. His lips are so soft and it’s fucking torturous.

“What do you, ah, want?” My wrists are going numb from yanking at the cuffs.

“Tell me how much you loved my dick in your throat,” he insists, then flicks his tongue.

“I didn’t love it,” I hiss.

“No one believes that. Tell me.” He sucks my cock into his mouth and lets me slide all the way back into his throat.

“Fuck… I, um… I loved your dick. In my throat,” I release the quiet words, hesitantly, knowing they’re a lie.

He pops off again, and I whimper at the loss of sensation. “Tell me how much you loved swallowing all my cum.”

He throats my cock again and my eyes roll back, the burning in my loins accentuating.

“I loved swallowing your cum,” I whisper.

“Keep going,” he commands me in between blowing me, like a true twisted fuck.

“I loved the taste,” my back arches again. “I loved sucking the cum out of your big cock.”

“That’s right, baby. You want me to make you come, Luscious?”

“Yes. Yes please.”

He goes to town on me, fast and steady, squeezing my balls hard enough to hurt. But I like it. I fucking hate that I like it, but I do.

He sucks me up to the edge again and stops. My body is buzzing. I can’t do this.

He sits up and unbuckles his belt, tugging his pants down and pulling out his cock.

“No, please don’t,” I gasp.

“Relax,” he breathes, then presses his erection to mine and starts rubbing them together. “God, that looks good.”

Against my will, my eyes slide between us to watch. Our dicks are about the same length, but his is thicker. It’s like a monster; big fat head. Angry looking.

“Your dick is so pretty,” he mumbles, stroking against me, harder and harder, his breaths becoming uneven. “God, Dash, come with me.”

“I… I’m…”

My head is all fuzzed up, like it’s filled with cotton. I’m sweating through my clothes, rutting up into him while he jerks us together, and in the end our balls rubbing is what pushes me over the edge.

“I’m gonna come with you, baby,” he gasps, and I release first. But only by a second, and then he’s following me.

Both of our cum is soaking his hand, gasps and pants echoing through the dark room as my head spins and my body breaks out in chills. My dick pulses and pulses for what feels like hours, and he doesn’t stop stroking gradually while I remind myself to breathe.

When it’s finally over, I melt into the bed, my arms sore above my head, wrists chafed, though I can’t feel much other than static. His weight on top of me is as light as a feather.

Remembering my surroundings, my eyelids peel open to look up at him. I find him gazing down at me, the only movement in the room is his broad chest puffing out then deflating with heavy breaths.

His eyes are blue.

Holding my gaze, he brings his hand to his mouth and licks up the mixture of our slickness that has drenched his skin. Then he leans down and like a goddamn reflex I’ll never understand, my lips part.

But he doesn’t kiss me. He doesn’t stick his tongue down my throat in some crude display of power, like I thought he would. Instead, he hums by my lips, until I feel the vibration. It runs down my neck, into my chest, settling warm in my stomach like a shot of vodka.

I swallow hard as he backs up, hops off me and tugs his pants up.

He doesn’t say a word, simply uncuffs me from the bed and wanders away, leaving the cell and locking the door on his way out. The blue is gone, and I’m left lying there, rubbing my sore wrists and breathing.

Just breathing. No more, no less.

“Dascha, baby. Come here.”

I shake my head. I don’t feel right. Nothing feels right anymore, since he left.

It’s like the world has shifted, passed through a wormhole, and everything looks and sounds the same as it always did, only dark. Bad.

Evil.

“Your papa didn’t love us enough, my sweet,” Mom’s angelic voice reaches into my ears, tickling my frontal lobe. “That’s why he left. He’s a bad man. He doesn’t understand people like us…”

People like us? What the hell does that even mean?

Mom reaches her cold hand out and entwines our fingers. I let her, but it makes me uneasy. I’ve always been closer to my dad. Despite his lack of affections, he was a calm and reasonable presence that felt good to me. He showed me how to be strong.

And now he’s gone. He left me with her… Alone.

Mom is weak, and she wants me to be weak, too. She wants me to be like her.

“Dascha, get Mama a drink please,” she sighs, as if the mere act of speaking is overwhelming.

I nod and wander out of her room to the kitchen. Glancing around, I notice how hopeless everything feels now.

Why would he leave me alone with her? Why didn’t he love me enough to stay?

I reach up into the cupboard and take out the bottle of vodka. Then I pick out a glass and fill it about halfway with the clear liquid. The familiar smell tickles my nose.

I bring the drink to Mom’s room, back into the dimly lit space, curtains drawn to keep the light out. She sits up in her bed and smiles at me. It reminds me of when I was a small child, on Christmas Day. When she’d watch me open my gifts. She always loved to give me things, just to watch my reaction.

She takes the drink from me and sips it slowly. Then she asks, “Would you like a taste, malysh?”

I shake my head, a sickening feeling slinking inside me.

“Come on, love. Just a small sip,” she grins. “Papa isn’t here to get mad.”

I cringe at her words. Why would she remind me that he left? I think it’s her fault anyway… I suspect it is. Dad doesn’t know how to deal with her.

I don’t either.

She pats the bed next to her and I take a seat, reluctantly. She hands me the glass and I take it, sipping just enough so she’s satisfied. This isn’t my first time tasting vodka. I’m almost sixteen. But Dad always told me not to let substances distract me.

Keep your brain as clear as you can, Dascha. Trust me.

I hand the glass back to my mother, and she takes her sip. The atmosphere in the room is gloomy. Like a dreary cloud is hovering over us. I want to go outside and escape it.

Maybe I can see some friends… Go to Kent’s and play video games or something. I have to get out of here.

There’s a monster in this room. I can feel it, and if I let it, it will wrap its hands around my throat and force me down.

“Dascha, lay down with Mama,” she places her glass on the nightstand and curls up on her side. “Just for a moment.”

The monster has a voice. It’s a familiar one.

“I don’t want to, Mom,” I mutter, trying to resist the blackness falling over me like a giant tarp. “I want to go outside.”

“Please, baby boy. For me.”

She wraps her arms around my waist and pulls me into the bed. I can’t even resist. I’m too weak.

I am just like her.

Nestling into the warm bed, I close my eyes and let the sadness take me over. Mom holds me from behind and breathes into the nape of my neck. My jaw grinds, but I don’t have the strength to move.

Her limbs are cold. And stiff.

Her hold on me tightens until I can’t move. I try to wriggle free, but it’s no use. She’s locked around me, like a weed.

Like a skeleton, frozen bones capturing me. Trapping me.

I finally rip myself away and when I look down, she’s rotting.

I scream out loud and run, out of the room, as fast as I can. But the room never stops.

It goes on for miles.

My heart is hammering frantically in my chest while I try to get away. A female voice screams in my ear.

Gunshots make me flinch. Blood splatters across my face, and the weight holding me down becomes heavier.

Then out of nowhere, the screams have stopped. They’ve silenced.

The smoke of gunpowder in the air burns my nostrils.

I’m covered in blood. It’s everywhere, red and thick and sticky, on my hands and arms.

I look around, and I don’t know where I am.

I’m in Mom’s room. I’m at the bank. I’m on the ground.

My face is in the gravel, with a knee on the back of my neck.

My mother’s voice kisses the spot, “You’re all I need in this world, Dascha.”

And it all goes black.

It’s always dark down here. I like it.

Sometimes I sneak into the corner, where the fluorescent lights don’t reach. I stay in there and I just keep quiet.

I like the quiet, too. Noise makes me anxious.

The noises from that night were good, though… The ones we made together. Until I left.

Then he had a nightmare.

He was screaming in his sleep. I’m not sure what it meant. But I watched him for a while, just to make sure he wouldn’t hurt himself unintentionally. That’s my job, I suppose.

And now Dascha is banging his head on the wall, over and over again. He’s been down here for five days, and we’ve only fed him twice. If I could feel bad, I might. But I can’t, so I don’t.

He looks pretty when he’s miserable. Added bonus.

That said, I don’t want him wasting away. His body is something perfect to look at, the way it is. Slender, yet taut and muscular. All those lines defining his arms, and his chest… his abs. I like looking at his abs. I enjoyed licking them the other night. I like the taste of his skin. He’s as sweet as a piece of candy your Mom won’t let you have, and when you sneak a taste, it’s so much better than you ever imagined.

I’ll get them to take him back today. He needs to eat something more than crusts and cores. I could give him more, but that’s not a good idea. I can’t treat him like the precious toy he is. I can’t get carried away with this obsession…

I need to rein it in a little. I don’t do this. I’m not interested in men.

But Dascha Reznikov isn’t just a man. He’s a gift. A perfectly broken specimen sent from the heavens. Dented and dinged-up, and yet still so lovely.

I blink at him through the window. He’s facing away from me, so he can’t see. He might know I’m here, though. He usually does.

His hair is growing back, and it makes me smile. I liked his hair… It was a shame to shave it off.

The Warden is a prick for doing that, but his way goes.

When I shaved Dash’s head, I felt his sadness. He likes his hair, too. It upset him to watch it fall, and that was when I knew I needed to be closer to him, in some way. Any way.

Dascha’s sadness is palpable. He wears it on his sleeve, almost like a badge of honor. He isn’t ashamed of his imperfections, that much is clear. His mind is broken, and either he’s made his peace with it, or he’s blissfully unaware. But either way, he doesn’t shy away from the cavernous empty space inside himself.

It makes me want to fill it up, all the way. I want to stuff him until he’s overflowing with something other than darkness.

Maybe I am the darkness… But I don’t think so. I think I could help him. I want to help him.

I’m making my way to the control room to have one of the other guards let Dash out of solitary when Brenner passes me. He’s already doing it. Perfect.

This will get me some space. Some distance.

It’s necessary. I can’t be getting attached to an inmate like this. It’s bad for my job.

Worse for my relationship.

I watch from down the hall as Brenner goes into Darcey’s cell to get Dash. It was my idea to put Dash in Darcey’s cell. I felt like he’d be a little more comfortable. There are a lot of roaches in Dash’s usual solitary cell. It’s pretty gross.

Plus Darcey’s with O’Malley right now… In the East wing. No one really goes there much. I don’t know why O’Malley is there. That’s all Velle. He just does what the Warden wants, and the rest of us have to follow their orders blindly.

Darcey’s there because the Warden can’t figure out what to do with him. He’s fascinated by The Carver, like most people are, and they don’t want him rotting in a cell, especially if he can be studied.

I don’t necessarily agree with all that, but they don’t pay me to think.

Dash looks tired as he’s dragged, shuffling in his cuffs, up the long corridor toward the ascending halls, back to gen-pop. The way Alabaster Pen is set up is interesting. There are so many hallways, and they all look the same. It’s like a maze, very easy to get lost. And barely any actual staircases, though there are multiple levels. The hallways are subtle ramps that bring you further up or down, without really even knowing it.

The only distinguishing factor that lets you know solitary is lower than general population is how much colder it is down here. And how much more pungent the smell of the ocean is.

It’s not the best place to work, but I don’t have much of a choice. With my… history, when the Warden offered me a chance to work and redeem myself in the eyes of society, I jumped on it.

Questionable decision? Sure, but I wasn’t in any place to be picky. I’m still not.

I follow behind Dash and Brenner, quietly, so they don’t even know I’m watching them. I hate seeing dark circles under Dash’s eyes. I hope he has time to get some rest in his cell before they drag him off to shower or eat. Though, he needs both of those things as well.

Maybe I can leave something for him… Something nice, like the toothbrush. I knew he wanted that badly, and I was happy to give it to him.

I could leave him more food, but I have to be subtle about it. I don’t want anyone finding out. Plus, I’m not supposed to be up in gen-pop usually. It’s not like I can’t be here, but I’m needed in solitary. If Velle sees me lurking around up here often, he’ll use it against me.

He’s that kind of guy.

Five minutes of walking later, they arrive at the row of cells leading to Dash’s, and I hang back, so the other inmates don’t see me. I hear them shouting things at Dash, and my fists clench at my sides. He’s not theirs to taunt.

The memory of him being pleasured by that mouthy little slut Warren Xavier assaults my mind and I close my eyes, tugging on my hair while an uncontrollable growl leaves my lips. I don’t want anyone touching what’s mine, especially not Alabaster Pen’s resident manipulative liar. Ren tells everyone he used to be a high-end escort on the outside, but I don’t believe a word of it. Everything out of his mouth is bullshit, and the only time he stops spouting it is when said mouth is busy taking things in.

My teeth nearly ground to dust when I saw Dash watching it, his beautiful cock disappearing inside that mouth filled with lies. The last thing Dash needs is to get sucked in by Ren, pun intended. He’s like a fucking plague.

But as much as I want to order Dash to stay far away from Ren, I know he won’t listen to me. He still hates me. For now…

If I try to tell him what to do, he’ll deliberately do the opposite. He’s a stubborn pet, my Luscious. I suppose I’ll just have to sit back and watch what he does. Hopefully, he makes the right decision.

I can be very spiteful when I’m invested. He could find that out the hard way.

My cock fills and throbs at the images of that perfect body, splayed out and at my mercy. He looks so unlike anything I’ve ever wanted. I think I like that.

I like his pale, milky flesh, decorated with scatters of ink. His tattoos aren’t like mine. He doesn’t have anywhere near as many, and they’re not connected. They’re random, inconsequential, like Dash’s thoughts.

I like having a glimpse inside his damaged mind.

Leaning my head back on the wall, I close my eyes, running a hand over my erection. God, how I want to claim that man. I want to take what he’s never given to anyone else before…

I’m sure he doesn’t want to lose it to me, but the facts are the facts. Someone in here will take it sooner or later. My money would be on Velle, since I’ve seen the way he looks at Dash.

Velle is selfish. I refuse to let him have what I want, especially when he has so many other avenues to get his rocks off. Velle is like Ren in some ways, while very different in the way he likes to take.

I won’t let Dash fall prey to these vultures. He’s my toy, after all.

He looked up at me from his knees with so much promise in those hazel eyes. The things he can do for me go far beyond the physical; the pleasure I derive from watching him squirm and struggle. It’s more than that.

He might be the one to settle my inner turmoil, and I think I could do the same for him. Maybe we’re two mangled, jagged pieces who could click together, despite all the fires burning around us.

I shake my head; shake away the color of those eyes, a forest of temptation.

I don’t understand my need for this kid. I don’t think I want a guy… Not to mention one who’s younger than me. Not that it really matters in the grand scheme. The fact that he has a dick is much more troubling. And no pussy.

Although, there are ways around that…

My cock flinches again, and now my balls are aching. I might need to see him again tonight. I don’t know how to make it happen, since he’s out of solitary. Sneaking into his cell is probably the worst idea ever.

But then the thought of never discovering how tight he is makes me want to die. And if someone else gets it first, then I’ll have to murder that someone.

Huffing out of frustration, I storm off, back to my dungeon domain. I’ll find a gift for Dascha, and that way he’ll be more inclined to letting me do the things he thinks he doesn’t want.

I’m not even sure how I know I want them… Except that I do. Badly.

I want Dascha Reznikov to be my broken toy, in all ways. And I have a habit of getting what I want, especially when it’s the thing that could be my untimely demise.

26 days in

We’re walking back from the showers when I see Ren. It’s been several days since I attacked him, landing myself in solitary yet again, but he still has a visible scar on his lower lip and some light yellowish bruising by his right eye.

It’s kind of interesting, the whole thing that went down in the basement rec room. Not only do I not remember what I did to Ren—and believe me, I’ve racked my brain trying to—but it’s clear he didn’t even try to fight back.

After all, he’s bigger than me, by maybe an inch and some muscle. He’s not all beefy and ‘roided out like the guard from solitary I refuse to think about right now, but he’s got some weight to throw around. I’m sure if he’d wanted to take a swing or two, he could’ve done some damage, or at the very least gotten me off him. But instead he just lied there and took it. Then laughed like a crazy person for minutes on end.

That I remember. He was still cackling when Rook dragged me off toward solitary, while Velle and Joy rounded up the others. It was strange to say the least.

Ren’s a loose cannon. I’d really love to stay away from him, but as it seems, that won’t be very easy in this place.

He gives me a look, this sort of side-eye thing, as we pass each other. I can’t tell precisely what he wants to convey with the look, but he doesn’t appear interested in retaliation for what I did to him. If anything, he looks apologetic. I recognize it because it’s how he looked at me the other day, when he was apologizing for cornering me in that room.

It doesn’t matter. I don’t care what kinds of looks Ren gives me. I can’t trust him. Every time we’re near each other I get sent to solitary, so if not going near him is what it takes to never get sent there again, then that’s what I’ll do.

I can’t go back. Not after what happened the last time.

Officer Kemper is a fucking rapist. I don’t care if I came… That’s irrelevant. I come all the time when I shouldn’t.

I still remember one of my first robberies… It was the first time I’d hit by myself. I came away with eighty-seven grand in a fucking pillow case, then rode Zadira like a fucking boss, juked the Hempstead Police and sped to a safe-house I’d set up, which was actually a shady motel off Sunrise.

I pulled into the parking lot, and my dick was so hard it was having palpitations. It was dark outside, so when I looked around and saw no one, I decided to whip my cock out right there. When I came, I saw fucking stars, and galaxies; other solar systems of color and light.

That was when I realized high-adrenaline situations get me hard. Even more so uncomfortable or awkward ones. And shame? Forget about it.

There’s something twisted in my brain, and where shame makes other people feel sort of sick, I guess, it makes my fucking cock hard. Inconvenient? Yes. But I don’t let things like that deter me.

I’ve just taken to stopping by Lola’s after my jobs. Because she knows me; knows what gets me off and settles my mind. And she’s down for whatever. What’s not to like about that?

Still, the orgasms she gives me have never been as intense as the ones I’ve had in here… And I refuse to think about that right now. I’m not confronting shit. I have too much other nonsense to worry about, like a rapist-stalker, other guards who are out to get me, and an inmate who’s prone to getting me in trouble, unintentionally or not.

My vision waves and I hear something. My head snaps right, then left. But I see nothing other than the usual halls, leading us back to our cells. Ren’s gone. He’s already fifteen feet away, heading toward the showers.

I peek at Luthor who’s walking at my side, and he seems lost in his own thoughts. Looking him over, something occurs to me…

“Do you have Joy shave your head?” I ask him, curious.

His face tilts in my direction. “Yea. But she’d do it whether I asked her to or not. Warden’s policy.” His eyes lift to my head for a moment. “They’ll get yours. Probably next week.”

A frown tugs at my mouth, and I run a hand over my scalp. My hair is just barely coming in. I was hoping they’d let me grow it out, at least a little.

I hate having a shaved head. It looks good on Luthor, I guess. Goes with his whole Lex Luthor thing. But on me… I don’t know, I feel a bit lost.

Maybe I always feel like this.

Who am I?

I blink hard as we approach our cell. Rook shoves us inside then the other guard, I think his name is Peters, takes off our cuffs. They leave us, and I rub my wrists, glancing down at the raw red marks on them. Those aren’t from just now.

They’re from the other night. With him.

My gaze instinctively flicks all around, as if expecting to see him lurking outside my cell. Or inside it.

He seems to get away with whatever, just like the rest of the guards. It’s exactly how Luthor warned me… The C.O.’s, they control the whole place. And I’ve yet to see the Warden since that first day, not that he would care what’s happening. I’m sure he knows.

Out of sight, out of mind.

Breathing slowly, I take a seat on my bed and lie back. A shiver passes my skin and I tug at my thin blanket, wrapping it around my shoulders. “It’s cold in here.”

“You shoulda been here in winter,” Luthor sighs from the top bunk.

“It was bad?”

He’s quiet for a second before he answers. “Ren’s old roommate… He got really sick.”

His tone gives me more chills, buzzing up my spine. “Shit.”

“Yea. He, um, had to be air-lifted to a hospital.” He pauses and I hear him puff out a breath. “We haven’t seen or heard of him since. I’m not sure what that means…”

“Jesus…” I close my eyes and try to imagine that I’m somewhere warm.

Tulum. I can’t wait to be there someday.

But when I open my eyes, I see the same dank cell. The bottom of Luthor’s worn mattress, the rusted bars of our bunk beds, the cracks in the concrete and the white water residue dripping from corners of the ceiling.

This isn’t Tulum, and the more I wish I was there, the more it’ll remind me that I’m here.

Stuck. Trapped in Hell with the most fucked up company available to me.

A scream echoes between my ears, rumbling my brain. It’s strong, and I have to cover my head with my arms to steady it all.

“Fuck…” I grunt, voices and noise building and building.

“What?” I vaguely register Luthor’s voice.

“Nothing,” I’m barely able to hear myself. “W-where do you think O’Malley is?” I ask, just to take the focus off me.

“Damn, I don’t even know, but he might be in the same place as Darcey,” Luthor speaks, though I’m not really listening. “None of us have seen Darcey either, so maybe they’re together…”

I don’t know if I thought I’d be able to get out of here or something, or maybe I thought trying to just live out my sentence, which is theoretically eternity, could give me some semblance of life. But clearly, I underestimated just how terrible Alabaster Penitentiary truly is.

You can’t live out your sentence here, not with the guards running wild, no moral compasses to speak of, disgusting and unsafe conditions killing inmates.

That’s what they want…

They want you dead, that’s why you’re here.

Everyone thinks you’re dead, and now you are. You’re as good as dead.

I curl up into a ball and rock myself back and forth, focusing on Luthor’s voice. He’s still talking, and I think he’s saying something about himself from before he came here. I wish I could hear him, but the other voices are so loud. They’re drowning him out.

I hum to myself, in an attempt to even my breaths. I’m just trying to keep myself present, but the next thing I know my eyes peel open and everything’s dark. The lights are out in the row, minus the one or two fluorescents they always leave on.

I straighten out in bed and listen to the sound of Luthor snoring. At least one of us is relaxed.

I’m a jittery mess and as I’m considering jerking off to calm myself down, a shadowy figure appears outside our cell.

“No…” I murmur, sitting up. You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.

The door opens slowly, the heavy metal clinking just enough for the large frame to step inside, closing it behind him.

He’s shrouded in darkness, but of course I know who it is. No one else comes inside our cell. No one else fucking stalks my life like this. My heart is already pumping in my chest as he steps forward until only his right side is marginally visible.

He says nothing, but I can hear him thinking. I can tell from how he’s looking at me that he’s preparing for me to run, or scream, not that I think either of those actions would help me. But I am considering them. Anything’s gotta be better than a repeat of our past couple experiences.

My muscles tense in preparation, and he lifts a brow. Don’t even think about it, inmate.

“What the fuck do you want?” I bark, quietly. I’m torn between wanting to wake Luthor to see if he could help, and wanting to make sure he stays asleep, to keep him out of this bullshit.

Officer Kemper blinks slowly over his glassy eyes, the dark shield providing him an aura of disturbing blankness. He just looks menacing, without even considering the things he’s already done to prove that he is.

Taking a few steps closer, he inches toward me like he’s done before. And I stay seated on my bed, preparing. I don’t know what he’s going to do to me, but I won’t hide that I’m nervous about it. I’m afraid of the things he does… and how my body reacts to them.

I hate that it probably makes him think I’m interested. I don’t want him thinking that.

I loathe him.

“I missed you,” he finally whispers, and a weird thing happens in my stomach. It wants to roll in disgust, but instead it twists and flops, like someone just flipped me upside down.

“I wish you would just leave me alone,” I say in a hushed voice, maintaining that usual bite to my tone. “You think this is some kind of cat-and-mouse game, but I want no part of it. I’m not your fucking rodent.”

His lips quirk subtly, and a small huff comes from somewhere, like a mild chuckle. It would be easy to miss, except that it lights his eyes up significantly. He closes the distance between us, gazing down at me from where he stands.

I refuse to look up at him, but he takes my chin in his fingers, lifting my face until our eyes meet.

“What if you’re the feline in this scenario?” He squints. My lips part, but before I can react any further, he crawls into my bed, lurching toward me.

I back up fast, as fast as I can trying to escape him while he comes at me, grabbing my leg and dragging me closer. I kick at him, going for his groin, but he blocks me. Every time I attempt a hit on him, he blocks it, as if he knows where I’m going before I even try. It’s beyond frustrating.

Since I can’t get him offensively, I go for defense, wriggling uncontrollably like a damn worm on a hook. He grunts when I knee him in the stomach, resorting to what he did the other day and kneeling over my hips, pinning me beneath him.

“Stop fucking struggling,” he hisses, trapping both my wrists in his one, going for his cuffs again.

“No. No, stop,” I demand, louder than before. He freezes and his eyes widen, then he holds up his index finger to his lips, doing the shhh thing.

“If one of the other guards hears then they’ll come in, too,” he warns, giving me a severe look. “I really don’t think you want that, Luscious. Trust me.”

“I don’t trust you. And stop fucking calling me that,” I teem from between clenched teeth.

He ignores me and clips the cuffs on my wrists, around the metal bar of my bunk. I try to buck him off me but he’s too damn heavy. Eventually I get tired of trying and my eyes close while I catch my breath.

“Are you done?” His tone is lined with impatience, and it makes me want to erupt hatred all over this fucker.

“Why are you doing this to me?” I mumble, not necessarily to him. I’m just saying it.

Because it’s not the first time I’ve felt like this… Out of control and at someone else’s mercy. And I fucking hate it.

“Believe me, I wish I understood my attraction to you, Dascha,” he rumbles, then pulls out another pair of handcuffs.

I gulp, “What are those for?” My eyes stuck on the shiny metal in his hands.

He doesn’t answer but takes my ankle in his hand and snaps a cuff around it. As soon as he does, I start wiggling again, struggling against what I think he’s trying to do to me.

“Stop moving, inmate, or you’ll get shocked again,” he threatens, with his words obviously, but even more with the look on his face. He’s still shadowed a bit by the lack of light that reaches inside the cell. All I can really see is some strands of golden hair hanging in his face and dark stubble lining his square jaw. And the bottomless oceans in his damn eyes.

I keep moving. “I don’t fucking care. Shock me again. I’m not letting you cuff my legs to this bed.”

He yanks my leg by the attached cuff, and it digs into my skin. It stings like a bitch, but I ignore it and keep kicking. Until he growls and pulls his Glock off his holster, holding it up.

I stop moving, and he snaps the cuff to the bar at the bottom of my bunk.

“You won’t shoot me,” my voice crawls, and I can’t help that it sounds completely unsure of my own statement. Because I’m not sure if he’ll shoot me.

He might.

“You wanna take that chance, inmate?” He lifts a cocky brow, then uses his left hand to snap yet another set of cuffs to my other ankle, while pointing the Glock shockingly close to my face. He fastens the last cuff around the metal, then tucks his gun away. “You know, the things I want will give you pleasure, too. I’m not just here to take.”

“I don’t want pleasure from you,” I say, out of breath from all the fighting.

“Are you saying you didn’t enjoy yourself the other night?” He leans over me, closing in on my face. His breath smells like mint again. Like wintergreen. It’s… familiar.

I lean up as much as I can while being held down and narrow my gaze at his smug face. “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

The corner of his mouth tugs up. “I call bullshit. No one likes a liar, Dascha.”

“Fuck. Off.”

He presses his hips into mine harder. “Be careful what you wish for, 101.”

He grinds again and again, his hips rippling into mine, like waves crashing on a shore and it’s distracting me from my hatred.

“He’s going to hear you,” I nod upward to Luthor’s bunk. I’m really surprised he hasn’t woken up yet. The bunk is moving all around, and even though we’re not loud, he’s right up there.

The dude could sleep through a damn earthquake.

“So?” He presses into me more, tracing my dick with his. I can feel how hard it is through both of our pants.

“Get the fuck off me,” I growl again, squirming away, though there’s nowhere to go. I’m tied up at this asshole’s mercy.

He moves his face into the crook of my neck. “Mmm… keep fighting me, Luscious. I like it rough.” His breath tickles my flesh and a chill runs through me, tightening everything. My stomach, my nipples, my fucking balls. God, this is fucked.

I go still. “Fine, then I’ll just lie here.”

“That’ll work, too,” he sneers, dropping a slow, tender kiss on my pulse. I swallow hard over my scratchy throat and he moves his lips there, trailing them over my Adam’s apple.

“Ugh, you’re a fucking lunatic!” I twist away as much as I can, but he places his hands flat on my chest. My nipples ache beneath his palms covering them, even through my shirt. “Please, just get the fuck away from me.”

“Give in to me, Dascha.” He lifts his face to look down at me. “I don’t want to want you anymore than you want me wanting you.”

“What?” I gasp, confused by his words, but also by how fucking warm I am right now.

“I think you know we can do fun things together,” his voice vibrates into me as he lifts my shirt to expose my abs, running a finger down to trace the line above my pants. My dick moves visibly, and it catches his attention. His dark eyes sparkle.

He tugs my pants down, my cock springing out, ready for action. A flush of shame rises up my neck. I turn my face to the side, so I don’t have to see him looking at me. He lowers my pants more than last time and my head flings to look down at what he’s doing. My pants are around my knees and he’s taking something out of his pocket.

Terror strikes my limbs. He better not be doing what I think he’s doing.

His eyes find mine, and he grins. “Don’t worry, Luscious. I’m not gonna fuck you.” I let out a breath of relief, but then he whispers, “Yet.”

“No. Not ever,” I yank at my cuffs like that’s going to fucking do something. “What is that? What are you doing?”

“Shh… Calm down. You’re acting like a baby.” He fiddles with whatever is in his hand, and I try to calm down enough to pay attention.

It looks like a small tube of lotion. What…?

“No…” I try to force my legs closed, but I can’t. They’re being held open by the cuffs on my ankles.

He’s not paying me any mind. He’s just squirting lotion onto his fingers and rubbing it around.

“Don’t touch me,” I rumble as his hand slides between my legs.

“Do you have any idea how good you look right now?” A warm, wet finger pushes up to my ass and I breathe out hard, accepting my fate.

I can’t struggle out of this. I guess all I can do is pretend I’m somewhere else and take heed in the fact that he said he won’t fuck me…

Though I’m not sure how trustworthy my rapist is.

“I don’t… want…” My breath hitches as he traces the rim. It sort of tickles, in a foreign way. Like something that might feel good if I wanted it, which I don’t.

He leans on my right thigh and puts some pressure on me until I tense up. Biting my lip, I shake my head, because no. No no no, this isn’t good. I don’t want this.

“Get away from me, you goddamn queer,” the words fall from my mouth in between panting that I think is me, but I refuse to open my eyes. A finger breaks through the threshold of my ass and it burns like fucking hell.

“Who’s the queer here, baby?” He grumbles by my ear, grinding into me, the friction creating a heat around us like an inferno. “You’ve got my middle finger in your pretty little ass.”

A growl of protest leaves my lips, but somehow it becomes a groan when the finger moves in deeper. “You’re the queer. Because you think my little ass is pretty.”

“You make a good point, Luscious,” he chuckles, then licks the shell of my ear. “Now, relax for me. I want to make you feel good.”

He sucks my earlobe between his lips, and it does feel fucking good. I don’t want it to, but it reminds me of the girls I used to hook up with when I was a teenager. They always did this, ear-sucking thing. My cock responds, my muscles easing up, just a bit. Just enough for him to move his finger.

It surges deeper, then he pulls it out, almost all the way. The sensation is awkward.

“Fuck you,” I croak at him while he moves his finger in and out, only about an inch there and back while he sucks my earlobe, then moves those goddamn lips onto my neck.

“Sweet candy Luscious,” he croons, a hand appearing on my torso while the other moves between my legs. “Tell me what you want.”

His thumb circles my nipple until I gasp. Then he pushes his finger deep, curling slightly to press on something that shoots a lightning rod through my loins.

My balls draw up in an instant and a soft moan escapes. “Fuck… me…”

He does it again, and my eyes roll back in my skull. “That’s what I thought, baby.” He takes his finger back, and the next thing I know another one is joining it, inside my ass. Pushing into me and stretching a place nothing has ever entered before.

I hate it, but I love it, and it’s so fucking confusing.

“No…” I rock into his hand against my will, wanting nothing more than to move my arms or legs. I hate being trapped like this, with someone I don’t trust.

It feels so wrong, and yet my cock is aching.

“God, you’re tight, Dash,” he hums, fucking me with his fingers while rutting into my leg. His stubble brushes the sensitive skin of my neck and I whimper.

Why do I like this? I don’t want to like this…

“I don’t want this…” I sing the words over and over while he sucks my pulse, pushing his fingers as deep into my hole as he can, the rhythm matching his hips.

“Is that the truth, Dascha?” His large body blankets me while his big, long fingers reach for that spot again.

He brushes it and my lips shiver out the word, “No.”

“You’re perfect,” he grinds his hard cock into me, dry fucking while his fingers pump into my ass, in and out, again and again and again until I’m going out of my damn mind.

“M-mm…” My eyes screw closed, and I try to push back against his hand. I want more.

Fuck it. I don’t even care what’s happening right now, this feels life-affirming.

He tugs my chin. “Open your eyes, inmate.” I do it, chewing on my lip to keep the moans in. “Tell me what you want now, baby.”

The depths in his eyes are overwhelming. The blackest blue I’ve ever seen. Like the part of the ocean that chokes you to death with pressure.

In those eyes, I don’t even know who I am.

“More,” I whisper, and he looks to my lips for just a moment before shoving a third finger into my ass.

I groan out loud, the pain and pleasure mixing together in something like dousing every nerve in my body in gasoline then lighting a match. Kemper looks down between us, watching himself finger-fuck me in the ass. He grunts and licks his lips, the rock-solid shape digging into my thigh through his pants.

I look down too, but all I can see is his huge arm working between my legs. I can’t picture what his hand is doing to me, but I can feel it. All I have is sensation.

“Your ass is so snug, baby,” he pumps and pumps into my behind, reaching for the spot that zaps me. He keeps getting it and I think I’m going to come soon. It might sneak up on me… “I can barely move my fingers.”

“Fuck… fuck…” Is all I can say.

“I want to put my dick in here so bad,” he tells me, then his other hand grabs a fistful of my shirt, hauling me into him even harder. “I wanna fuck you. God, Dash, let me fuck you.”

“No,” I mumble as my eyelids droop and I feel him pushing on something that stirs up my orgasm, bringing it to the frontlines of my body.

“I need to come,” he huffs, then uses his left hand to unbuckle his belt, hastily, unzipping and pulling his dick out. It’s bigger than I remember.

He strokes it rough in his fist, the smacking noises alternating between him jerking and pounding his hand into me as hard as possible. It hurts a little, but I like it. Honestly… the pain is the pleasure at this point. They’re the same goddamn thing.

“I’m gonna…” I whisper, then stop myself. Because this guy isn’t my lover, or my friend. I don’t want to tell him I’m coming.

But I am. Hard.

I press my lips together, the cries behind them just barely stopping while my cock pulses out streams of cum. He doesn’t stop slamming his fingers into me while I’m coming, and it makes the orgasm go on much longer than any other I’ve had before.

It feels like I’m speeding down a highway at two-hundred miles per hour with my head out the window. Everything is whirring past, and I’m dizzy and breathless. I’m coming so fucking hard, clenching around his fingers like I never want him to leave my body.

My eyes open and I peer down, catching my breath, pulse racing, blood thumping through my brain while I watch him milk his giant dick, coming on my cock, which finally stopped and is lying on my abs, spent and surrounded by glistening stuff. And now he’s pulsing his own cum all over it, making a big old mess.

But I can’t even care because my entire body is numb. Now I’m in the lazy river at the water park. Relaxed, quiet. No noise, no pain. It all feels so fucking nice.

Officer Kemper breathes out hard and drops his head forward, his hair hanging in his eyes as they meet mine, and he gives me a look. I’m not sure how I know what he wants me to feel, but he looks significantly less scary right now.

He reminds me of calm. Orange and yellow. Like a sunset.

He tugs his fingers out of me, and the discomfort is masked by how much color is surrounding his face. I’m glad I’m still cuffed because I feel like my hand would have tried to touch him just now.

His jaw, or maybe his chest. Push some hair away from his face.

I blink hard and shake that away.

“Did you like it?” He whispers, and he’s not taunting me. He doesn’t sound foreboding or threatening. He’s just asking, genuinely interested.

I shake my head for no, but then I mumble, “Yes.”

He smiles at me, one of those illuminating things, like the time he watched me from outside the window. It’s a nice smile. It’s… pretty.

No. No, I don’t want him. I don’t want this.

I tug at my cuffs, the anxiety of being trapped coming back with vigor. He breathes out and rolls off me, removing my cuffs, hands first then each foot. As soon as I have my hands again, I rub some feeling back into them, glancing down at my cock, covered in the slickness of another man’s orgasm.

His cum looks like mine. Mine is all over my abs, because I wasn’t even touching my dick.

He made me come with his fingers. He didn’t even jerk me off, not once.

I absentmindedly run a finger through the translucent stuff on my abs, trailing it to my cock and mixing it up with his. Then he wanders over to me, holding toilet paper. I reach out for it, but he doesn’t hand it over. Instead, he wipes the cum off my stomach, then my dick, his eyes holding mine as he does. My face is warm while he cleans me, and I sit up on my elbows, watching him in silence.

What the hell am I supposed to do now? What do I say? What the fuck is going on??

“What’s your name?” I ask, and he lifts a brow at me before glancing down at his badge. “I mean your first name. You know mine… Isn’t it only fair that I know yours?”

“Trust me, there’s nothing fair about this, Luscious,” he hums, a dark expression crossing his face. He turns and tosses the paper into the toilet, pulling his pants back up and fastening his belt, an air of quiet tension surrounding him once more.

He seems hostile again, an attitude problem that only disappears when he comes, apparently. Then it reappears, like a mask.

I suppose I can get that… If he’s a closet gay guy or something.

In an attempt to figure out his deal, though I don’t know why I care, I ask, “Do you have a boyfriend?”

“Why? You auditioning for the part, inmate?” He snaps. There’s amusement on his face, but it’s alarming, not friendly.

“You’re a piece of shit,” I flop down onto my bed and yank up my pants fast, straightening my clothes and rolling over onto my side, facing the wall so I don’t have to look at his stupid rapist prick face. “Kindly show yourself the fuck out, faggot.”

“Whatever you want, 101,” he murmurs, and I roll my eyes.

As I hear him stepping away, my stomach drops, and I don’t fucking know why.

I don’t want him here. I hate him, but for some reason right now I feel like a fucking booty call; like a dirty secret he’s hiding in the dark. I swallow hard while pressure builds behind my eyes.

“I brought this for you,” his voice grumbles and I look up to see him placing something by my feet.

Then he leaves, the cell door clanking shut. I wait a minute before I sit up to see what he left.

When I pick it up, I can’t help the elation blooming in my chest. It’s a three-pack of boxer briefs. Fucking Calvin Klein. The expensive ones…

And a travel kit with bars of soap, toothpaste, and tissues. I swallow, my lips curving into a small smile.

I can’t help but notice that something is clearly missing from the kit, so I flip it over and read the back. It’s supposed to come with soap, toothpaste, tissues…

And lotion.

28 days in

When my eyes peel open, I’m alarmed. Not because of the shouting from other inmates up the row, not because Luthor is making some strange noises above me. Not even because my ass hurts a little, and my wrists hurt even more.

I’m alarmed because I slept, through all of it. I slept soundly and calmly, for several hours. That doesn’t happen often. I’m usually lucky if I get forty-five minutes in between waking up five or six times. I spend most nights pacing or lying in bed staring at nothing. I’ve only ever passed out after exhausting myself to the point of my body shutting down.

I feel refreshed. Marginally… I won’t let myself accept it, though. I don’t want this feeling from him.

I focus on the fact that my ass hurts, because it does. When I say hurts, I’m exaggerating. It’s more like a dull throb that simply reminds me of what happened to the area last night. I’m not a butt guy. I like pain sometimes, and uncomfortable sensations often get me rock hard, but I’ve never been inclined to do any butt stuff. Call me old-fashioned, but it always made me feel a little queer to think about it.

Maybe that’s immature. Okay, it definitely is. But I can’t help the way I’ve always thought, until last night.

That giant douchebag raped my butt with his fingers, and the kicker is that I came. What the hell does that even mean?? How am I supposed to feel about this?

I think maybe I should just ignore it for now…

I sit up and stretch out my sore muscles, glancing upward, wondering what the hell Luthor is doing up there. It sounds like he’s scraping something.

Damn… Luthor probably heard everything that went down last night. This is going to be awkward.

Once on my feet, I peek toward his bunk to see what he’s doing. His back is to me, so I can’t really tell. But when he senses me watching him, he turns over his shoulder.

“Morning, roomie,” he grins, then goes back to whatever it is he’s doing.

“Hey,” I croak, then rub my eyes. “Whatcha doin’?”

“Making a computer.” He says it so casually, I barely even know how to respond. For a second, I think maybe he is in fact making a computer.

But then I remember that there’s no way…

“Elaborate, please,” I insist, and he chuckles.

“Well, not an actual computer. Yet.” He moves to the side to reveal what he’s been doing. There’s a carving in the wall by his bed. It looks like a blueprint for some sort of device. “I have to do it in the wall since I have no paper or pencils. Anyway, if I can try to get the needed parts, eventually I could make this.”

“You could?” I can’t help the shock in my voice.

“Yea. It’s kind of my thing,” he grins at me over his shoulder. My mouth hangs open. “I went to college early. Berkley. Was studying to be a designer.” He huffs a small laugh and shakes his head, clearly remembering something comical. “I built the most incredible machine ever in my parents’ garage. Of course now it’s all in evidence…”

I blink. Wow. Okay, the whole Lex Luthor thing is really coming together.

“How old are you?” Is the only question I can think to ask right now, out of all the many littering my mind.

He laughs. “Twenty-three.”

My brows jump toward the ceiling. “You came in here when you were nineteen??”

“Affirmative,” he nods, nowhere near as miserably as you’d expect someone to sound when talking about this.

He’s so young… He’s wasted so much of his life in here already, and he still has the rest of it to go.

That’s insanely depressing. But rather than continuing in the awful direction of this conversation, I decide to lead in a more optimistic way.

“What would you need to make that?” I nod at the carving in his wall.

“Oh, man. A lot,” he chuckles. “Obviously the easiest way would be getting my hands on a computer. I can take it apart and rebuild it. But that’s pretty unlikely, so I’m gonna see if I can bribe Joy to bring me spare parts and scraps.”

“They must recycle old PC’s and shit when they’re done with them, right?”

“I’m not sure. I mean, look around. The funding is nonexistent. They probably don’t replace things often.”

“Yea, but if the servers control all the doors, the cameras and whatnot… I’d say it’s pretty important to keep that in working order.”

He squints at me for a second. “You’re right.”

My mouth quirks into a pleased curve. “I’ll see what I can do to help.”

His head cocks to the side. “Don’t tell me you’re getting on board with the whole cozying up to C.O.’s for goods thing.”

Some heat rises up my neck as I force myself not to think about the Calvin Klein boxers I’m wearing beneath my jumpsuit pants, and the nice bar of Dove for Men soap I plan on using in the shower today.

Either Luthor was out cold last night and didn’t hear Officer Kemper come in and attack me, or he’s playing dumb to save us from the potential awkwardness.

“No, not necessarily,” I look away. “I just might know someone who could get us old parts before they toss them out. Someone who probably won’t tell Velle.”

“That’s a good point,” he nods. “I don’t want that asshole knowing what’s going on, and with Joy it’s a good chance Velle will be involved. Who do you know, anyway? You’re the damn newbie.”

He cackles and jumps down from his bunk. Good thing he’s too busy rooting around for his toothpaste to notice my twitchy movements and likely flushed face.

It’s a terrible idea for me to even consider asking Officer Kemper for anything. It’s bad enough he takes what he wants from me without a goddamn care in the world. Add favors into the mix and things for me could definitely get worse.

“No one important,” I shrug, trying to act indifferent.

Luthor turns to face me, and I stare at him for a second, wondering if maybe he really didn’t hear anything last night. Is it possible that he’s such a deep sleeper he didn’t even feel the bunks moving around? They definitely were. It wasn’t a smooth transaction.

He gives nothing away as he holds out his toothpaste, and without thinking, I shake my head.

“I’ve got my own,” the words come out before I can stop myself, and he makes a face, brows zipping together.

“First a toothbrush, now toothpaste?” He narrows his gaze at me, then drops it to my waist.

I tug my pants up higher, but it’s too late. They’re so big, they have no choice but to sag a little, and that Calvin Klein band is pretty hard to miss.

His eyes come back up to mine and he blinks, like he’s waiting for me to say something. My mouth opens, but I really don’t know how to explain in a way that makes sense.

It doesn’t even make sense to me.

Thankfully at that moment, Joy’s voice bursts into the cell, startling us. “Morning, bitches!” She wanders inside, smirking like a little she-devil, smacking her billy club in her hand. “Assume the position.”

My forehead lines, then I look to Luthor. He sighs and shakes his head, immediately moving to the wall and placing his hands flat on it.

“Well? Move it, 101. I’m not feeling very patient today, especially when it comes to you, our resident troublemaker.”

I can’t help the burst of air that flees my lips. “Me?!”

Her jaw visibly tightens, so I decide to let it go and do as she says. The last thing I want is to piss her off enough to get sent back to solitary.

The idea, though, lodges in my brain for a split-second, which is already much longer than it should be there. I close my eyes and shake it away, because it’s stupid. Why the fuck would I want to go back to solitary?? It’s Hell.

I step next to Luthor and put my hands on the wall, turning my head over my shoulder at the sound of Rook and Velle storming inside our cell.

“What are they doing?” I ask as Joy starts patting us down.

“Checks,” Luthor answers. “They do it like once a week usually. You missed the last few being in solitary.”

His words stun me for a second. I’ve spent more time in solitary than I have in my own goddamn cell at this point. That’s fucked. No wonder Joy called me a troublemaker.

Rook and Velle proceed to toss our shit all over the place, ransacking things, looking for drugs or weapons, I suppose, because they see Luthor’s toothbrush and toothpaste on the sink and pay it no mind. Rook picks up my travel kit, squints at it for a second, then tosses it back on my bed.

“New wardrobe, inmate?” Joy asks and I look down as she tugs the waistband of my Calvins. I swallow hard, saying nothing, just holding her stare.

“Wow. These are nicer than mine,” Rook sneers from the bed, holding up my other two pairs of boxers from the pack.

“Why, what do you wear?” Velle rumbles to him. “Hanes tighty whiteys?”

Rook glances at Velle, who smirks. “Wouldn’t you like to know…”

The two of them have a stare down for a second, and the tension in the room is palpable. I peer at Joy to see her reaction to all this, and she’s just watching them interact with the same wide eyes that Luthor and I have on.

Velle steps up to Rook, and the look on Rook’s face is one of minute concern. Velle has a couple inches on him, and while they’re both pretty huge, Velle just has this aura of calculating dominance that makes me nervous. But apparently Rook sees it differently, because he looks like he’d have no problem falling in line right about now.

“I bet I can guess what kind of panties you wear, Rookie,” Velle growls in his face.

Rook squints. “Do you want a prize?”

“Hmm… That’s a thought,” Velle goes on, his face mere inches from Rook’s. “If I guess right, what do I win?”

Rook swipes his tongue over his lower lip. “What would you like, Officer?”

The look in Velle’s eyes is one of pure hunger, reminding me of someone else I know.

“Boys,” Joy’s smooth voice interrupts the thickness in the air, and the two of them turn to face her, having apparently forgotten where they are. “Are we done in here?”

Velle straightens and barks, “All clear.” Then he shoots a quick look at Rook before stomping out of our cell, rumbling at Joy on his way out, “Follow me, Officer Jameson.”

Joy practically scampers after him, leaving Rook alone with us staring at him. He runs a hand through his dirty blonde hair and breathes out steadily.

“Show’s over, inmates,” he grumbles. “If you want to shower today, I suggest you follow me. Now.”

Luthor and I straighten up, shuffling to get our things fast as Rook leaves the cell and we hurry after him.

“That was weird,” I whisper to Luthor when I’m sure Rook is just out of an earshot.

“Tell me about it. Apparently, no one’s off limits,” Luthor shakes his head.

What the fuck, man? What is it about a prison that makes dudes gay as fuck? I don’t get it…

My thoughts are a tangled mess all throughout the shower. Rook gives me a razor to shave myself, though he’s standing right next to me the whole time, I guess to make sure I don’t try anything. Not like it’d be easy with a disposable razor with one damn blade. Luckily my hair is so fine it doesn’t take much effort to shave my face.

When we’re leaving, I find myself watching Rook for a second. He’s a really good-looking dude, in a way that’s hard to miss. A sort of pretty boy face, he’s like Ren in that way, with dimples and a jawline like a Disney prince. Except that his hair is blonde where Ren’s is black, and he’s a bit shorter. Still, the dude has this kind of charming mid-west thing going on. He looks like he could be a cowboy or a ranch hand or something. And he’s nice. Well, as nice as someone can be in here.

He’s not like Velle, or Kemper. Actually, he seems the opposite.

I also notice that interacting with Joy makes Rook light right up. It’s clear he has feelings for her, in the way he watches her. The way he always smiles when she’s around. It has me thinking about what Luthor said, about lines blurring.

All these guys seem like they have no problem hooking up with another guy if they have to, since there aren’t women available to them. And it makes me wonder if they actually consider themselves gay or bisexual, or if they’re just bored. Is there even a difference?

Maybe sexuality is fluid. Because if we’re being totally honest, it wasn’t difficult for me to notice how attractive Rook is.

Or Kemper. But that’s a different story. Maybe I would have noticed it on my own if he hadn’t forced me into interactions with him…

Okay, that’s not likely. He’s a creepy lunatic who tased me and waved a gun in my face. He’s not someone I should be thinking about in any sort of capacity.

At the thought, I peer around. I haven’t seen him lurking like he usually does. Maybe he’ll stay away for good.

I’m empty as we leave the showers. We go back to the cell, but when we arrive, Velle grabs Luthor and takes him somewhere. It makes me extremely nervous. They didn’t say he was in trouble or anything, but I’m not sure where they’d be taking him.

He’s gone for hours. It’s hard to concentrate without knowing if he’s okay. Luthor has become my best friend in this place. He seems like the only rational person around, and that’s always been something I’ve latched onto.

When my father left, I lost the calm, level-headed person in our household, and it left me feeling out of control for most of my life. That is, until I got better at managing my work. But I’m clearly still fucked up over it.

I don’t like to think about all the problems I have. Denial works much better. It’s like a warm, cozy blanket that protects you from the cold, unforgiving hands of the unknown. Self-awareness is overrated.

I’m in the middle of push-ups when I hear footsteps thumping toward my cell. My stomach twists into a knot as I stand up slowly, backing away from the cell door. My heart is in my throat, and I stare straight ahead, preparing to see those bottomless pools of death, the giant foreboding creature coming for me once more.

But instead, it’s Velle who approaches my cell and the little dab of disappointment slinking inside me is so uncomfortable I want to retch it away.

“Hey there, 101,” Velle croons, opening my cell and stepping inside like he fucking owns the place. I suppose he does, in a way. “Ready for dinner?”

I nod reluctantly, though the look on my face is obviously one of confusion. “Where’s Luthor?”

“He’s fine,” Velle answers, the wrong way, but still. It’s an answer. “He’ll be joining you in the cafeteria.” He steps closer and whispers, “No need to fret.” Then he winks.

I accept what he’s saying, because I don’t have much of a choice and move forward to leave with him. But he holds up a hand to stop me.

“I’d be remissed if I didn’t take this opportunity to warn you, inmate,” he says, a casually smug smirk on his face. “That shit you pulled in the showers when you first arrived? That’s the sort of thing you only get to do once. I hope it was satisfying for you.”

“Listen, Officer, you don’t need to bother with the threats,” I jump in, folding my arms over my chest. “Your girlfriend already beat you to it. Well, I mean Joy did. I know you have a few…”

His eyes sparkle with something like rage, jaw visibly clenching. Smirk still intact. This guy’s good.

“Calm down, Reznikov. I just wanted to say I’m sorry we got off on the wrong foot,” he hums, a mere three inches from my face. “And based on all the contraband we found in your cell today, I’d say it looks like you already found someone else to finance your comfort here at Alabaster Pen.” He pauses to let his words settle. “Good for you. I’m glad it all worked out for the best. Apparently, I have enough girlfriends as it is… Right?”

He slaps me hard on the shoulder and I flinch, anger building while he makes a spinning motion in the air with his finger.

“Turn around, inmate. Hands behind your back.”

I do as he says, though I haven’t been cuffed this way since I was arrested. Usually they just cuff you in front, and sometimes they do your ankles, too. Sometimes they don’t. I guess it depends on who’s doing it and the mood they’re in that day.

Apparently today, Velle feels like being a bigger prick than usual.

He cuffs me behind my back, then sighs. “Alright. Let’s go, 101.”

He turns and walks toward the door. I follow behind him, but just before he exits the cell, he spins fast and backhands me across the face. It’s so hard, and so unexpected, I fall to my knees.

Blinking heavily, dazed and almost seeing stars, I hang my head forward for a moment before looking up at him. I glare in his direction, and the asshole has the nerve to give me that goddamn smirk again.

“Sorry. Now we’re even,” he says, reaching out and grabbing me by the arm to haul me to my feet.

There’s so fucking much I want to say; curse at him, scream in his face, call him a cunt. Remind him that he did fucking hit me already, right after I hit him, so that would’ve made us even. And there’s so much I want to do; lunge at him, headbutt him again, or do a cool jump-kick to his fucking face.

But I can’t do any of that. I’m cuffed, and he’s in charge.

He’s John Chevelle, head C.O. of Alabaster Penitentiary. I’m just inmate 101.

I move my jaw around for a moment, the heat on my face causing a pretty noticeable burn in my cheek. He motions for me to follow him, which I try to do.

And then he hits me again, harder this time. Open-palm, right to the side of my head.

I don’t fall, but my body flings right and I expect to see little birds floating around my head, like in the Looney Tunes.

“Fuck,” I grunt, immediately squaring up to him. I can’t help it. This guy’s gonna get stabbed. I don’t care if I don’t have my hands, or a weapon.

I’ll find a way.

Velle isn’t afraid of me at all. He just stands there, arms crossed over his chest, waiting for me to make a move so he can retaliate. Beat me some more, probably, and then send me back to solitary.

The idea flickers again. Maybe I should go back to solitary…

No. What the fuck are you talking about?? They starve you down there. You get tased and raped.

You get raped up here, too, moron.

I shake my head a bit to shut the damn noise up. Velle is giving me a look that I don’t understand. It’s as if he’s waiting for something. He knows something…

Maybe he knows about Officer Kemper. Velle knows everything in this place. He probably knows what Kemper’s been doing to me. Now he’s taunting me by attacking me, knowing if I fight back, he can send me down there to be tormented some more.

While I’m thinking about this, recovering from the throbbing at the side of my face, Velle send a right hook into my gut. An oof leaves my lips as I curl at the waist, all the wind having been knocked right the fuck out of me. I cough a few times, wishing I had my hands to cradle my stomach. The hit was so hard I feel like I might have internal bleeding.

“Fuck you, suka,” I hiss, breathlessly.

Velle laughs. “Remember this, 101. You and I are not fucking even.” He grabs my face and jerks me hard so I’m looking at him. “I’m in charge. You’re my bitch. I own you.”

I’m grinding my teeth into damn dust as I scowl at him, wanting nothing more than to spit in his goddamn face.

“Say it,” he demands. His hand moves to his Taser.

“You own me,” I seethe, tightening my fist over and over to stop myself from reacting. Velle lifts his brows in anticipation, and I take a deep breath. “I’m your bitch.”

He smacks me gently on the cheek then straightens me up. “Perfect. That’s wonderful to hear, inmate. Now, let’s go get you something to eat.”

He drags me out of the cell, and I wince at the pain. My stomach doesn’t feel bad now that I can breathe again, but my face is throbbing. It sucks. I hope I don’t have a mark.

Velle is walking fast, ahead of me up the row of cells toward the five different doors that will take us to the cafeteria, so I jog to catch up. I’ve decided that despite how much I want to strangle this asshole, maybe now that he got his revenge, he’ll answer a question I’ve been wondering for weeks now.

“Hey, so what happened to Darcey?” I ask, walking at his side.

His eyes dart in my direction. “Why do you care?”

“I’m just curious,” I shrug. “He was next to me in solitary, then they moved him, and I haven’t seen him since.”

“Well, I know this may come as a shock to you, inmate, but the whereabouts of other prisoners isn’t exactly your fucking business.”

He speaks so casually, even when he’s being a motherfucking asshole of biblical proportions.

“You know, I’d say get dicked, but I don’t think that’s the problem with you,” I mutter, walking ahead of him. He slows down as we approach one of the doors, and I turn to see what the holdup is. He just stares at me, smirking. “What?”

He nods at the door. “Go ahead. Try it.”

My brow lines in confusion, but I use my arm to push on the door. Naturally it doesn’t budge. No surprise there.

Then Velle steps forward and pushes the door. It opens right up.

“Remember your place here, 101. You’re a number, not a person. You don’t get to ask questions, you don’t get to talk shit, or try to fight back. You do what we say, or you fucking die. End of story.”

Velle saunters past me through the doorway. And I follow him the rest of the way to the cafeteria in silence.

At dinner, I sit by myself. I’m not sure why, but I just feel like being alone. After that whole thing with Velle, my mood is at an all-time low. I hate being pushed around and disregarded as a piece of shit.

I’m not an overly cocky person, because being that way doesn’t benefit me at all. But I also know I have some good qualities. I’m really good at doing paint jobs on people’s sweet rides. I’m even better at stealing hundreds of thousands of dollars from financial institutions. I make a mean grilled cheese sandwich.

I’m not garbage. I have things to offer.

But in here I’m trash. Lower than trash. I’m something that exists only to be used up then discarded. That’s my only earthly purpose anymore, and there was only one other instance when I felt like that in my life. It’s not something I want to repeat.

Unfortunately for me, my quiet time of internal reflection is cut short when Ren and Kang come over to my table and plop down with their trays.

“Hi, Dascha,” Ren sings in a perfectly pleasant tone, as if the last time we interacted I wasn’t pummeling his face with my fists while he laughed like an unbridled whacko.

I glance up at him, but only for a second before going back to my stale chicken nuggets, which I’m guessing have been in a freezer since the nineties.

“Hey, man,” Kang says, and my eyes flick to him.

I murmur, “Sup,” because it’s not like he did anything to me, though him and Ren seem like a package deal sometimes, which still confuses me.

“Where’s Luthor?” Ren asks, looking around frantically. His tone is nothing short of distraught.

While I could enjoy his turmoil for a second or two more, I decide to tell him. “I’m not sure, but Velle said he’d be here for dinner.”

“Is he alright?” He leans in on the table, eyes wide and glistening with unease.

“I think he’s fine,” I offer, though I’m in no position to tell him that. I have no clue what’s happening to Luthor right now, a notion that tightens my chest.

This place doesn’t feel right without Luthor.

“Just try to eat,” Kang nudges Ren’s arm. “I’m sure he’s helping Joy with something.”

“Does that happen?” I ask.

“Sometimes,” Kang glares at me. “He’s been here a while, so they tend to trust him with things.”

My eyes flick to Ren. “Haven’t you been here longer?”

Ren bites his lip and his eyes fall to his plate. He starts picking at some skin around his fingernails, incessantly. It’s making me uncomfortable just watching it. He’s going to make himself bleed.

“Who took Luthor?” Kang jumps in, redirecting the conversation.

I lift a brow at Ren for a moment, before answering Kang. “Velle. It was right after the showers.”

“He’s been gone all day?” Ren breathes, then shakes his head over and over. “If they did anything to him, it’ll be their goddamn funeral.” His eyes lift to mine. “I have ties to the Cosa Nostra.”

“What?? Really?” I’m stunned, for many reasons. My eyes bounce to Kang, who’s staring at his food, poking it with his finger.

“Yea. I don’t like to talk about it much, but I’ve got a lot of connections on the outside,” Ren whispers. “Get me a cell phone and they’ll all be sorry.”

“Ren,” Kang barks, quietly. “Eat your fucking food. I’m sure he’s fine.”

I can’t help but stare at them, wondering what the hell is going on here. I’m so lost.

We sit in silence for a few minutes, picking at our food, until the cafeteria doors burst open and Joy comes ambling in, dragging Luthor along with her. He’s cuffed by his wrists and ankles, but other than that he looks normal.

Ren almost jumps out of his seat, but forces himself to stay down, watching Luthor’s every move anxiously. Joy removes all his cuffs then points at one tray of food they held aside for him. We all stare at him as he grabs it and walks over to our table, taking a seat beside me.

He sighs and picks up one of the chicken nuggets, frowning at it. “No ketchup? This is bogus.”

“Are you alright?!” Ren practically shouts, and Luthor looks up at him, startled. Ren clears his throat. “I mean, Dash was worried. No one would tell us where you were.”

“You just found out he was gone,” I grin at Ren, who gives me a look.

Luthor chuckles. “I’m fine. They needed help with the server in the East wing. Apparently, there’s some storm coming, and they’ve been having trouble with it.”

“So they asked you?” Kang looks as surprised as I’m sure we’re all feeling.

“The Warden was there,” Luthor shrugs. “Obviously they told me if I fuck anything up, they’ll feed me to the sharks, so I just did what they said, under surveillance of course.”

My eyes widen. “Sharks??”

“You were in the East wing?” Kang gasps as they all ignore me. “Did you…”

“Yea,” Luthor answers him. “I saw O’Malley. Well, I passed by his room. They’re examining him… I’m not sure what they’re doing. My guess is they have Darcey down there, too.”

“Really?” I lean in, interested in what’s going on with Darcey. Not that we’re friends or anything, but he got me through my first time in solitary. I was hoping he wasn’t dead.

“I overhead a couple guards talking about how they’re sending some fancy psych doctor out here for Darcey,” Luthor goes on. “They were all pissed off because they barely have funding to fix the plumbing, but they can spend all kinds of money on bringing in some asshole to study The Carver like he’s a science project.”

“Makes sense,” Ren says. “He’s a high-profile inmate. They had me in there when I first arrived, tied to a slab like a mental patient.”

He fiddles with his fingers again while I narrow my gaze at him, wondering what the fuck he’s talking about. I open my mouth to say something about it, but Luthor elbows me. I shoot him a look, though he’s paying me no attention, watching Ren with concern in his eyes.

“Hey,” Luthor says, and Ren looks up. “I’m alright. I was just there to help them, that’s it.”

Ren lets out a quiet breath and nods. “I wasn’t worried. Dash was.”

My forehead lines as I gape across the table. The guy is a fucking loon. I’m not usually the one giving this look to people, but I’m just so confused.

Luthor laughs softly and slings an arm around my shoulder. “Aww, Dash! You were worried about lil old me?” I roll my eyes and he chuckles again, taking a bite of his nugget, pulling a face. “God. This is fucking gross.”

We all laugh together after that, and I can’t ignore how much better I’m feeling than before. At least Luthor is okay. This place is completely fucked, but I think the less time I spend trying to make sense of it all, the more I’ll be able to just ride this out. It’s hard living each day without knowing what will happen in the next, especially for me. I like to have a plan.

When everything is out of control, I can feel it. Like a black twister that spins and spirals around me, making a mess of all the things I’ve tried to tidy up since Dad left. It’s a hectic sort of unease that vibrates me. I don’t like it.

My eyes slide to the cafeteria doors while the guys talk. Their voices blend into the background as I watch those doors, wondering if I’ll see that pair of dark eyes.

I don’t. And I should be glad about that.

43 days in

The lights flicker. Looking up, I catch it happening once more.

There have been a whole slew of brutal storms sweeping across the East coast in the last two weeks. The first one happened two days after they had Luthor help with the control room stuff. It lasted two days, then about three days later there was another storm that lasted almost a full day. And now there’s this one, which started yesterday and is still going strong.

The only way we know anything is happening outside is from the power occasionally going out. Darkness in this place is especially dark. We haven’t lost it for more than a couple minutes so far, but tonight’s storm seems to be the harshest one. We can vaguely hear the wind outside, billowing and whipping against the old building.

That and of course we have to listen to the C.O.’s complaining about the weather nonstop. I don’t know what they’re bitching about. It’s not like they have to deal with sleeping in the freezing cold, leaking ceilings and loss of hot water for showers. They live a couple miles away in a mansion.

“It’s gonna be hard to read if the lights go out,” I mutter, turning the page of the worn copy of The Shining I borrowed from Ren. It’s one of only about five books in the entire prison, which is kind of a travesty. The Shining is great, but I’ve already read it. I suppose I’ll have to get used to re-reading until someone scores a new book.

“Don’t remind me,” Luthor answers from above. “I won’t be able to fiddle with this shit in the dark.”

Last week Luthor came upon some old computer parts. It wasn’t much, and he didn’t tell me how he managed to acquire them, but it’s a good project for him. He’s been tinkering with them for days.

We hear commotion and I immediately tuck my book away under my pillow, sitting up in bed. Footsteps clunk, doors cling and clang, which means they’re getting the next group for dinner. The heavy steps that approach our cell end up belonging to Velle, reminding me of how long it’s been since I’ve heard the heavy steps of another giant tattooed guard.

After that night, two weeks ago, I haven’t so much as peeped Officer Kemper. I guess he’s just sticking to solitary, which should be a relief. It isn’t really, though, because it makes me feel even more exploited. For some reason, him using me in an ongoing fashion seems more respectful than using me a few times before discarding me like a worn-out jockstrap. It doesn’t make all that much sense, but my insecurities are getting the best of me.

I don’t want him, and I don’t want him to want me. But I also don’t seem to want him to not want me. It’s very confusing.

Velle brings us to the cafeteria where we get our food and get settled, like usual. Kang comes to sit with us, and I can sense Luthor checking for Ren, going for secretive. We hear a familiar laugh and our heads spring right to find Ren sitting at a table with some other inmates I don’t know too well. I’ve seen them around, but we don’t converse, so I don’t remember their names. But there’s Ren, chatting them up like we’re in a goddamn country club or something, and I can feel Luthor seething at my side.

Unfortunately, I’m not skilled in offering advice, and we all end up eating quietly, shooting the occasional glance in Ren’s direction. For someone who’s obviously enamored with Luthor, he doesn’t seem very concerned with that right now. More proof that I have no clue what the hell is going on between them.

Suddenly, the lights above our heads dim, and we all look around. Then they go out completely. There’s still lighting from the back-up generator, leaving us with a dulled glow, but it’s much darker than it’s supposed to be in here.

And everybody goes fucking nuts.

There’s shouting, hooting and hollering coming from every direction. A few inmates stand, and one guy even jumps up on the table. I have a potent urge to cover my ears. The noise is overwhelming.

“Shut the fuck up!” Velle barks and cocks his gun.

That does it. Everyone is immediately silenced.

Velle glares at the guy on the table until he slinks down, tail between his legs.

Our heads pivots to the rest of the guards, all of whom have their guns out. There’s no chance of a riot. They’ve got us surrounded, and they’re all armed. We’d be stupid to make a move, even if there are a few more of us than them.

“Alright, you worthless cretins. I don’t want to hear another word until we get your sorry asses back to your cells,” Joy chimes in.

She’s like a mini Velle. Jesus.

“This isn’t going to be a thing,” Velle says, his tone much easier than Joy’s, though no one believes that he isn’t exactly as aggressive as she is. “You have two minutes to finish your food and we’re bringing you all back.”

“Well, that sucks,” Kang sighs. “Waste of a power outage if you ask me.”

“How is this any different from lights out?” Luthor chuckles. “We’ll just go to sleep earlier.”

“Not all of us like sleeping as much as you, weirdo,” I grin, and Kang points at me in agreement.

“I’m just saying. It would’ve been cool to stay in here, maybe light some candles. Tell a few ghost stories.” Kang attempts to make spooky ghost sounds while Luthor and I stare at him like he’s insane.

“They’d never give us candles,” Luthor mutters. “Not with Ren around.”

“Why? Is he like a pyro or something?” I look between both of them.

Rather than answering me, they each peek in the direction of Ren and his little friends, who are not so little. They’re actually giant dudes, and Ren’s standing there, lifting up his shirt to show them some tattoo on his hip.

“He’s out of control,” Kang mumbles, to which I nod.

“Just let him do his thing,” Luthor insists, though he doesn’t sound enthusiastic about it. “This is him. Guys like that need to be in here. He couldn’t function out in the world.”

“That’s pretty fucked up,” I reply, and Luthor shrugs.

“If he wants to get spit-roasted by a different pair of degenerates every night, that’s his prerogative. I just don’t want him trying to drag me into his madness.”

This whole conversation is depressing as hell, and all I want in the world right now is to do something fun with my friends, if you could call them that. I can’t even remember the last time I had fun. I’m twenty-five, for fuck’s sake. I’m supposed to be out in the world, fucking shit up and having a good time.

I stand up slowly, noticing that the guards are gathering everyone to go back. I see Rook heading our way and my idea begins to fortify itself in my mind.

“Hey, when I give you guys the signal, follow me,” I whisper to Luthor and Kang.

Luthor’s brows zip. “What the hell are you talking about? What signal?”

“Just wait for me to tell you so, then follow me,” I tell them again. “I have an idea.”

“What kind of idea?” Kang sounds unsure.

“Dude, I don’t know what you’re thinking, but not all of us love solitary as much as you,” Luthor gripes.

“Trust me, it’ll work,” I say just as Rook steps over to us.

“Alright, inmates. Let’s go,” Rook instructs us to stand, cuffing each one of us individually. Hands only, which is perfect.

I make note of where the handcuff keys are on his belt, marching forward at his command, out of the cafeteria and onto the long hallway. It’s much darker in here without the main lights, and we’re trying to stick together without simultaneously tripping over one another.

Once we get through the last doorway before the cells, I come to an abrupt stop in front of Rook, causing him to bump into me.

“What the fuck, 101?” Rook grumbles. “Move.”

“Hey, Rook, I was wondering,” I spin slowly, not giving him any room to move away, “If you’d let us hang out for a bit before we go back? Just this once.”

Rook huffs and shakes his head. “No. Move, inmate.”

He tries to push me, but I grind into him instead, moving my lips up to his ear. “I could make it worth your while.”

I can feel how tightly he’s wound already, so chances are me coming onto him could work. But I only need it to work long enough for me to snatch the handcuff keys off his belt. Luthor and Kang are gaping at me from behind him, likely wondering what in the holy fuck I’m doing.

To be honest, I’m not really sure myself. It was a pretty spur-of-the-moment plan, but I have to try. I want to at least take a shot as something fun.

“Reznikov, this won’t work,” Rook murmurs, though a sudden hand appears on my hip. I’m not sure if he’s going to use it to move me, but right now it’s just resting there.

I definitely don’t intend on trading sexual favors with Rook, regardless of whether I think he’s an okay dude. My lines aren’t that blurry yet. I just want to try and sneak away with my friends for a bit and take advantage of the power outage. And I think Rook is exactly the right guard to let us do that.

“What won’t?” I whisper, moving my hands to his belt, though he catches them before I can get there. “Come on, Officer. We just want to hang out for a little. I’ll owe you one.”

His face inches away so he can look at me, eyes dropping to my mouth. It gives me a sinking feeling in my gut, like when you go on over the first drop of a roller coaster. And the thing is that I can’t tell anymore if it means I’m grossed out, or curious.

I swallow hard, and he notices, his broad chest moving up and down with steady breaths. At this point, the way Rook is reacting to me, he might just let us do what I’m asking, without me even needing to steal the handcuff keys.

But then he takes my cuffed hands and moves them down. My eyes stay on his, deep, mossy green, while my fingers reach toward the keys on his belt. I brush right over them, before he pushes my hands into his crotch.

A little fear and a lot of shame sweep me up while he uses my hands to rub his erection right in front of my friends. This plan is going south, and I have no idea what I’m even doing anymore, my face heating up beneath his hungry eyes while he breathes sharply and lusts after my mouth.

“Say I give you what you want,” Rook rumbles into me, his thick shaft rapidly stiffening against my fingers. “When can I cash in on that favor? Because I have to admit, inmate… Your mouth looks goddamn irresistible.”

A chill of morbid elation runs through me at the praise I’m getting from yet another guard. I know I shouldn’t care, and being known for having an irresistible mouth isn’t exactly a calling card you want in prison, but I can’t help it. Right now, I kind of like this attention.

Still, I have no clue how to answer his question. I don’t want to suck his dick. I was bluffing before, only barely coming to terms with thinking he’s attractive. It’s a very different concept to be up close and personal like this.

I open my mouth to speak, but then the opposite door bursts open and Velle steps through, Glock in hand, looking like he’s about to chew someone out.

His eyes narrow as he takes in the scene. Luthor and Kang, handcuffed at the other end of the corridor, while I jerk Rook off over his pants. It’s not really what’s happening, but that’s certainly how it looks, and I can tell from the tension in Velle’s eyes that he’s not pleased about it.

“Officer Samuels,” Velle cocks his head to the side as he lowers his gun. “What seems to be the problem in here?”

For all his credit, Rook looks sort of terrified at this very moment. He’s clearly stunned, staring at Velle as if he suspects he’s about to get his ass kicked, and honestly, I think it’s a strong possibility.

What the fuck on Earth possesses me to do this, I’ll never know, but I decide to speak up on his behalf.

Lifting a shoulder in a mild shrug, I mutter, “I just wanted to see if the rumors were true.”

I’ve never seen Velle shocked, but right now that’s the look I’m getting. And Rook is also gaping at me like I’ve gone completely off the deep end. Maybe I have.

But I’m already down this rabbit hole, so…

“Word around here is that the rookie has the thickest piece,” I keep going. “Just checking it out, I guess.”

Velle steps further into the room, lifting his brow at me. “Is that so, inmate?” It’s obvious from his tone and the look on his face that he doesn’t believe me. I’m so screwed. “Well? What do you think?” He slinks closer to us, eyes darkened in the low light. “Is that a thick enough cock for you?”

At his words, it occurs to me that my hands are still touching Rook’s dick. It’s very damn hard, even though we’ve been caught, which could mean Rook suffers from the same afflictions I do when it comes to inconvenient boners.

I swallow over a throat so scratchy it’s like sandpaper. I might’ve fucked myself over here. I don’t know what Velle’s going to do next, so I simply nod.

“But see, the problem is that you can’t really tell what’s going from outside these pants,” Velle juts his thumb at Rook, as if he’s not an actual human person, but a slab of meat. “They hide so much.” He turns to Rook and calmly instructs, “Take your dick out, Samuels.”

Rook’s face morphs into one of appall, and his cheeks actually flush, visibly, even though it’s dark in here. He shakes his head slowly. “Velle, I don’t—”

“That’s Officer Chevelle,” he hisses. “I’m your superior, and you will do as I say. Now, take your fucking cock out so Reznikov here can have a better look.”

Rook glances at me, almost apologetically, which is crazy since I got him into this. Then he unbuckles his belt slowly, unzipping his pants and tugging them down just enough to get his dick out. It’s hard, though not completely rock solid. Still, it’s long and thick, with visible veins and a fat tip.

I wish I could say I’m terrified of it, but unfortunately for me it’s not the scariest dick I’ve been presented with recently, a revelation that has me wondering what the fuck is going on in my life.

Velle, on the other hand, looks like he’s really trying to remain unaffected by what’s happening, but his eyes won’t let him as they slide down to Rook’s exposed erection. I witness his Adam’s apple bob in his throat before his fiery gaze comes back to me.

“What do you think now, 101?” His voice is a low growl that zips up my spine. “It’s a good dick, right?” I nod, but of course he’s not satisfied now that I opened up this goddamn box. “Why don’t you get a closer look…”

Rook stutters, “I don’t think that’s—”

“Shut up, Officer,” Velle snaps, then shoves me onto my knees.

I crash down with a thud, my breathing picking up more and more by the second. I can’t see around Rook’s thick body to find out how Luthor and Kang are reacting to this, which is probably a good thing. I’m sure they’re just as horrified as I am. And it’s all my fault, so I don’t really qualify to be upset about it.

Rook’s hard cock is right in front of my face, and I don’t know what to do. I don’t want to do what I think Velle’s going to make me do. It was one thing when Kemper made me do it. We were all alone, in solitary. No one knew, and I could hide it from the world.

But this is different. This is two guards I have to see every day, my cellmate and another prisoner. My friends, even.

The shame heats my blood and sends it pumping directly to my cock, which is so not how I need to be reacting to this. I close my eyes and try to ignore it, but then Velle reaches down and grabs Rook’s dick in his hand, shoving it to my mouth.

I pull my head away, but he takes the back of my head in his other hand and forces me closer.

“Go on, inmate,” Velle hums. “Give the rookie a sample of those pouty lips.”

“No. Please…” I mutter, unsure of what to say and trying to keep my mouth closed at all costs.

“Open up, inmate,” Velle orders, sounding as sinister as I’ve ever heard him. “You made it clear you didn’t want to do this for me, and yet here you are, locked away in a dark corridor, examining my Officer’s cock. You’re pretty confusing, you know that, Dascha?”

I seethe quietly, keeping my lips zipped, for fear that parting them will allow him time to make his move. But my eyes are still open, and what I see is Velle’s large hand fisted around Rook’s cock, building to a gradual stroke.

Rook’s breaths are uneven, and audible in the small space we’re in together. I can’t keep my eyes off what’s happening right in front of my face; Velle’s hand jerking, slow yet vigorous. And I can’t say it’s not making me exponentially harder just from watching.

“Have you been buying him things, Harley?” Velle whispers in Rook’s ear while pumping his cock, harder and harder. “Has he opened up for you already, like that little slut Xavier?”

“No. No, I swear,” Rook breathes, then leans his head back into Velle. “I never touched him.”

“You mean this slut,” Velle rumbles, and I can’t even be bothered by the fact that he just called me a slut. I’m too busy watching Rook’s dick, the tip glistening as Velle runs his thumb underneath, prompting a soft sound from the back of Rook’s throat. “Because I already know you’ve dumped your fair share of cum into Ren’s mouth.”

“Jesus, Velle,” Rook gasps, then Velle lets go of my head and brings his left hand up to Rook’s throat.

“Tell me the truth, Harley,” Velle demands, squeezing until Rook’s cheeks turn even redder.

“Yes… Ren sucked me off, but that’s it,” Rook answers, hips pushing into Velle’s hand, fucking it in front of my eyes. My own cock is so hard it’s trying to escape my pants.

“How many times?” Velle asks, his hand speeding up.

“Twice.”

“You promise?”

“Yes, yes. I promise.”

“Was he the only one?”

“Yes. He offered, and I took it. I didn’t know…” He trails into a moan when Velle pushes himself against Rook’s back.

Velle is working Rook’s cock like a madman, fingers curling down to hold his balls, while he grinds himself into Rook’s ass from behind. I know I should move. I totally could now that I’m not being held in place, but I’m stuck.

I can’t move a muscle. All I can do is watch and listen to the sounds of two men fooling around in front of me.

“You’re supposed to be mine. Remember?” Velle growls, then licks Rook’s ear, the sight of which reminds me of two weeks ago… with Kemper.

“I am,” Rook groans, his body quivering visibly. “I thought I… I’m… Fuck, Velle, I’m gonna come.”

Velle’s eyes snap to mine, and in a split second he gives me a choice. And my body acts on its own to decide.

I open my mouth and slide it over the fat head of Rook’s cock, sucking a little while Velle jerks him into my mouth, faster for all of two seconds before he comes.

“Fuck… yes… Jesus Christ, holy fuck…” Rook pants, hoarse from Velle’s hand around his throat while his dick pulses out streams of salty liquid onto my tongue.

It spurts out against and again, filling the back of my throat while I swallow it down. My cock twitches in my pants, like it did the time with Kemper, though this feels slightly different.

I chose to do this. I wasn’t forced. And while it was a fascinating experience, it didn’t get me as hard as the time that Kemper forced me.

Even so, I just swallowed yet another load of cum, and this time it was my choice, in a way. What the fuck is happening to me in this place??

When Rook finishes coming, I pop off and stand myself up on shaky legs. Rook’s heavy breaths echo around us, and Velle sounds a bit spent himself. He and Rook stare at each other for a few generous moments, before fixing themselves up and getting back to business.

Velle clears his throat and stomps toward the door where a shell-shocked Kang and Luthor are standing, both with visible wet spots on their pants.

My jaw tightens as I swallow over and over, Rook’s cum tasting like guilt on my tongue.

Velle grabs Luthor and Kang and opens the door, but before he goes, he turns back to Rook. “Take him to solitary.”

The lights in solitary are almost all out, and the power still hasn’t come back on.

Rook brings me down in silence, the awkward tension between us heavy like a weighted blanket. He hands me off to one of the other guards who’s using a flashlight to see, then storms away without glancing at me once.

I feel like a fucking moron for what I did. Rook is the nicest guard here, and I pissed him off.

Now I really feel like a piece of trash. And this is exactly where trash belongs; in the dump.

It’s all wet and mildewy down here from the rain. Thankfully, the guard puts me in Darcey’s cell again, so at least I’m not on the floor, though there is water leaking from somewhere. I can hear it. And with the lights in the corridor out, I can’t see shit. It’s fucking terrifying.

Lying down on the bed, I try not to think about how much I’ve fucked up, but the voices are loud and I’m cringing so much I’m getting cramps. Curling up into a ball, I try to ignore the noise, rubbing my cock slowly. It’s still hard from before, and the guilt is making me feel strange.

Eventually I pass out, reopening my eyes to light.

Blinking a few times, I glance around at the dull glow happening beside me. There are lit candles in here now. Rubbing my eyes, I sit up, observing three candles, one in each corner of the room. And when I look toward the door, I see Officer Kemper, the shadow man, leaning up against it.

I don’t know what to say, so I stay quiet for a moment, just staring at him. He looks exactly the same as he did last time I saw him, which is to be expected of course. It’s only been two weeks, but honestly, I’d gone from seeing him every few days to not seeing him for a bit. I actually thought maybe he’d left Alabaster.

I’m not relieved that he’s still here. No, that’s not the word. Just indifferent.

He strides over to me, stopping at the end of the bed. Tilting my face, I peer up at his tall, large frame, sandy hair mussed up, stubble overgrown just enough to give him a rugged look along his jaw, not that he needs it. His jawline is dynamic, just like the rest of his lines.

And then there are the eyes. Those deep orbs of blackish-blue. They remind me of pain and power, two things that so often go together.

I’m not sure if he’s ever going to speak, so I decide to go first.

“Long time no see.” My voice is rough.

He doesn’t answer, or react much, other than blinking. We stare at each other for another few seconds before he takes a seat next to me on the bed. My awareness is immediately heightened, and although I’m not as afraid of him as I was before, I’m still on alert. The truth is, I don’t know how I feel about seeing him. It’s a strange sensation, in between relief and disgust. If it weren’t for Officer Kemper, I’d have no idea I could feel these things together.

“Why are you here, 101?” He finally speaks, tone careful, voice more like a low growl from an animal who’s about to attack you.

I take a breath before answering. “I really have no clue.”

He smiles, unleashing the colors early this time. His teeth are straight and white, surrounded by the pinkness of his lips, and the rays that come from his smile. He’s an entire color palette.

“I like that,” he says through his bright grin, fingers twitching where his hands rest on his own thighs. It catches my attention briefly before I peek back up at him.

Gritting my teeth, I remind myself of the proper feelings to have in this situation. “I don’t care what you like.”

He huffs a small chuckle. “So temperamental. I care what you like, Luscious.”

“Is that so?” I lift my brow and he nods. “Well, I don’t like being called Luscious.” His grin widens, wickedly, reminding me of the Big Bad Wolf. “And I don’t like being tased.”

“Cost of business,” he shrugs.

“That makes no sense,” I lean back against the wall, keeping some distance between us. He obviously notices it because he turns his face to watch me closer.

Ignoring him, I close my eyes, though I can feel him staring at me. It’s heavy and hot, and it suffocates me a bit. But I’d be lying if I said it didn’t intrigue me.

“Let me touch you…” he whispers at my side, that wintergreen smell mixing with the scent of him; clean, like the soap he gave me, with a hint of something else I can’t identify.

“No,” I protest, though a part of me knows it’s futile to resist. It’ll happen whether I want it to or not, and there’s some strange new comfort in that.

“That wasn’t a request,” he rasps, surprising no one with that remark.

I open my eyes and turn my head a bit, catching his gaze for only a split second before he stands up. He begins unbuttoning his shirt and my pulse speeds up like an instinct.

My mouth runs, since I can’t think of what else to do right now. “I thought maybe you’d disappeared or something…” I stop and swallow as he shrugs out of his shirt. “You know, because I didn’t see you for a while…”

“Did that upset you?” His head tilts, and I simply stare up at him with wide eyes. I really don’t want to give him the satisfaction of me looking at his shirtless torso, but it’s a very wide plane of muscle, a majority of it covered in ink.

Arms, shoulders, chest, abs… that V-shape in his pelvis. There are muscles everywhere, and more tattoos than I’d be able to count. He’s more ink than man. Well, not really. There’s a lot of man.

I blink. “No. I don’t care. I’m just making conversation.”

He leans over me and I back up. “No more talking, Dascha. The only words I want to hear from you are about how fucking good I’m making you feel. Do you understand?”

My blood rushing in my ears almost drowns him out. My palms are sweaty, and I can’t conjure up what to say or do next. So I nod, because that’s easy.

No more talking.

What will he do to make me feel good…?

I almost ask, but he said not to talk, and some deranged part of me wants to listen to him.

He grabs the hem of my shirt and lifts it over my head, tossing it onto the bed. Then he yanks my pants down a bit, pausing when he sees that I’m wearing the boxer briefs he gave me.

His eyes melt into mine, the blue evolving into a deep catacomb of swirling midnight sky.

He tugs the pants down the rest of the way, my heart thumping like crazy as he stops to stare at my body, taking in a deep breath and letting it out evenly.

“You look delicious in these, baby. Just like I knew you would.”

My brain urges me to protest. To keep fighting despite how badly my body wants one of those killer orgasms he drags out of me right about now.

“I-I’m not your baby,” I croak, the hesitation clear in my tone.

He completely ignores me, crawling over me deliberately to press a soft kiss on my sternum. I gulp, fingers digging into the bed on both sides. I’m not even fucking cuffed, and I’m letting him do it.

No. No no no, you have to stop this.

You’re not gay. Even if you’re curious, this is too fast. It’s too much.

I squirm and he senses my trepidations immediately, kneeling over me to hold me down, pinning my wrists with his hands.

“Don’t get shy on me now, Dascha,” he croons. “You were doing so well.”

“I don’t want this,” I whisper my go-to phrase.

“Yea, you say that a lot,” he calls me out, taking cuffs off his holster. “But then you purr when you come, like a happy little kitten. So what should I believe, Luscious? Your words, or your actions?”

My lips are shivering. “Don’t cuff me. Please. I’ll be good.”

He lets out a ragged breath, blinking slowly. “God… if you want to make me come in my pants, by all means keep saying things like that.”

My dick jerks hard between my legs, and I gulp. He scoots off me then, saying nothing else, flips me onto my stomach. The fact that my ass is now available to him severely tenses me up. I think he can feel it, because he runs his large hands down my shoulder blades and whispers, “Relax.”

He cuffs my hands behind my back and pulls my hips so that I’m on my knees, face buried in the bed. He proceeds to lower my Calvins, slowly, until my ass is exposed and I’m vibrating with fear, shame and desire, all mixed up together like a potent cocktail.

I don’t understand why I’m feeling so needy… I’ve never wanted to be in this position before. I don’t like him. I don’t want him. He’s still forcing this…

Right?

“Dascha… my sweet sweet taste of candy.” He crawls behind me, running his hands up to hold my ass in two handfuls.

“Please don’t…” I whimper into the bed.

I’m fucking scared. I don’t want this, but I think I’m letting him do it. It’s so goddamn confusing I could cry.

But just when I expect to hear him unbuckle his belt, when I think he’s going to forcefully fuck me hard in the ass because that’s what rapists do, he drops a delicate kiss on me. The warmth of his breath actually surprises me. This isn’t the sensation I was expecting.

His lips trail the crack of my ass while he leaves gentle kisses all over my skin, humming as he goes. Then he pushes me forward a bit, a hard shove until my face is smooshed into the thin blanket, and spreads my cheeks. I swallow down all the saliva filling my mouth as he opens me wide with his firm hands, then kisses me there… In between.

Jesus Christ, what the fuck is happening?

My face is hotter than Satan’s fireplace. I can feel the shame spreading up my neck like wildfire while he nestles his mouth in my ass and kisses, above, below, and finally on it, like a bullseye. He’s fucking kissing my asshole.

“Guhh…” I think I wanted to say something, but it comes out unintelligible.

And before I can try again, he swipes his tongue over my hole; one strong lick that has me gasping out loud. His mouth is warm and wet as he goes in for another taste, licking in circles, around and around, flattening his tongue and using his lips to suck.

“Fuck… what are you doing…?” I squirm beneath him, but he holds me still with a big hand pressing down on my lower back, his mouth buried in my ass while he goes to town.

He stops long enough to say, “I’m going to make you come from eating your ass out, baby.” Then he licks, kisses and sucks a few more times, before asking, “Is that okay?”

My brain is scrambled. I wouldn’t know how to use any other words if I tried. The only one available to me is, “Yes.”

“Good,” he rumbles into me from behind. “Now, relax your tight little hole so I can stick my tongue inside.”

The cold air of the room stings my heated flesh, already sticky with sweat as I try to relax. I want to know how this feels. There’s no way I can stop now. I’m riding this train all the way to Hell.

Kemper forces his tongue into my asshole and as he does, I relax even more, wanting to see how much he can do it; to see how far it can go. It’s the most incredibly bizarre thing I’ve ever felt, but when he swirls it around, then sucks at the same time, I go cross-eyed.

“Mmm… You have such a sweet little pussy, Dash,” he growls, his tongue lashing me steadily harsh.

My face is on fire. The shame inside me at his words turns my dick into a fucking metal pole. It’s so hard I can feel the veins throbbing, head pulsing out precum. I need some sort of friction, but he’s holding my hips back, so I can’t even grind into the bed.

“You like how I eat your pussy, baby?” He holds my ass so rough I’m sure I’ll have bruises. But I don’t care.

God it feels amazing. I had no idea it could feel this way. I didn’t know such degrading words could turn me on so damn much.

Maybe he’s really imagining he’s eating a girl out, and not me. Maybe he wants me to be a woman because he’s ashamed that he likes dudes. I won’t say I don’t understand, because in this moment, I’m letting a giant, muscular tattooed guy do something to me I never in a million years thought I’d want.

And I’m like two seconds from coming.

“Fuck… fuck fuck fuck…” I moan into the bed while he licks lines up and down my taint, from my balls up and back.

He sucks my balls between his soft lips, then goes for my ass again, his spit lubricating the fuck out of me. It’s so goddamn dirty I know I’m going to come soon. I can feel it rushing closer and closer.

“Baby, I’m gonna take my dick out, okay?” He gasps. “I won’t fuck you, but I need to come on your ass.”

I mumble something I don’t even understand into the blanket while his belt clinks and his zipper descends, all the while his tongue is teasing the fuck out of my ass, pushing inside me and stroking in ways I never thought a tongue could.

I know as soon as he has his dick out because I can hear him beating it, fast, and he’s grunting into my asshole. Dirty, devious words of pure perversion leave his lips, flowing directly inside my body…

I love eating you, baby… I love tasting your sweet hole. You taste like sugar, Dascha. Your tight little pussy loves to be licked, and sucked, doesn’t it? I can’t wait until the day you let me shove my aching cock inside you…

I cry out a jagged noise as my orgasm overtakes me, and I come, aggressively, onto the blanket. My dick throbs and aches for what feels like hours, jets of cum soaking everything. And I don’t give a single fuck because it feels divine.

The world is bright, and everything is in slow motion.

Kemper takes his mouth away from me, panting, “I’m gonna come, baby.”

And I feel the head of his dick, right at my entrance. A small frisson of fear runs through me at the thought that he might just shove it inside. My toes curl.

But instead I feel him come on my asshole, the warm liquid shooting out to coat me. He presses himself right up to my hole while he releases, the head pushing into me enough that I can feel his cum squirting inside. The very beginning of his dick is nudging my asshole right now, and he’s blowing his load into me. Just the tip… Just enough.

The dirtiness of it causes my balls to throb, a little more cum leaking out of my cock.

When the world finally starts moving again, Kemper’s large hands massage my ass cheeks. I feel him undoing my cuffs, rubbing my wrists, my arms, my shoulders. He lays me on my side, and I’m so out of it, I barely notice that he’s cleaning me up. He has wet cloths that smell clean, and he uses them to wipe my stomach, then my ass. The shame is on the edge of my consciousness, but I can’t reach it right now.

I’m in a blinding daze, like a thick fog draping around me.

Kemper pulls my boxers up, then my pants. I blink my heavy lids, expecting to hear him leave. But instead he crawls behind me, the small bed dipping at his monstrous weight. He drapes a large arm around my waist and pulls me flush against him.

It’s disturbing that we’re doing this. I don’t want to cuddle with a man. I shouldn’t want to cuddle with him. It must look ridiculous… Two large men over six feet, snuggling on what’s basically a cot.

But he’s warm, and it’s actually comfortable. His minty breaths tickling the nape of my neck remind me of when he shaved my head… how his fingers brushed me there.

It occurs to me that neither of us have our shirts on, but I’m not cold. I’m eased in serenity, though I don’t understand it.

It’s not right, but it feels like it is.

“Callum,” he whispers from behind me while I doze.

“Hm?” My fingers reach up to touch his arm.

“My name… is Callum. Cal.”

A smile tugs at my lips. “Nice to meet you, Cal.” He chuckles, and it vibrates into my back. “You’re such a fucking freak,” I breathe, fully sated in every sense of the word as I drift away.

He presses a kiss at the base of my skull. “I am what you are…”

I fell asleep for a moment.

I shouldn’t have. I’m at fucking work, but after that intense orgasm, and the appeal of just holding him in quiet warmth, there was no way I could fight it.

Unfortunately, my slumber of contentment is disrupted by the kid’s nightmare.

At first, I have no idea what’s happening. He’s grumbling in his sleep and squirming. I tighten my arm around his waist, hoping it’ll keep him calm.

It doesn’t. He’s now thrashing about, mumbling things I can’t understand. I sit up slowly by his side, watching while he whimpers, the muscles in his neck straining as his face contorts into something to display his unhappiness with whatever is happening in his polluted mind.

I swallow hard, not liking this one bit. Reaching forward, I touch his damp forehead.

“Dascha,” my hand brushes his temple while he jerks back and forth, eyes slammed shut in duress. “You’re okay. Relax, baby.”

But he doesn’t stop. He keeps going, flinching like he’s having a goddamn seizure. My jaw clamps. I hate watching him in pain like this, and even more, I hate being helpless. It sets my teeth on edge.

I don’t know Dascha Reznikov well, but I’ve been thinking about him for a while now, and it’s safe to say I’ve become a bit enamored. I’ve learned things from watching him, and even though I know he’s not right, I think he’s perfect. I don’t know what causes these problems he has in his sleep, but I just want to take it all away.

“No!” He roars out loud, swinging his arm toward me. It catches me in the side, and I grunt, grabbing his wrist and trying to contain his outburst. He whines, “You made me do it…” in a rushed mumble I can barely understand. But I pick up his words, and they twist me in the gut.

We were sleeping soundly, peacefully recovering from an intense sexual encounter before this. And now I don’t know what to do to get him back there.

I try grabbing his hand while it flings around and eventually I catch it, clasping it with mine while he mumbles more nonsense. Watching him closely, I wonder what he’s trying to say. I wish I could be in his mind. I wish I could see what he’s seeing.

I just want to know what’s upsetting him so I can fix it.

After several minutes of shuddering, Dash finally stops moving, melting into the bed, the lines in his forehead smoothing as his breaths even out. I lie down next to him again and look over his face, studying the perfect symmetry.

He’s so beautiful. I never knew a man could be beautiful like this.

Dascha looks like a dream, even when he’s having a nightmare. His body is all contoured muscle, like Michael Angelo’s David, and just as pale, with that milky complexion I want to lick all over. His eyes are this brownish green, hazel in its purest form. It reminds me of a camping trip in the forest; waking up at dawn to the sounds of birds chirping, coming out of your tent only to find evergreens and dew-covered moss sprinkling the solid earth, a sunset peeking through the break in the trees.

My thumb grazes the soft flesh of his cheek, and he doesn’t move. He’s probably spent after whatever vexation he was just experiencing. I’d planned on leaving before he got up. Actually, I had no intention of falling asleep in here. He was just so warm…

But now that I know he’s suffering, I can’t let him wake up alone in a cold, dank cell.

I glance at the door, and it appears the power came back on, the lights outside illuminating the corridor once more. Gazing over my candles, they’re almost out, wax having melted all over the floor. I decide that maybe some food and water would be a nice treat for him to wake up to, especially after that terrible nightmare.

Crawling off the bed slowly, I stop and stare as he reaches for me. My chest binds up tight, a contradiction of complex tranquility flooding my insides. He’s sound asleep, and it could just be a reaction but my heart, which this man is now holding captive, is choosing to interpret it differently. It’s desperate for Dascha Reznikov to want it as much as it wants him.

Blinking down at him for several minutes, I watch his bare chest move up and down with calming breaths, pale skin and scattered ink; smooth, no hair, accentuating the curves of his pecs, the small circles of his nipples…

Jesus. I palm my cock over my pants, and it throbs.

I have to go before I get sucked back in, so I tiptoe to the door, leaving the cell as quietly as I can, making my way up toward gen-pop, since the downstairs kitchen won’t have anything but scraps. We feed the prisoners in solitary things that could be considered garbage. It’s definitely fucked up, but I try not to think about it.

Either way, I’m not giving that to Dash. He deserves something better, and if I have to make it for him myself, I will. The cafeteria is quiet, but I can smell something cooking, which is a good sign. I’ll be able to bring him fresh food.

I check my watch. It’s five-thirty in the morning. This place feels every bit as detached from civilization as it is. There are no clocks or calendars anywhere, because they don’t want the inmates to know what day or time it is. It’s really easy for time to pass around here without even noticing. If I didn’t wear a watch, I’d have no fucking clue what time of day it is.

Wandering into the kitchen, I pass a few guards who ignore me, and I ignore them right back. I’m not friends with any of my coworkers. We don’t associate much. I come here, do my job, and leave. That’s it. I don’t care to socialize.

They all do, though. It’s tough living away from the rest of society. This definitely isn’t anyone’s dream job. We all do it because we have limited options.

My fellow correctional officers spend all of their time together. They work alongside one another, then go home to the shared home where we all live and spend more time together. I don’t understand how they do it.

I’m not interested.

I’m a fucking loner. I don’t really like people all that much, so I prefer being on my own. Which makes it all the more confusing that I suddenly can’t seem to stay away from the boy with the hazel eyes; the Russian bank robber who’s stubborn and mouthy and who cries in his sleep.

My chest aches, and I remind myself of what I’m doing. It was really fucking hard staying away from Dash for two weeks, but I did it because I knew I had to. I’m playing a dangerous game, which isn’t something I do.

I don’t have time for games. If I want something, I take it. It’s that simple.

I suppose that’s why I’m in this mess in the first place…

In the kitchen, I see that they’re heating up scrambled eggs. Well, those Egg Beater things, but still. I think Dash would like this. I take a large bowl for him, with a cover to keep it warm, then I pick up a few packages of those little mini muffins, a couple bottles of water and an orange juice. I leave as unseen as I came, making my way back to my dungeon where I belong.

Outside the cafeteria, I pass by Joy Jameson and that new guard, Harley Samuels, who they call Rook. The rookie looks distraught, and Joy appears to be attempting to console him.

I just roll my eyes and ignore them, making my way with my arms full. Those two always have some sort of drama going on, and it’s usually Velle at the center. The dude’s on a power trip, and I don’t have time for that, so I steer clear.

I’m about to reach for the door when something catches my ear.

Dash’s name. Or rather, his number…

“What the hell were you doing with 101, anyway?” Joy asks Rook, and I slink around the corner, keeping myself out of sight while I listen. “After that drama he pulled with Velle a few weeks ago, he’s the last inmate you should be going for.”

“I wasn’t going for him,” Rook murmurs, leaning back against the wall. “He came onto me. He wanted me to let him and his friends hang out or something, last night during the power outage. He was offering me a favor in exchange.”

My stomach sinks and my jaw snaps. Confusion and rage weave through my chest while I hold my breath to listen closely.

“Harley, you’re better than that,” Joy sighs, and Rook runs his fingers through his hair. “What was the first thing I told you when you started? Don’t get involved in trading favors with the inmates. It’s a slippery slope. And with Velle and everything…”

“I know, Joy. I fucking know,” he hisses, keeping his voice down as he looks around. I duck further behind the corner. “I fucked up, alright? I wasn’t thinking. I’ve been so wound up lately, and the next thing I know, he had his hand on my junk.” Wrath grips the back of my neck, slinking behind my eyes to turn my vision red. “That was when Velle walked in.”

“Jesus…” Joy sighs. “What did he do?”

Rook is quiet for a moment, and I have to see his face. I just have to.

I peek around the corner to find him chewing on his lower lip. He looks guilty, and it makes me sick with jealous fury.

There’s a reason I don’t do feelings… Because of shit like this. I don’t know how to handle jealousy. It’s such a nauseating feeling, it makes me want to vomit then punch the concrete walls until my knuckles are bloodied to the bone.

Rook takes a breath and lets it out slowly. “Velle made me take my dick out.”

Joy huffs a laugh of knowing derision and shakes her head. But that’s not my reaction. I’m vibrating in anger so thick it chugs through my veins like molasses.

“He was gonna have Reznikov suck me off I think, but the kid wouldn’t do it.” Some very slight reprieve graces me, until Rook says, “Well, not right away. Velle ended up jerking me off into 101’s mouth, and he swallowed it.” He covers his face and sighs behind his hands. “It was wild.”

A ringing in my ears tones out their voices as Joy says, “Typical Velle.”

They keep talking through their bullshit while I stand there, staring blankly at the wall, blood rushing in my ears. I can hear the vein in my neck pulsing.

He wouldn’t do that, would he?

Thump.

Why not? He’s not yours. He’s a little toy, and toys are made to be played with.

Thump.

He doesn’t even want you. He doesn’t care, and he certainly wasn’t reaching for you. He was reaching for anyone, because he’s just another pretty face on a damaged little slut. He’ll hurt you if you let him, which is exactly what you’re doing.

Thump thump.

You can’t trust Dascha Reznikov.

Minutes pass and I’m still standing in the same place. Joy and Rook have gone and I’m just frozen, quaking in anger and distress.

I feel stupid. Foolish.

I can’t believe I fell for this hot young guy in the first place. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.

How much time do you have?

Squeezing my eyes shut, I bang my head against the wall. This is stupid. Why am I punishing myself when I should be punishing him?

He’s the one who drew me in, with his smooth skin and pretty, deceitful eyes. His perfectly pouty mouth that I thought I was claiming as my own, only for him to drop to his knees and drink the cum of every goddamned guard in this shithole.

I roar and chuck one of the bottles of water against the opposite wall until it smashes, water flying everywhere. I need to move. I need to do something.

I can’t just sit here feeling bad for myself. Something needs to be done.

Dascha needs to be punished for his wayward actions. I don’t care if he doesn’t see it yet. He’s mine, and that means he’s not allowed to go around sucking everyone off in exchange for menial favors. I will not allow him to do that.

Pacing around, my arms still full of his breakfast, I work myself up even more. I’ve done so much for him. I get him things. Why the fuck would he go to Rook? If he needed something, I could have gotten it for him.

He’s acting like that little slut Ren, which is highly disappointing. I thought he was different. He has to be different.

I won’t accept this. That’s not him. I need him to see the error of his ways and bring him back.

Something clicks in my brain, and I remember…

I remember what we did to Ren once, when he first got here. It didn’t help him because he’s irredeemable.

But Dash isn’t. He’s very much teachable. And this could be the perfect way to fix him.

I decide to give Dash his breakfast before I get started on my plan to correct him. Might as well let him enjoy himself for a couple hours. He’s in solitary anyway, so it’s not like he can get into much trouble.

For now, he’s all mine.

I enter the cell to find him awake. He’s still lying on the bed on his back, staring at the ceiling. And a small part of me very briefly feels guilty, because I hadn’t wanted him to wake up alone.

But it’s snuffed right out when I remember that before he came to me last night, he let fucking Rook come in his mouth. He let him…

My teeth grind as I attempt to rein myself in, remembering that I have a wonderful plan that will let my luscious little toy know exactly what he did wrong, and allow him the opportunity to apologize to me. Repeatedly.

Dash peeks at me as I approach him, propping up on his elbows when I take a seat on the bed by his feet.

I fake a smile. “I brought you breakfast.”

Handing over the bowl of eggs and a spoon, I place the rest of his items next to him on the bed, my hand brushing his leg as I do. He looks at me for a moment, shock apparent on his face. His eyes are wide, and I can see so much more green than brown, even those little specks of gold around the pupils, like dandelions in a field.

I swallow subtly, trying not to get carried away in how much I fucking need him to feel the same way I do. It’s hard, but I distract myself from my racing thoughts by tapping my thumb and middle fingertip together to match what I think his pulse feels like.

Tap tap tap tap tap.

It always gets faster when I’m close.

Dash opens the bowl and sniffs the eggs.

“They were warmer before,” I tell him, leaving out the fact that I spent almost an hour planning out his punishment, and that’s why his eggs are cold.

“Thank you,” his voice slinks through the air between us, that deep, raspy sound I like so much.

He sounds like he could be a singer in a rock band. He looks like one, too. And his voice is wonderful. I’ve heard him singing to himself before. He seems to do it without even realizing sometimes, and he always sings a certain song.

It sounds beautiful. Maybe he missed his calling.

All these thoughts continue to swirl while I watch him eat his eggs. He opens the orange juice and drinks the whole thing in two sips, so I make a mental note to bring him OJ in the future.

If he behaves himself.

“You don’t have to stay in here with me while I eat,” he says, giving me a look that seems etched in confusion. “If you have work to do, I mean.”

“All that can wait,” I shift in my seat at the sight of his pink tongue sliding along his bottom lip. “I just want to make sure you’re alright… After last night.”

He freezes for a moment, and I narrow my gaze at him. Does he feel even a tiny bit guilty for what he did with Rook? I suppose if he doesn’t already, he will soon.

“Why do you suddenly care if I’m alright?” He asks, not as snarky as I’m sure he was going for.

“Dascha, I seem to recall you having a wonderful time during most of our interactions, so please stop acting like I’m the Devil,” I grumble at him, remaining firm yet casually indifferent, since I don’t want him to pick up on how irate I am. “Have I not given you nice things you otherwise wouldn’t have been able to access in here?” I lift my brow, and his eyes fall to his food as he nods. “Have I not given you fantastic orgasms better than any you’ve ever felt before?”

A flush of embarrassment creeps up his cheeks, and I have to look away for a second before I tackle him, fuck that tight throat as hard as possible and come all over his pretty face, just to see how damn pink I can make him blush.

Thump.

“Yea, but I didn’t ask for any of it,” he mumbles like the stubborn thing he is, and it makes me smirk.

“Oh, well forgive me,” I croon sarcastically. “What a monster I am. Should I take those boxers off you now? Since, you know, you didn’t ask for them. Or how about the toothbrush?”

“Yea, some good it does me down here,” he snaps.

“It’s not my fault you’re in here,” I shrug. “Why this time, troublemaker?” His eyes widen at me for a moment, but he ignores the question and takes another bite of his food, chewing petulantly, which is fully adorable. “I’ll get you another toothbrush to use down here, Luscious.”

He gives me a fiery look that shoots me right in the groin, then goes back to eating his breakfast in silence. Clearly, he sees my point. I’m good to him, whether or not he wants to admit it right now, and he will appreciate everything I’ve done for him.

Dash finishes his eggs, then eats the mini muffins, rather joyfully. They’re chocolate chip, and I think it’s safe to say he has a sweet tooth because he devours them in seconds flat with a cute little grin on his face the whole time. Once he’s finished eating, he gets up and stretches, wandering around the room and checking out the circles of hardened wax on the floor where the candles melted then burned out.

I’m finding it difficult to concentrate when I’m around him. I think I could exist just fine remaining permanently in his presence. He’s a fascinating creature, moving differently than anyone I’ve seen before; gracefully confident, like a feline. He’s not overly cocky, and he often seems unsure of himself, which could come from lack of self-awareness, yet still, his body works in fluid motions.

In the last month or so of watching him, I’ve noticed some bizarre behaviors. Like his occasional fidgets, glancing around like he’s looking for someone. Sometimes he talks to himself, quietly, and I can’t tell what he’s saying. He also paces a lot when he’s alone, and uses push-ups and sit-ups as something of a stress reliever.

But all these things just make him that much more interesting to me. No one’s perfect, and I believe a person’s imperfections make them into who they are. Otherwise we’d all be the same.

Dash’s humming pulls me out of my thoughts, and I watch while he uses some of the green candle wax to draw a shape on the wall. Shaking myself out of it, my muscles stiffen with frustration. He keeps distracting me with how damn alluring he is, and right now it’s just reminding me of how inconsiderate he is.

Visuals of him on his knees, taking Rook’s load in his perfect mouth jack up my blood pressure about a hundred notches. That’s supposed to be my mouth. After everything I’ve done for the kid, he shouldn’t be allowing anyone else access to him like that.

I need to correct him.

Picking up his empty dish, since leaving it here is like putting down a welcome mat for roaches, I wander to the door, but his voice stops me.

“You’re leaving?” I turn and see him gazing at me, still shirtless. It’s active work not allowing my eyes to drop over his sculpted torso and examine all his strange tattoos.

“I’ll be back with your toothbrush, and some things to help you wash up,” I mutter, then open the cell door. “Put a shirt on. It’s going to get cold.”

Outside the cell, I take a long breath to get my head on straight. I need to focus. Dascha is a distraction, and while he’s one I don’t mind, one I actually enjoy, I can’t allow him to run the show. No matter how many gifts I give him, I won’t be taken advantage of, and I won’t be made out to look foolish either.

I don’t care what anyone else sees when they look at me, but for my own sake, Dascha will fall in line.

I go to the East wing and find one of the exam rooms. I know this one contains the devices we’ve used in the past. I have to rummage around for a few minutes, but eventually I locate what I’m looking for.

I’ve never used it myself, nor have I operated it, but I remember when Velle used it on Ren. It was pretty straightforward, so I double-check that the battery is charged and make my way back to solitary. I won’t be bringing Dascha his toothbrush just yet.

We’ll see how he does with this first.

When I come back into the cell, Dash is still drawing something on the wall with wax. And he’s still shirtless.

He peeks over his shoulder at me, and I lift a brow. He clearly knows I’m not pleased with his inability to follow directions, because he offers an apologetic yet smug little grin, and says, “I’m not cold yet.”

“Dascha,” I sigh and shake my head, walking over to him slowly while fiddling with the device in my hands. “You’re going to learn to listen better. If I’m the one who has to teach you, then so be it.”

He scoffs and goes back to his drawing. “What the hell does that even mean?”

I clear my throat, loudly. It gets his attention as he visibly freezes, then slowly turns to face me again.

“You’re forgetting yourself, inmate,” I say through a clenched jaw, shooting a calm yet fiery glare at him. “Just because I like giving you things after I take, that doesn’t mean you can disrespect me. You will learn to obey…”

“Obey?” He cuts in, mild disbelief in his tone.

“And you’ll learn who you belong to,” I go on, ignoring him and readying my stance before I nod. “Against the wall, 101.”

“What are you talking about?” He’s still putting up a fight. I’m not surprised, because I certainly didn’t expect that his stubbornness would have dissipated. It’s the way he is. “I’m a prisoner. It doesn’t mean you personally own me.”

“I would disagree,” my shoulder lifts in a subtle shrug, stepping in closer until we’re only about a foot apart. “I claimed you first, and then you got on your knees for another guard.”

Dash’s eyes enlarge when he realizes what this is about. His lips part, but he appears utterly speechless.

“Do you think that was right, Dascha?” I lean in, keeping my gaze on his. “Drinking his cum like a little slut?”

He lunges forward, in an attempt to get away from me, but I shove him hard with a hand on his chest, crashing his back against the wall. A ragged breath leaves him as he gapes at me, some fear flickering in his eyes.

I won’t lie, it makes me hard.

“Then coming down here immediately after and letting me eat your ass until you came all over the place…” I hiss in his face, holding him against the wall with my arm. “Does that seem respectful to you, 101?”

“I didn’t ask you to do that,” he grumbles as he tries to squirm out of my grip. I push harder and he hums out of displeasure, since my arm is probably strong enough to crack his ribs. I’ll try not to do that, but my rage is bubbling to the surface right now, and the blood feels like fire in my veins.

“Doesn’t matter. You accepted it,” I whisper with my lips hovering over his. “You made a fool out of me, inmate. I don’t appreciate that.”

“Fuck off,” he snarls in my face and I roll my eyes, grabbing my Taser.

Enough of this errant behavior. He needs to learn.

I take a step back and before he knows what’s happening, I press it to his side and shoot, giving him two thousand volts until he crumbles to the ground. To his credit, he takes it like a champ again; even better than last time. No crying or screaming, though he’s curled up at my feet like a dog I had to kick to remind it who’s boss.

I don’t enjoy doing that to him, but he’s being insubordinate. I have to get the device on him, and I’d prefer not to have to cuff him to do it, though I’m beginning to think it’d be easier that way.

“I didn’t want to have to do that,” I mutter, watching as he blinks heavily and shakes his head, trying to unclench all his muscles which I assume are all bunched up from the volts.

“You’re a… fucking… lunatic…” he gasps, pushing himself onto his hands and knees.

“Maybe. So wouldn’t it be wise to do as I say, without the snarky little comments?” I raise my brow at him on the floor and he ignores me, though I think he’s beginning to see it my way. “Now, the problem, Dascha, is that I don’t trust you. You acted like a disrespectful little slut last night. And disrespectful little sluts need to be punished.”

“I’m sorry,” he croaks, rubbing his face with his hands as he practically bows at my feet. “I didn’t mean to do it. I won’t do it again.”

He doesn’t sound entirely sincere, but at least it’s a start.

“I’m glad you’re saying that,” I crouch down, so we’re face to face. “But the Taser wasn’t your punishment.”

“What…?” He whines, arms shaking visibly as he holds himself up.

“No, baby. The punishment is going to fit the crime.” I take his chin in my fingers. “I’ve given you a lot of sexual gratification. I haven’t been shy about giving you orgasms, have I?”

He shakes his head and whispers, “No…”

“No. And yet you got on your knees for Rook, which means I’ve given you too much freedom. See, Dascha, you’re acting like an animal in heat. And what do you do to an animal in heat?” I pause to see if he’s understanding where I’m going with this. His eyes are wide and glassy, lips quivering while he stays silent. “You fix them.”

I hold up the device in my hand to let him see. As soon as his eyes drop to the cock cage, his head starts shaking frantically back and forth.

“No. No no no, I’m sorry,” he stutters, gaze pleading with me. “I said I was sorry. I’m sorry. Please don’t do this… Please.”

“Dascha, baby,” I shush him, running my thumb over his trembling lips. “Relax. This isn’t even the smallest one.”

“Oh fuck,” he drops his head.

He’s panicking. He should be. I know this won’t be fun for him, especially when he gets his first shock. But he needs to understand. This will help him.

I stand up and haul him to his feet, though he doesn’t seem to want to stand.

“Take off your pants and boxers,” I command, using the key to unlock the cage.

“Please don’t do this,” he begs, voice coming out hoarse and shaky.

“That wasn’t a request, inmate,” I rumble. “I’m losing patience. If you’re going to continue being obstinate, I’ll shock you again and cuff you. Do you want that?” He whimpers and covers his face with his hands for a moment, before shaking his head. “Good. Now, pants off. Hurry up.”

Reluctantly, he lowers his pants, with his boxers. I fall to my knees with the steel cage opened and ready to enclose his cock.

It’s considered a male chastity device. We have a range of them here that we’ve used on inmates before. It basically looks exactly the way it sounds; like a cage for your cock. This one is steel, about three inches long, which I think will work for Dash, since his dick isn’t small by any means. It has to be fully soft to get inside the cage, and then it’s locked with the key, thus preventing the subject from getting an erection.

This one I’m using, though, is special. It has the ability to give an electric shock to the subject, via a remote that I’ll control.

But the problem is that I’ve never actually seen Dash’s dick soft. I just assumed this one would fit, based on the size of his cock when it’s hard, which is at least nine inches with good girth. Unfortunately, I didn’t expect that he would have trouble even getting fully soft.

Right now he’s scared, angry, nervous and clearly a bit embarrassed, yet his dick is filled to at least half-mast. I look up at him and my brow quirks in surprise.

“I… I have trouble getting it to go down. Especially in stressful situations,” he mutters, giving me a guilty look.

I swear to God, this kid is going to be the death of me. There’s something about his issues that just turns me the fuck on. He’s completely naked in front of me, shivering because he’s worried and it’s goddamn cold in here, just like I told him it would be, and his dick is hardening, his cheeks still fucking pink, lips all soft and pouty.

I can’t take it. My jaw tightens and I look at the ground, taking a breath to compose myself before peering back up at his beautiful face.

“How do you get it soft?” I ask, my own cock throbbing against my thigh.

“I usually have to… come,” he gulps, quietly, as if someone’s around the corner listening. “Jerk off or something…”

“This is supposed to be a punishment, Dascha,” I growl, my eyes dropping uncontrollably to his dick, pointing up at my face, looking like a sexy popsicle.

“I know, I’m sorry,” he hums. “It’s the only way, aside from maybe ignoring it for a little while.”

I blink up at him, skeptical. “So nothing else will get your cock soft once it’s hard?” He shrugs. “Pain, shame, fear…?”

He shakes his head. “They all make me hard.”

I take a second to think, before releasing a breath. “Fine. You’ll use my mouth to come. You have five minutes.”

His forehead creases. “I have five minutes?”

“I’m not doing anything,” I state. “That would be a reward. Use my mouth. You have five minutes, starting now.”

He gives me a slightly frantic look, but immediately starts jerking himself in slow, hard tugs, right in front of my face. I watch, fascinated, while his thumb teases underneath the tip, his other hand gripping his balls. He looks unsure, but still pushes his cock up to my lips, stuffing the head inside. I can’t help the huff of breath that escapes me around his smooth flesh.

I love his taste; his skin is sweet, and I can’t help but suck a little for him, because I love seeing his eyelids droop and hearing his breaths pick up.

He holds my jaw and fucks my mouth slowly, watching his dick disappear between my lips as he forces it down my throat. I swallow past a gag and he groans, biting his lip.

“It’ll go faster if you… hurt me,” he whispers, and my heart jumps in my chest. “Just a little.”

I know I’m not supposed to be doing him any favors, but my cock is fucking throbbing and I can’t resist the urge to give him a little pain that will result in him coming in my mouth. I haven’t tasted his cum yet, and I’m kind of dying to.

So I grab his balls in my hand and tug them a bit, circling my index finger and thumb enough to squeeze them at the top. He chokes out a noise, yanking my hair while his hard cock slides in and out of my mouth, fucking my throat deeper and deeper. I’m lost in a daze as I rest my forehead on his stomach, giving him my head to fuck. And he does.

He holds me in place and humps my mouth over and over while I squeeze his balls, hard. Almost too hard, but apparently the pain works for him, because he cries out softly, his dick flinching between my lips.

“I’m gonna come…” He lets go of my hair, as if I might want to move away.

As if there’s any way I don’t want to drink him like he’s the last sip of water in a scorching desert.

I gulp him back, massaging underneath his erection with my tongue until he spills streams of cum in my throat. Precum pulses out of my own cock inside my pants while I swallow Dash’s orgasm. He tastes wonderful, and I can’t believe I’ve never done this before now, because it’s dazzling.

I think it’s just him.

Pulling my mouth off him when he’s done, I look up, mesmerized, to see him leaning against the wall, struggling to catch his breath. He nestles up on the concrete, fingers brushing absentmindedly through my hair. And I have to take a moment to just absorb how perfect this feels.

But after a minute passes, I snap myself out of it, realizing that his cock is finally soft. I grab the cage, stuff his dick inside and lock it around him before I lose my opportunity. Dash jerks, as if he’d forgotten the point of all that.

“Fucking prick,” he seethes at me as I stand up, swiping my lower lip with my thumb.

“Watch your tone, inmate,” I squint. “I did you a favor by getting you off. Now you won’t have to experience your punishment for a while. Enjoy the rest.”

I wander toward the door to his cell.

“W-where are you going?” He calls.

“I’ll be back later,” I tell him as I open the door. “Be ready, Luscious. It’s going to get very uncomfortable for you. And this time, an orgasm won’t get you out of it.”

45 days in

Officer Kemper is a fucking psychopath.

This is the determination I’ve come to, leaning against the wall of my cell in solitary. Or rather, Darcey’s cell. But still… I haven’t seen him in a while, and I’ve claimed his bed.

That’s neither here nor there. What matters is that Officer Kemper is fucking crazy, and now I’m nervous.

Sure, I had suspicions before, based on his erratic behavior, and the way he seems to have exactly zero human compassion. I’ve been on high alert around him since the moment we met. But this is a whole new ballgame.

I cringe and pull my pants, with the boxers, away from my skin, glancing down to observe the steel cage currently encasing my flaccid dick. I still can’t believe he put this thing on me…

Because he’s jealous. Of what I did with Rook.

I’m not sure why I’m surprised. He drugged me and brought me to solitary when he walked in on Ren blowing me. I don’t know how I figured he wouldn’t find out about this and react the same damn way. Like an obsessive psycho fucking stalker.

And I’m no better, honestly. Because I’m letting him do these things. A lot of it hasn’t exactly been consensual, but it’s consensual-adjacent and I feel like that means it’s partially my fault. For not kicking him in the balls like I did to Velle; for not fighting back tooth and fucking nail to get that asshole off me.

Why didn’t I?

I guess that’s the question at hand. And for the life of me, I don’t have an answer.

The strangest thing about this whole scenario is that before I set foot inside Alabaster Penitentiary, I’d never looked twice at any man. I’ve always considered myself one-hundred percent straight. Okay, so my tastes darkened over the years, skewed by my need for something different to get me off the way I want it, deep down. The need for pain, and shame began to guide me more than I thought it could. But that doesn’t mean I like to be abused… At least, I don’t think it does.

Still, that’s not the point. I only did those things with women, and sexuality isn’t a kink. If I can get off with Kemper, then that must mean, at the very least, that I’m bisexual. Or pansexual…

I really don’t know, but now when I think about him, I get this strange tickle in the pit of my stomach. It feels oddly similar to discomfort, but sometimes it spreads up my chest and makes me warm inside, like a shot of vodka. I’ve acknowledged that he’s an attractive man, objectively. Like Rook. Only Rook is a very different person than my stalker.

Officer Kemper is dark, scary and unpredictable. I don’t understand how it’s possible for someone to go from tasing and handcuffing you in order to force sexual acts, to spooning you and bringing you eggs. It was basically breakfast in bed, and now I have a cage on my cock.

My dick twitches at the memory of him on his knees earlier and I bite my lip. Fuck fuck fuck… I can’t let it get hard. I don’t even want to know what will happen if it tries to.

When it tries to. It’s only a matter of time with me. I get hard so damn easily, especially when shit is fucked up. I don’t stand a chance.

Covering my face with my hands, I take a breath, clearing my mind. I’ve been trying to keep it blank since he left a couple hours ago. It’s worked for the most part, but if he comes back, I’m screwed.

I busy myself by finishing my drawing on the wall, using the green candle wax to make a picture of Zadira, though not exactly, because this is green and Zadira is purple. I’m not very good at sketches, regardless. I’m no artist, unless we’re talking about candy paint jobs. Still, I’m not awful, and at least it’s something to do.

I end up using all three blocks of wax from the candles, eating my other pack of mini muffins while I finish up. The thing I hate the most about solitary is not knowing what time it is. You never really know if it’s day or night in Alabaster, but at least in gen-pop they keep the lights on in the row between six in the morning and nine at night. There’s noise when they get us up for showers or meals, which only happens at certain times of day.

Down here there’s none of that. Just continuous quiet.

Counting hours helps you feel normal, but when you’re trapped in darkness twenty-four-seven, it all bleeds together. Things start to feel pointless, and that’s the worst. Losing your motivation to get up and move… It’s a silent killer.

I’m not one to lie down and let the depression wash over me. I never have been. My mind is too loud; my limbs too filled with the need to function. It’s hard enough for me to sleep at night, let alone during the day. That said, being locked in perpetual night makes it all feel so bizarre.

As if nothing matters. It’s all an illusion.

I think it’s night by the time my legs give out from all the pacing, and I sit down on the edge of the bed. I’ve counted eleven or twelve hours since Kemper fastened this damn thing on me and left. And I’ve managed to keep my dick soft the entire time. It’s snug, but not entirely uncomfortable. But again, this is me alone. If he comes back in here, I know it’ll turn into a game I have no desire playing.

I’m humming as I lie down on my side, knowing I need to stay awake at all costs. The problem is that the only time I can usually fall asleep is when I know I shouldn’t. I’m not tired, but as soon as I’m just lying here, staring at my mural on the opposite wall, my eyelids begin to droop.

I’m not sure how long I’m out for, but when chills wash over me, my eyes flutter open to see the shadowy figure over by the door. My heart pumps, unsure if he’s really there; my head is fuzzy, and he’s not moving. He’s so still, he looks like a damn statue.

A dull throbbing brings my attention below my waist. Groaning quietly, I glance inside my boxers. My dick is trying to harden, but it can’t because the cage is stopping it. It’s sore, but the problem is that the pain is turning me on more, like earlier when Kemper squeezed my balls between his fingers.

Fuck… Shit.

The memory sends more blood rushing to my cock, but it’s trapped, the cage keeping my erection from gaining any traction. It’s fucking weird. I find myself staring at it for a few minutes, wondering how the hell it’s even possible. I can’t believe this damn cage can actually stop me from getting hard.

I glance up at the shadow, and he’s still standing in the same spot. Maybe he’s not really here… It could very well be a figment of my imagination. A dream…

Or a nightmare.

His eyes glow, which would make me think he’s not real, but then his eyes tend to do that in the dark, I’ve realized. I don’t even know how it’s possible but when there’s light behind him, it somehow catches his eyes and makes them look like gems reflecting the light.

I’m on edge as he leans against the door, staring at me like he expects me to do something. I’m not sure what he could possibly want from me. My mind runs through the facts… He put this damn device on me so he could punish me for hooking up with someone who isn’t him. It’s a male chastity belt, which is designed to keep me from experiencing sexual gratification.

So maybe he wants me to give some to him?

I shake my head at him subtly. I’m not touching him. No way am I going to reward him for using a mild torture device on me. He can’t possibly be that fucking stupid.

He says nothing but cocks his head to the side as he stares. Grinding my teeth, I pull my pillow over my head, so I don’t have to look at him. He’s pissing me the fuck off. This dude just burst into my life, uninvited, and now he thinks he can control me. Like I’m a toy for him to play with. I don’t appreciate it.

I’m my own person. I don’t care if he’s a sadist, or a Dominant or whatever. If he wants a submissive, he can go to a sex club and find one. I’ve never been interested in stuff like that. I like different things as far as sex goes, but I’ve always thought people involved in BDSM take themselves a bit too seriously.

I just like what I like, and apparently sometimes I don’t even know what I like. But that doesn’t mean I want some big asshole trying to be my Daddy.

Barf.

Heavy footsteps draw my attention as he walks toward the center of the room, prompting me to pull the pillow down even harder. I hear and see nothing, which is good and bad. I don’t like leaving myself exposed to him, but I don’t want to look at his smug asshole face as he appraises me in this stupid fucking device.

Nothing happens for minutes, and I think maybe he left without me hearing. But then I feel something run down my abs. I flinch, mainly because it was unexpected, but also a little because that’s a ticklish spot of mine… On my pelvis, below my navel.

I’m guessing it’s his finger, and it runs along the waist of my pants, tugging them away from my skin. I growl out of frustration and whip the pillow off my head.

“What the fuck do you want??” I sit up then wince when the damn steel cage pinches my skin. “This thing is awful. And now here you are, fucking with me because you know you can. Why don’t you find someone else to torture and leave me the hell alone?”

Kemper blinks at me, and there’s visible heat in his eyes. I’m not sure if it turns him on when I yell at him, or if he’s actually pissed off. It seems like the two go hand-in-hand with him, and I’m sick of trying to decode what’s going through his head. I can barely understand what’s happening in my own mind. I’m not trying to figure out this asshole guard.

“Dascha…” he whispers my name in an overly hoarse, growly sort of tone that, oddly enough, hits me right in the junk.

Blood pumps to my cock, and it expands inside the cage. The steel digs into my skin and I hum out of discomfort. But then of course the discomfort makes it flood once more, my organ fighting against the device.

My eyes fall shut and I reach for something. I’m not sure what I’m going for, but the first thing my hand grabs is his leg. He’s standing at the end of the bed and now I’m gripping his thigh. It’s a thick, meaty leg. I can feel the hardness through his pants. This dude’s body is basically all muscle.

I can’t say I wasn’t impressed when he took his shirt off last night. He must work out nonstop. I mean, I like to keep myself defined, but I’m not huge like this guy. He’s got bulk; everywhere, apparently.

“How does it feel?” he asks, slipping his fingers into my pants more. It sends another ripple through my loins which has nowhere to go. My balls are fucking aching already.

“It sucks,” I hiss through my teeth.

“But you like it,” he murmurs, a statement not a question, so I have to correct him.

“No. I don’t. Get this fucking thing off me.”

Officer Kemper sighs, as if I’m testing him, then glances inside my pants. He’s just holding them open, staring at my cock, in its own jail.

My dick is a prisoner, too. This is fucking ridiculous.

I make a snap, albeit not well-thought-out decision to smack his hand away.

He glares at me, intensely. “You told me you like pain. Discomfort.” He covers my hand with his when I go to yank it away from his stupid muscular thigh.

“Yea, I like getting hard from it,” I roll my eyes, tugging my hand some more. He won’t let it go, and now he’s moving it toward his crotch. “This thing takes away the fun.”

He grins and a small laugh puffs from between his lips. “That’s the point, Luscious.”

“What is the point, exactly? It must be going over my head,” I mutter, forcing myself to remain unaffected by his laugh.

I don’t like it or anything, it just doesn’t happen often, so when it does it seems special. It gives his normally dark face some vibrant splashes of color.

“The point, as I already explained to you, is to teach you to handle yourself better,” his deep eyes cut into mine. “Spreading yourself around is unacceptable.”

“Says who?”

“Says me.”

“Yea? And who made you the king of my cock?”

A small breath bursts from between his lips, and he licks the bottom one quickly. His hand brings mine to cover his erection over his pants. I try pulling away, but he still won’t let me.

“King of your cock is a title I’d gladly accept, inmate,” he smirks. “Do you feel this?”

“Uh yea.” My cheeks heat beneath his stare. My cock is trying to burst out of the damn cage, and it doesn’t feel good. But I’m already getting used to it.

“Do you want your pretty cock to be free like mine is now?” He lifts his brow at me, smashing my palm around his girth. I can feel it throbbing.

“What’s pretty about my cock?” I ask, meaning to sound sarcastic, though my voice comes out desperately inquisitive. I blame it on the contraption.

He lets out a throaty hum then kneels on the bed next to me. “Well, let me tell you about it. Your cock is long, and straight and perfectly proportionate.” He straddles my thigh and when I try to sit up, he pushes me back with a large hand on my chest. “The skin is smooth, and it matches your complexion, except for that round pink head, like a crown.” He runs his fingers up my abs, dragging my shirt as he goes. “Your cock is majestic, like royalty. I suppose that’s why I can’t stop bowing to you, Dascha.”

He moves his face up to my torso and presses a few slow, soft kisses on my chest, grinding against my thigh while his tongue peeks out to trace the curve of my pectoral. I bite my lip hard, to keep in any traitorous sounds that might want to sneak out, but also to distract myself from my dick throbbing into the steel cage that surrounds it.

I have no choice but to keep myself soft, but it’s not easy, and he’s obviously trying to make it harder on purpose, pun intended.

“That sounds ridiculous…” I murmur in response to all the crazy shit he just spouted about my dick.

But rather than getting pissed, he simply hums and goes on kissing, sucking my right nipple between his lips. My cock surges, or tries to, and it hurts so bad my eyes roll back in my head. I don’t even feel like this is really happening.

I’m in a dream, floating through outer space. Everything is all wobbly and warm. Kemper is breathing on my skin and my hands are pinned at my sides by absolutely nothing. He’s not holding me down. I’m just lying here, taking it. Again.

“I… I…” I have no clue what I’m trying to say.

“Shhh…”

He sucks my nipple harder and I cringe, muscles tensing all over. I take in a deep breath and hold it, struggling to force myself not to get aroused. It seems impossible, but I have to try. There’s no alternative. Whether or not my cock is royalty, it’s not the Incredible Hulk. It won’t be able to smash through steel.

“Do you like this, inmate?” He rumbles over my nipple, leaving it wet with his saliva as he moves over to the left one.

Through my haze, I mutter, “Yes.”

And the next thing I know, something sharp stabs me in the balls. My eyes fling open and I glance down, tingles of heated pain scattering all over my cock. Kemper looks up at me and opens his palm.

He’s holding a remote. I’d gasp if I had any breath to give right now.

“Is that…” Another shock comes before I can get the words out and I choke on air, coughing through the pain in my groin.

“You’re not supposed to like anything right now, 101.” His eyes turn pitch black, obsidian circles of electric evil.

He’s Satan. That’s who he is. I’ve been fucking around with Lucifer himself.

“What the fuck is wrong with you…?” I release the question breathlessly, squirming to get away, though of course he doesn’t let me.

“I was trying to think of ways to punish you,” he ignores me like always, as his fingers trail my jaw. I jerk my face away, but he yanks it so I’m forced to keep looking at him.

“And the electric cock cage wasn’t enough?” I mutter, and though he squints at me, there’s a subtle smirk on his lips.

“So fresh,” he shakes his head in an admonishing manner. “Anyway, I realized it’ll be difficult since you like pain and humiliation. But I think I’ve devised a plan to help you understand how out of line you’ve been.”

“I said I was sorry,” I bite through clenched teeth. I don’t mean it, not in the slightest, but I need to pacify the lunatic. “Please, I’ll do whatever you want. I won’t touch anyone else.”

“Oh, I know you won’t,” he grins, running his fingers down to my imprisoned dick. “But this has nothing to do with it.”

He gets up on his knees again and unbuckles his belt, a sight and sound that immediately sends chills of dread through me. But it also brings blood below my waist, and that part makes me wince. Kemper catches the change in my expression and his eyes drop to the cage. Something flashes over his face, but it’s gone before I can try to analyze it.

He takes his pants down enough to pull out his monster cock, and I gulp. It’s very intimidating. He says my cock is pretty, but his is scary. If mine is a king, then his is the dragon who burns down the castle.

He strokes it a few times next to my face, a couple leisurely tugs while he watches me, lying on the bed next to him, not cuffed, but still clearly uncomfortable. I could run, I suppose, but where would that get me? Plus, he can shock my dick at the press of a button. It’s not as painful as when he tases me, but it doesn’t feel great, especially since I can’t get hard.

That’s probably worse. You never know how freeing it is to get an erection until it’s taken away from you. Why someone would ever do this willingly is beyond me.

Kemper snaps me back to reality when he shoves his dick up to my face, pushing it between my lips. I jerk away, but he grabs my head to keep it still.

“I’m going to fuck your face, inmate,” he holds me firm, though his thumb grazes my jaw in such a tender way, it almost makes me forget what’s going on for a second. “Hard.”

I barely have time to process anything before he’s kneeling over my chest and forcing his cock into my mouth. I grunt and my hand flies up like an instinct, trying to hold him back. But he grabs it and holds it down. I try to use the other hand, but it can’t reach to do anything more than smacking him on the side, which is a bad move because he immediately presses the button and sends another shock to my dick.

I groan around his cock, the fat head pushing into the back of my throat until I gag. I didn’t think it was possible for him to be more aggressive than last time, but this is definitely worse. I can’t breathe at this angle, and he only pulls it back enough for me to suck a split-second of air into my lungs. He thrusts deeper and rougher into my throat, ignoring my grunts of protest.

He’s doing exactly what he said. He’s fucking my face, and it’s overwhelming. I can’t breathe at all, which has me lightheaded. Surrendering to his pleasure, I watch the rapid flicking of his hips above me, his deep blue eyes gazing down at me where I lie, at his goddamn mercy.

“Jesus, Dash…” He mumbles, caressing my face and neck while he pumps his cock down my throat. “I don’t want you giving this mouth to anyone else. Do you understand me?”

I exhale through my nose as a response, since there’s no other way for me to do it. I have tears pouring from my eyes at the same rate that spit is flowing from the corners of my mouth. This is fucking terrible, but all I can do is try. Try to keep my jaw relaxed, try to breathe as often as I’m able, try not to feel my gag reflex. Try not to think about how humiliating this is…

Because that will hurt. My cock is practically one with the cage as it is.

“You’re mine,” Kemper sighs, spearing my throat with his dick, over and over and fucking over.

I’m numb. Floating… I can’t even tell where I am anymore.

I can only imagine what this looks like…

Kemper’s big body, his enormous cock, violating my face. What if someone walked in right now…?

A small moan rumbles in the back of my throat and my eyelids droop. The cage is digging into my flesh so bad I think it might break skin.

And then buzz. There goes another shock. I whimper on instinct, my eyes shooting open to look up at him.

“Stop liking this,” he snarls, shoving his cock so deep it must be past my tonsils. It hurts, but again I barely feel anything right now. I’m cruising the Milky Way in a spaceship.

He shocks me again, this time he’s laying on the damn button for like ten seconds. I start coughing around his dick, gagging on it, but he doesn’t stop. He’s still fucking my mouth, harder, growling out these animal sounds like a feral beast.

“You wanna drink my cum, you little slut?” His eyes are locked on mine, and though they’re hooded with immense desire, he looks downright menacing. “Answer me, inmate.”

I nod, because that’s the only answer I can give while he’s jamming ten inches down my throat, so deep his balls are tapping on my chin.

“Mine is the only cum you’ll be eating from now on, is that clear?” His thumb traces the corner of my mouth, stretched open as wide as it goes.

I nod again, eyelids growing heavy. This is so much work. I’m just lying here but I’m exhausted as if I’ve run a goddamn marathon.

“Or wearing…” he rumbles, his broad chest heaving as he closes his eyes for a moment, head tipped back. “Fuck, that’s so good. Baby, you feel like heaven.”

Warmth floods behind my ribs at his praising words. I don’t know why I like them so much, but it looks like sparks are flying around the room.

He leans down a bit and whispers, “I’m gonna come, baby.” I can almost feel what he’s feeling. The building… We’re so close. “God, yes, I’m gonna come. You wanna make me come, right?”

I nod frantically, holding his eyes, the blue brightening and glistening as he blinks heavily.

Then he abruptly yanks his cock from my mouth and beats it fast.

“Who do you belong to, Dascha?” He gasps, wound up so tight I can feel it. He’s ready to burst.

“You,” I mumble without even thinking as his dick pulses out streams of thick cum, on my lips, my chin, dragging his cock down my neck while he comes all the fuck over me.

“Fuck yes…” his voice is guttural, a throaty roar while he finishes his orgasm.

And I blink, watching in fascination. I can feel cum everywhere, and without even thinking, my tongue swipes. I lick the remnants off my lips while he watches me intently, appearing almost in awe as the wide wall of his chest moves up and down with his breaths.

“Do I taste better than Rook?” He raises an accusatory brow.

I’m not in the business of trying to make my abuser feel better about himself, but I decide not to poke the beast. It all tastes the same to me. I’m not a cum connoisseur, but I lie and tell him, “So much better.”

He huffs a little chuckle, and a strand of silky hair falls in his face. It makes him look young; younger than he probably is. I assume he’s in his thirties, but he’s such a hard-ass he could be in his forties. And yet right now, he looks my age. Youthfully glowing, radiating all the colors of the rainbow in different places.

I blink and blink, unsure of what’s bringing this on, or why I’m looking at him like that. I didn’t come. There’s no reason for me to feel this way right now.

Maybe it’s him…

I go to use my t-shirt to wipe the cum off my neck, but Kemper grabs my arm. I give him a look and he shakes his head.

“Part of your punishment, 101,” he says. I swallow hard, tense because he’s usually calmer for longer after he comes. This time he’s already back to being an asshole which means he’s still pissed. “You’re going for a nice walk… with my cum all over you.”

I squint at him while sitting up. “What the fuck…?”

“Mhm. We’re taking a stroll,” he tucks himself back into his pants and hops off the bed. “Get up.”

“Where are we going?” I ask, unable to keep the nerves out of my voice. I really don’t want to see my friends with dried jizz all over me.

A zap in my dick causes me to stumble. “No questions, inmate,” he scolds, then wanders over to the door. “Hurry up.”

I fix my pants and walk, carefully, over to where he’s tapping his goddamn foot on the floor like the prick he is. My balls are aching so bad they feel swollen. My dick feels like it’s not even there anymore, which is alarming. It’s only been a few hours. I can’t imagine wearing this for much longer, and I’m just trying to do whatever he wants in hopes he’ll get this thing off me soon.

I can’t keep this up. It’s beyond awful. Permanent blue balls and a missing dick. Fucking torture.

Kemper leaves the cell and waits for me to follow him, which I do. It’s weird that I’m not cuffed or anything. I’ve never walked around down here without being shackled. But Kemper is just stomping up the corridor at a pace I can’t keep. Then he turns around and barks, “Chop chop. Keep up, inmate.”

I roll my eyes but move faster, so as not to piss him off anymore. We walk for a while, through the dimly lit halls. It cold down here, and I can feel sticky remnants drying uncomfortably on my chin and neck. I’d rather not think about it.

We pass the rest of the solitary cells, but I don’t have time to peek into the windows and see if there’s anyone in there while trying to keep up with Kemper’s steady stride. We move through a few doors, none of which seem to be locked. And the stranger thing is that I don’t see cameras down here like there are upstairs in general population.

We continue down a long walkway, and a rat runs past our feet. I cringe, but Kemper doesn’t seem fazed. Why would he be? He works here. He’s probably used to every inch of this shithole, which is depressing.

Reaching one last door, Kemper takes keys off his belt and unlocks it. Then he holds it open and stands aside. I pause, glancing up at him.

“Go,” is all he says, so I wander through.

My head bobs around as I walk, taking in what I see. The cells in here look different. They aren’t so much cells as they are exam rooms, only of course much dirtier than they would be in an actual medical facility. I take slow steps, checking out the empty rooms, which I can see into through the large plexiglass windows they have on either side of the door.

There are exam chairs in the center of each room, with shackles built into them, for what looks like hands, feet, and the neck. I swallow and peer through the door. Tray tables stand beside them, containing old rusted medical supplies and instruments.

It’s disturbing.

Voices echo behind me, and I turn back to the door. Kemper is gone, and I don’t see anyone. It’s dark and trippy, the lights in the rooms flickering, giving it an even creepier vibe. The place seems almost abandoned, and I have no clue why Kemper would bring me down here.

I hear someone mumbling up the hall and I inch toward the sounds, repeatedly glancing back as I go. No one’s there, but I can’t help feeling like I’m being watched. The voice gets louder as I approach a room at the end of the hall.

“They don’t know… They’ll never know.”

My hands tremble a bit as I grow nearer, darkness surrounding me while I close in.

“They’ll never understand.”

When I reach the room, I peek inside the window beside the door and find a man with brown hair and black-framed glasses lying on the floor in a straitjacket.

“Darcey?” I gasp and he looks up.

“Hey, look who it is,” he grins, though it doesn’t reach his eyes.

He doesn’t look great. Sure, it’s been a while since I’ve seen him, but he looks all fucked up; exhausted, beaten. An awful sense of empathy settles in my gut.

“What the hell are they doing to you down here?” I stupidly try yanking on the door, but obviously it doesn’t budge.

“Studying me.” He laughs, but it’s not an amusing sound. Then he rolls onto his stomach and scrambles to his feet, meandering to the door. His eyes dart around me. “I’m sorry for the mess.” He blows a strand of hair out of his face. “Wasn’t expecting company.”

My lips part, but I’m not sure what to say. I considered this guy my only friend other than Luthor, just because of how much we chatted during my first time in solitary. He helped me get through, but I’m in over my head now. I have no clue how to help him.

“Are they at least feeding you?” I decide to ask, since I know how things work in solitary. I’m hoping it’s different in here.

He nods. “Yea, I get food. They want to keep me sharp. They’re supposed to be sending some doctor…”

“I heard that,” I mumble, observing him. I feel bad that they’re treating him like a lab rat just because he murdered tons of people. He seems like a nice enough guy, but then we’re in prison so what the hell do I know?

Darcey gazes at me for a moment, and I’m suddenly insecure about the cum all over me. I hope he can’t tell what it is.

“Why are you down here alone?” He fidgets from inside his straitjacket. “You’re not even cuffed…”

“One of the guards brought me…” I consider what to say, since I realize how odd this looks. “I’m being… punished.”

“Punished how?” He looks skeptical.

“I um… I don’t…” My stuttering is interrupted when I feel a shock in my pants.

I cringe and lean against the window, holding my stomach. Darcey gives me a strange look, cocking his head to the side. I think he’s realizing what’s going on, but he doesn’t say anything, and I have to appreciate it.

“You look… like you’ve been through the ringer,” he mumbles, and some amusement flickers in his eyes. Shame heats my cheeks and I blink at the floor. “You doing alright?”

“You’re asking me if I’m alright?” I huff. “You’re in a straitjacket in an abandoned room.” I look around his cell and notice the mirror on the opposite wall. “Is that double-sided?”

“Oh, I’m sure of it,” he sighs, then his stare goes far away for a moment before he blinks hard. “I don’t want to talk about me. Tell me what’s been happening with you.”

“Nothing has been happening,” I bite out, feeling suddenly defensive, and I’m not sure why. “I just keep getting my ass sent to solitary because I’m a fucking moron.”

“Or because you want to be there…”

I gawk at him like he’s speaking Swahili. “Why the fuck would I want to be in solitary?”

“I don’t know… You tell me,” he shrugs, in that annoying casually charming tone he uses. It’s easy to see how he became a serial killer. He’s too likable.

“So now you’re the shrink?” I scoff, and he grins.

A sudden scream from somewhere nearby cuts into our conversation, sending a chill up my spine.

“What the hell was that?” I look around.

“There’s someone else down here,” Darcey says regretfully. “I think they’re treating him worse than me, which seems excessive.”

My mind clicks back to something Luthor said and I mutter, “O’Malley. One of the other inmates… Luthor and Kang were talking about him. Is this the East wing?”

“Yea. This is where they study inmates who, I don’t know, have done terrible things. Allegedly.” He rests his forehead on the glass and exhales. “I’m sorry, I’m really tired all of a sudden.”

I narrow my gaze at him. “Are you okay? Maybe you should sit down.”

“I’ll be fine,” he mumbles.

The scream happens again and we both flinch.

“I have to go find him,” I glance down the hall to see if there’s another way out. “If I don’t see you again, take care of yourself.”

I start walking away but Darcey’s voice catches me. “Dash…” I turn over my shoulder. “Just because we’re broken, it doesn’t mean we need them to put us back together.”

I squint at him as he stumbles over to the exam chair and plops down. I can’t help but notice he doesn’t have a bed in there…

Shaking it off, I stalk away, up the corridor, following the sound of yet another scream. I can’t think about what’s happening to Darcey right now, because there’s nothing I can do. I wish he wasn’t in there, but wishing doesn’t do shit.

Stalking around the corner, I push the door and to my surprise, it’s open. I walk the hall, slowly, trying to keep quiet, and while I’m moving, I hear an electric whirring noise, like a small motor. When I stop, it stops. When I move, it starts up again.

Peering up at the ceiling, I notice a camera. So the East wing has cameras, too. Apparently, the only place where there aren’t any cameras is in solitary. Go figure.

As soon as I start walking again, the camera moves to follow my steps. I stop, then reverse, and the camera follows. It follows me everywhere I go.

I glare up at it. Is that Kemper? Is that how he’s watching me right now?

Is he testing me to see what I do? If he’s waiting to see if I blow someone, he might want to put me in an area where there are actual people.

At that thought, I hear footsteps and voices. I’d rather not be found by anyone else. Because while this is probably some fucked up test Kemper set up, I wouldn’t put it past him to bring he down here then leave me to fend for myself with guards I don’t know.

I duck behind a corner as the door bursts open and a guard stomps in, speaking to someone. I back against the wall, hiding in the shadows, and as they walk by, I see who the guard is speaking to.

It’s the Warden.

My heart pounds in my chest as they pass, engrossed in whatever they’re discussing and not even noticing that a rogue prisoner is hanging out in a wing he’s certainly not supposed to be in. I try to listen to what they’re saying, in case it has to do with Darcey or O’Malley, but my blood is rushing in my ears so loud, all I hear are the words renowned, and controversial methods.

Just as they’re almost out the opposite door, I get a shock to my dick again. I hold my breath to keep myself silent, cursing that fucker, wherever the hell he is.

Looking up at the ceiling with disdain, I see the camera aimed right at me. I flip it off.

When I’m sure the Warden and the other guard are gone, I sneak back to the door and head in the direction from which they came. There are more cells down here, or rooms, but they appear to be padded, like what you’d find in an old insane asylum. I look inside each of the small square windows on the doors as I pass. Most are empty. Three cells have inmates inside, though I don’t recognize any of them. I’m sure they must have been down here since before I arrived.

Another scream pierces the air, and I dart to the cell where it came from. When I look inside, I see a man strapped to a chair. He’s a pale guy with dark hair, shaved of course. And he’s clearly in anguish.

There are two doctors in the room with him. Or at least, I hope they’re doctors. They’re wearing white lab coats, and moving around him, checking his vitals while he thrashes about. I’m not sure what the hell they’re doing to him, but whatever it is seems awful. His face is red, and his wrists are bleeding from how hard he’s struggling against the shackles.

“Fuck you, pricks!” He shouts. I can tell right away this is O’Malley because he has a discernible Irish accent. “You can’t do this to me!”

One of the doctors leans in and says something to him that seems to cut him deep, because his forehead lines and he whimpers, before shuddering out a cry.

Just then, his gaze flicks to the window, and we lock eyes. He blinks at me a few times, and I back at him. I should probably turn and run. I don’t know him, and he could easily call out, letting everyone know I’m here, to get me caught.

But he doesn’t do that. Instead, he shakes his head, repeatedly. His eyes widen and he mouths something. I think it’s get out.

A large hand slaps down on my shoulder and I jump so hard I almost fly out of my skin. I can tell right away by the touch, and the smell of the guy behind me, that it’s Kemper. My eyes stay with O’Malley for a moment while the doctors hook something up to his temples. Those electrode devices from Frankenstein.

He just keeps shaking his head at me while Kemper grabs me around the waist and hauls me away, the sounds of O’Malley’s screams ringing through the hall.

In my ears and my brain; the screams won’t stop.

I cover my ears with my hands, shivering as Kemper shoves me around a corner. The noise in my mind is building up loud and I can’t take it. It hurts my head. Squeezing my eyes shut tight, agony bubbles inside me, cries and voices and pain.

Kemper pushes me up against a concrete wall and grabs my face. My eyes open to look up at him while he cages me in with his arms on each side of my head. The pools of deep blackish-blue sear into me while his face lowers just an inch above mine.

“Why did you bring me here?” I take in a breath and hold it, attempting to calm my heart rate.

“I wanted you to see…” his minty breath brushes my lips, sending a jolt to my dick. I can’t even tell if he’s pressing the button anymore. I don’t think he is… The remote isn’t even in his hand.

“See what?”

“Dascha, you’re mine,” he moves his lips by my ear. “I don’t care if you don’t want it. You will not engage with anyone else, do you understand?”

I growl in his face. “You don’t own me, Kemper.”

He smacks the wall beside my head, hard. “I’m clearly not punishing you enough.”

The look of rage on his face makes me squirm with fright, and I decide to forgo my bid for independence. I’m not in the mood to get shocked anymore. I’m tired and it’s all so loud.

“No, no. Please. I get it, okay? I promise. I won’t… engage with anyone,” I gulp. “You’re it.”

He looks down at me, and something softens in his face. His eyes fall to my lips, and I can’t help but lick them. The way he’s eyeing my mouth makes my lips feel dry. My whole mouth is dry, now that I think about it. And my throat.

“Are you afraid of me, inmate?” He rumbles, so close I can feel it.

And as much as I’d love to act hard right now, the answer comes up, quietly, without hesitation. “Yes.”

He takes in a breath then lets it out slowly, all the while watching my mouth, before he says, “Good.”

Then he forcefully spins me around, pressing me into the wall as he cuffs me from behind.

“What are you doing?” I grunt, confused at his actions.

He murmurs in my ear, “Bringing you back.”

46 days in

As much as I protest the entire way up, Officer Kemper brings me back to general population. And then he ditches me there.

He shoves me through one of the doors until I practically crash into Velle, who takes one look at me, with dried cum on my neck and my clothes… a cock cage strangling the shit out of my poor, flaccid dick. Not that he can see that, necessarily, but I just feel like everyone knows. His eyes actually drop to my crotch and I can’t cover up since my hands are cuffed behind my back.

And Velle’s mouth morphs into a massive shit-eating grin. Joy is standing next to him, go figure, and my face and neck heat like an oven. She looks a bit stunned, not amused like Velle is, while she steps forward, peeking out the door I just came from.

Kemper’s already long gone. There’s no sense in looking for him.

“Let’s get you back to your cell, 101,” Joy sighs, taking me by the arm and dragging me away from Velle, who’s now chuckling wickedly.

“Shame I don’t have a camera,” he laughs. “This is a picture perfect shot right here.”

“Velle,” Joy snaps quietly while walking me to the opposite door. “Leave him alone. He’s obviously been through enough for one day.”

Jesus, do I really look that bad?

Pressure builds behind my eye sockets while I shuffle by Joy’s side, passing guard after guard, all of whom stop and stare at me like I’m a big fucking joke.

Like a little slut drenched in cum, Kemper’s voice rings in my mind. Still feel my cock in your throat, inmate? This is what you wanted, isn’t it?

I’m just so fucking tired… I feel like I’ve been beaten from the inside out. I’m exhausted, and now I know why Darcey was looking at me the way he was. I must look as bad as he does. Maybe worse.

Keeping my head down as we walk the row, eyes on my feet, I ignore the whistles and calls from other inmates. The things they’re saying bring waves of wrath crashing inside me like a high tide. I want to smash something. I want to make something bloody.

I can’t believe he fucking did this to me… He fully knew how humiliating this would be, and he knew there was no way I could even get hard from the shame, like I normally would. I can’t even feel my dick anymore. It’s numb.

My jaw is sore, my skull is pounding. My life fucking sucks.

When we finally reach my cell, minute relief floods my chest. Joy brings me inside and removes my cuffs, leaving without a word, though I don’t miss the look of pity on her face. It makes me feel ten times worse.

Luthor’s not here, which means it must be dinner time for our group. I’m sort of glad, since the last thing I want is him seeing me like this. Though I’m sure he’ll hear… Word gets around in this place since there’s nothing better to do than talk shit.

Breathing out rough, I make a beeline to the sink to wash this goddamn jizz off myself. I take my shirt off and try to scrub it with some of my bar soap and water, hanging it up on the bunk to dry while I dunk my whole damn head under the faucet, scrubbing my face, neck and chest as much as possible in the tiny sink. Then I brush my teeth, since I didn’t get to this morning. Kemper said he was going to bring me another toothbrush, but he never did. Asshole.

I brush my tongue hard to get the taste of his cock out of my mouth. I’m feeling sick to my stomach suddenly, at the thought of the things I did…

Something must have come over me. I don’t know who that was the other night, but it wasn’t Dash Reznikov.

I change into a fresh pair of boxers, taking a second to check on my dick. The cage looks fucking ridiculous on me. It’s keeping my cock restrained, which he doesn’t seem to like. The skin is visibly red, probably from all the shocking, and my balls feel heavy, like an overfilled water balloon.

This sucks. I want this thing off me.

I flick the lock, shaking my head. That fucker has the key. That means he’s not done with me, not by a long shot. All that talk of me being his, and then he dumps me back up here? He claims me, his words, and then leaves me to fend for myself. What the hell bullshit is that, anyway?

With my temples throbbing, I lie down in my bed, pulling the thin blanket over myself. It’s not as cold up here as it is down in the dungeon, but it’s chilly and I have no shirt on since my only one is still drying. I don’t even want to think about the fact that I’ve been wearing the same socks since I got here. I hate wearing dirty clothes, but apparently they don’t care to do laundry regularly like civilized humans.

I make a choice to wash my socks in the sink which takes me a few minutes. I hang them up next to my shirt then lie back down, yawning. My eyelids fall with thoughts swirling through my brain…

Darcey in a straitjacket, O’Malley being tortured… Kemper’s mouth around my dick. His tongue stroking me while I came down his throat.

My cock jumps against the cage, and I grip the blanket in my fist.

Sleep tries to steal me while my fingers itch for the feeling of soft golden hair and strong muscular parts. I drift to the image of eyes as blue as the sky at night, complete with stars and all, and the sound of a deep voice whispering in my ear.

I am what you are.

You are mine.

The sound of the cell door slamming shut wakes me abruptly. My heart jackhammers behind my ribs as I sit up, blinking myself awake. My first instinct is to tense, but when I see Luthor, I relax a bit, exhaling slowly.

“Thank God you’re alright!” Luthor rushes to the bunk, plopping down at the foot of my bed. “They said you were back up here. Are you okay?”

“I’m okay,” I nod, though the last thing I currently feel is okay.

“Good. I heard some things…” he mutters, then stops himself, peering at me carefully, as if he doesn’t know how to say what he’s thinking.

“I went to the East wing,” I change the subject. “Saw O’Malley… At least I’m pretty sure it was him. They were doing something…” I recall his screams and the look on his face as he told me to get out. “It’s fucked. I have no idea, but we have to get him out of there.”

“Dash, there’s no way to get him out,” Luthor blinks. “He’s theirs now. No one comes back from the East…”

“How is that possible?” I rub my eyes with my fingers. “What the hell do they want with him, anyway?”

Luthor is quiet for a second, staring down at his lap. “O’Malley… it’s complicated. There are rumors about what he did to get in here. I don’t like repeating things that Ren tells me, but in this case, it might be true…”

“What might be?” I sit up straighter.

“O’Malley killed a kid,” Luthor mumbles, regret eating through his tone. “His younger brother. Drowned him in a bathtub. He…” He pauses and breathes out slowly, shaking his head. “He hid the body for four days before someone found out.”

My entire body has gone still. I don’t even think I’m breathing.

“Was it… an accident?” I ask, hopeful. But Luthor gives me a look that answers my question. “Jesus Christ…”

“Yea. So, like Darcey, he’s down there for a reason,” he goes on. “I mean, we’ve all done shit, but if the Warden takes an interest in your case, you usually end up in the East wing. It’s worse than being up here, that’s for sure.”

I shake my head. “I don’t deserve to be here. I robbed a fucking bank. I didn’t kill anyone.” Luthor gives me a look, his eyes narrowing a bit as if he doesn’t understand what I’m saying. “No offense,” I add quickly. “I mean, I don’t know what you did to get in here, but you don’t seem like a killer.”

Luthor laughs with some derision. “Yea, neither does O’Malley if you talk to him.”

“Or Darcey,” I mutter.

Good point. Killers don’t act crazy. They’re regular people.

I glance up at Luthor, and despite knowing you’re never supposed to do this, I ask, “What did you do? To get sent here?”

He shifts, a sober air about him before he swallows visibly, leaning back against the wall. “Remember how I told you about the computer I set up in my parents’ garage?” I nod. “Well, I spent all my time on it. Between that and school, I got really good with the tech stuff, to the point where I made it my life. I learned it all and then, like any young, stupid kid with too much power, I used my skills to make money. I could do anything, man. I started with fake ID’s, then passports. Next, hacking into people’s banks, their Amazon accounts. Dude, there was nothing I couldn’t do.

“Behind the scenes, my parents were always hassling me about not getting outside and having a real life. They didn’t understand that tech was my life. It was the only thing I wanted to do. I had millions of friends online, from gamers to social media. And yea, I guess it got sort of addicting. I felt like a god, in a way. I know it might sound stupid to people who don’t get it, but I had the world at my fingertips.”

He stops for a moment, then shakes away a thought. “Anyway, I ignored my parents, and kept going with it. I had this group of gamer friends, and we were constantly playing Fallout, making videos and shit… One of the friends was this girl, KillaClam25.” He chuckles at the look on my face. “Her real name was Leah. She became one of my best friends. We talked every day, video chatted, texting… the works. I loved her, but there was something… off about her.”

“Off?” I chime in. “What do you mean?”

“Well, like, she was afraid to tell us exactly where she lived. Like, we all knew what towns each other lived in, but she would only tell us the state. Her profiles were private and super vague. She never had pictures of anyone in her life, and she would always hop offline out of nowhere, sometimes disappearing for days at a time.

“Any time we asked her about it, she’d get defensive. We couldn’t figure out her deal, and we thought maybe she was lying about herself, like a catfish. But we video messaged all the time, and her face matched her profile. It was just odd, ya know? Then this one time, none of us heard from her for two months. It was the longest she’d ever been gone, and we were worried since she hadn’t said anything. Just… vanished.

“I kept trying to reach her. I refused to give up, because she was my friend. She is… my friend,” he chokes out the words and my heart sits heavy behind my ribs.

He shakes it off once more. “It took a while, but I finally got her on the phone. And she told me what was up… Turns out she was a victim of some massive underground international sex-trafficking ring.”

I feel my eyes bulge. “What?”

“Yea,” he sighs. “I mean, it happened long before she started talking with us. I guess she was abducted from the mall in her hometown when she was twelve, and she’d been living all over the world since then. That’s ten years of being passed around, forced to have sex with men all over the place. I could tell she was trying to downplay it. I knew she was just used to it, but hearing it for the first time, it disgusted me. More than that… I was fucking enraged.

“I couldn’t let it go, man. I just couldn’t. That shit kept me up at night. I begged her to try and get some help or something, but there was nothing she could do. She said the sex-ring was run by an elite circle of people. People you’d never expect… That was the last straw for me. And I decided to intervene. I spent weeks digging, hacking into accounts, getting deeper and deeper into the dark web. Eventually I found out about some things that, I guess, were an issue of national security. And I ended up… hacking into the Pentagon.”

I cough at his words. “The Pentagon? Like the Pentagon, in Washington??”

“Yea,” he laughs. “It was fucking crazy. I found out some shit I shouldn’t have. And the next thing I knew, four massive black SUV’s were pulling up onto my parents’ front lawn and dudes were hauling me away in cuffs.” He scrubs a hand over his face. “I knew I was fucked when they blindfolded me. They never gave me a phone call, I didn’t get to speak to a lawyer… I just woke up here, and that was five years ago. I never even got to say goodbye to my parents…” His voice wobbles for a second, and he clears his throat. “I just wish I could apologize to them. I wish they could’ve had a normal son… One who liked playing baseball and going to the movies.”

Gaping at my friend, I recognize now that he is my friend because I feel immense sympathy for him. I wish there was something I could do or say to comfort him.

“I’m their biggest disappointment,” he mumbles, staring at the wall, blankly.

“Aren’t we all?” I say, and he turns his head to face me. “That’s why we’re all here, man. We’re fucking disappointments. You’re not alone. And look, your parents should feel lucky to have a kid like you, because you’re smart and driven.” My chin drops. “I spent my entire childhood chasing my father’s approval, trying to be just like him, and then he ended up leaving me, anyway. Leaving me with her…” My stomach twists and I close my eyes for a moment.

“I guess we’re all fucked up in here, huh?” Luthor huffs, and I nod wordlessly because it’s all I can do.

We stay quiet for a while, just sitting and thinking, letting the harsh truths of our lives settle over us. We’ve all fucked up and made bad decisions, and that’s why we’re here. No one of us is better or worse than the other.

We’re the scum of society. Left behind to rot.

The lights in the row turn off, but Luthor and I stay sitting on my bed.

Eventually he speaks again. “Dash…”

“Yea?”

“What you did… with Rook…” His voice is hesitant, and my heart kicks. “Did you like it?”

My first gut reaction is to scoff no, like a macho hetero dudebro who just so happened to find himself on his knees swallowing a guy’s load. But Luthor is my friend and I owe him, at the very least, the truth.

So I whisper, “I think so.”

He’s silent for a moment again before he says, “I liked watching it.”

This time we’re both quiet.

“What do you think it means?” I ask him, the confusion wringing me down to my core.

I need answers here. I don’t understand why this is all happening now. It seems too convenient to say that it’s just because there are no women around, and if I’m being honest with myself, it doesn’t feel that way.

“I have no clue…” he sighs. “But I’m a little jealous.”

I puff out a chuckle. “Why? Because I swallowed Rook’s cum?”

“No. Because you’re letting yourself do things. You’re obviously not afraid to… experience it. Whatever you want to try, you’re trying it.”

“Luthor, I didn’t really choose this,” I tell him, making a decision to show him what’s currently going on in my pants.

I tug them down, and Luthor’s eyes widen.

He holds his hands up. “Whoa, Dash, I didn’t mean—”

“No, dumbass,” I cut him off, pulling out my caged cock. “I’m not hitting on you. Look.”

His eyes fall to my dick and his face morphs into one of appall. He doesn’t look fully startled, or confused by it, though.

“Fuck…” he tilts his head. “They did that to Ren before.”

“Really?” I pull my pants back up. “Who did?”

“Velle. But the Warden ordered it. Ren has always been out of control, but when he first got here, he went wild. They wanted to calm him down, but as you can tell, Ren can’t be tamed. Needless to say, it didn’t really work.”

Processing all this information, something he said sticks in my mind. “How do you know what happened when Ren first got here? I thought he said he’s been here for fifteen years.”

Luthor sighs, “Dash, Ren’s a pathological liar.”

My jaw drops, and suddenly everything Ren’s ever said or done flashes through my mind.

“You can’t believe anything he says,” Luthor goes on. “He has way more issues than that, but it’s the most inconvenient one. They’ve done polygraph tests on him before. He almost broke the machine.” Luthor chuckles and I can’t help but laugh, too.

“We are so fucked,” I cackle, and Luthor giggles along.

“Bunch of fucking misfits,” he hums, wiping his eyes. “Cock cages and liars and fools.”

“Oh my,” I grin, and he laughs out loud.

“Does that thing hurt?”

“Not really, unless it’s shocking me.” I wiggle a bit at mention of it. “It just makes my dick numb. I feel like a unick.”

“How does it shock you?” He looks intrigued, which is a little strange.

“The guard controls it,” I tell him, and his brows push together in confusion. “That’s what I meant before when I said I didn’t choose this… The guard from solitary has been forcing me to do things. And I started out hating it, but I can’t really tell anymore.” Talking about Kemper feels strange. I don’t want to be thinking about him. I don’t want to give him credit for any of my feelings, but I can’t help it. “The lines definitely blurred, like you said.”

“Yea, that’ll happen,” he rumbles, then stares off into space for a second.

I wonder if he’s thinking about Ren. It must be difficult, having feelings for someone as complicated as Ren. Then again, none of us are exactly uncomplicated. Kemper is a fucking crazy person, and yet now I find myself wondering where he is…

If he’s coming back for me, and when.

A little while later, Luthor slinks off my bed and climbs up to his own. He falls asleep in an instant, as usual, but I spend the night staring off into space, waiting to hear those familiar footfalls, the clinking sounds that never come.

The next morning, we get first shower, which means they’ll bring us to the showers and then we’ll probably go for lunch after that. I’ve come to find that they stagger groups between eating and showering, so that no more than twenty inmates are in one place at a time. They usually go in order, but it’s hard to tell exactly what will happen at what time.

I think it’s a tactic. The guards do things at random on purpose, so that we can never get used to a routine. Routines give humans comfort, and they want to keep us as uncomfortable as possible.

Fortunately for me, I’m used to disorder. It happens inside me all day every day, and even when I find something to hang onto, the world around me is still always spinning. It reminds me of Nietzsche… Chaos.

Heading into the showers, I’m more nervous than usual. I have a cage on my cock, one that contains the ability to shock me. I highly doubt I’m allowed to get it wet, so now I have to figure out showering without wetting my dick. It’s not ideal. I’d really like to wash my junk.

And besides that, I don’t want to get naked in front of a bunch of dudes with this thing on. Yesterday was embarrassing enough without all those guys seeing what’s happening inside my pants. I can’t imagine it’ll go over well in the showers, and honestly, ridicule is the least of my worries.

Once we’re inside, I slink to my usual spot at the end where no one typically goes. It’s empty so I hurry out of my clothes and turn on the water, keeping my backside under it while trying to cover my dick at all costs.

Rook passes by with a brief glance which becomes a double-take before he screeches to a halt.

“What the hell is that?” He gasps, eyes on my dick.

“Shh!” I look around, making sure no one else is coming. “It’s not on by choice, okay?”

“That looks painful,” he inches closer, bending a bit to inspect.

I’m glad he doesn’t hate me after the other day, but I shouldn’t be letting him near my dick. If Kemper sees this, it’ll be all over for me.

I twist away from him and he peeks up at me, a slightly awkward expression crossing his face, as if he’s remembering my mouth on his cock.

My face heats up faster than the water in the showers, and I clear my throat. “Hey, do you think you could keep watch for me? I don’t want anyone else seeing this…”

He stares at me for a moment, looking like he’s going to say yes, but then I hear Velle shouting for him.

“Rook! Get over here!” Velle’s voice bellows from outside the door, and Rook gives me an apologetic look.

“Sorry, Dash,” he mutters and shrugs. “I’m not trying to piss him off again.”

He straightens up and storms away before I can even protest. I decide to just get the fuck out of here. I’ll take a birdbath in the damn sink if I have to. It’s not worth it.

I’m about to grab my shit when I hear people approaching. A few big dudes come sauntering over to my side, talking amongst themselves. I don’t know them personally, but I recognize their faces from the other night… They’re the dudes Ren was hanging all over in the cafeteria. During the blackout.

They start pulling off clothing, but stop when they notice me. I’m barely into my boxers when one of them catches sight of my dick, his eyes widening.

“Holy fuck! Is that one of those cock cages??” The guy points at my crotch.

Yanking up my boxers, I grab my pants, but one of the other dudes snatches them away. I glare at him, then at the other two. They’re all pretty damn big. If I try to take them all on it won’t end well for me.

But I’ll fight if I have to. I’m not doing this right now.

“The newbie’s a freak,” the biggest asshole, the one who wears one of those smug prick grins, like Velle, says. “Show me that again. I wanna see how it works.”

“You can fuck yourself,” I narrow my gaze at his stupid fucking face.

He steps up to me, and I step too, because fuck it. But before things can escalate, someone else swings around the corner.

“Come on, boys,” Ren sighs, crossing his arms over his bare chest. “It’s a cock cage. Haven’t we all seen one before? It’s not news.”

I stare at Ren and he gives me a quick look, before sauntering up to the dude who’s holding my pants. He places a hand on his arm, which seems to lessen some tension, then takes my pants and tosses them to me.

I don’t hesitate to jump into them, keeping my guard up, because even though Ren knows these guys, I don’t trust them one bit. And I don’t really like the idea of Ren associating with them when I know how much Luthor cares about him. I can’t afford to be gallant on anyone’s behalf right now, but still… I want these assholes gone.

“Oh yea, I forgot you had to wear one a while back, Ren baby,” the bigger guy croons, looking Ren up and down. “It must be punishment for buttsluts.”

“The fuck you say?” I stomp up to the asshole, but Ren places a hand on my chest to stop me.

“Hmm… Guess you can suck yourself off tonight, Percy,” Ren smirks wickedly.

“Your name is Percy?” I laugh. The guy is not amused.

He glares at Ren. “I told you not to call me that.” He lurches forward getting in Ren’s face. But Ren doesn’t back down. He’s basically the same size as this dude, and I assume he can hold his own. At least, I hope.

“Ren, your mouth is better at taking things in,” one of the other guys jeers.

Ren rolls his eyes. “That’s very original.”

“Yo, Gage, let’s just leave the two sluts to jack each other off,” one dude says, glancing behind him.

“You’re a pussy, Matthews,” the big guy, Percy Gage—stupid fucking name—says. “I want Ren and his friend to apologize for being inconsiderate little bitches.”

“I already have two strikes with Velle though,” Matthews says, but Gage ignores him.

“Show us what the cage does, newbie,” he steps closer. “Does it help when you’re taking a cock nice and deep? I think we should test it out.”

My jaw strains as I peer at the asshole with flames of hatred in my eyes. “Take another step, Percy. I dare you.”

“Dash, go,” Ren says. “I can handle this.”

“One of you is gonna take it raw,” Gage squints. “I don’t care which.”

My fists clench and I’m ready to spit in this prick’s face.

“Dash,” Ren snaps again. “Go.”

“I’m not leaving you alone with him,” I grumble.

“That’s so sweet,” the asshole smirks. “You two boyfriend and girlfriend now? But how do you decide which one bends over when you’re both bottoms?”

Red splashes in my vision and I swing my fist at his face. He stumbles, but immediately comes back for me. Ren jumps in between us and shoves him while I keep swinging around Ren’s body.

In an instant, shouting is coming from every direction, and now other prisoners are surrounding us, screaming for a fight. All hell is breaking loose.

Ren takes a fist to the gut, but then he hammers Gage in the face three times, quick; pop pop pop, one after another. I have to stop in shock for a second, because isn’t this the same dude who let me wail on him last week?

Gage’s friend comes at me lunging from the side and I duck to miss his fist, straightening up in time to nail him in the nose. I’m going for another swing when the crowd parts and an enraged Velle stomps through, with Rook, Joy and two other guards hot on his tail. Of course his eyes land on me first, before observing the scene.

He pulls his Glock out and holds it up in one hand, while the other reaches for his Taser.

“The fuck is going on here?!” He roars so loud, everyone immediately looks up.

Rook and Joy take out billy clubs. They all look pissed, and all I can do is stand there beside Ren, panting. Ren glances at me and I back at him, and we nod at each other. We’re on the same page for the first time since I got here. It feels alright. He’s an okay guy, I guess.

“Jesus, 101,” Joy huffs. “Why are you always at the center of this shit?”

“I didn’t—”

“Don’t fucking speak,” Velle hisses in my face, then turns to bark at Joy, “Get him the fuck back downstairs. Now!”

Joy grabs me and drags me out of the showers, barefoot, shirtless, and for the first time, not dreading solitary as much as I probably should be.

I need to see Kemper. This is all his fault and I’m fucking pissed. I don’t care if he wants to punish me… I’m gonna give him a piece of my mind.

It might be a bad decision, but I can’t care right now. I’m heated.

So back down to the dungeon I go… Not even twenty-four hours later.

47 days in

I’m in solitary for twelve hours before Kemper finally shows up.

All the hours spent pacing just gave me more time to think, thus working me up even more, and now I’m straight fuming.

He knew what would happen, tossing me up there with cum all over me and a fucking shock collar on my dick. For someone who claims I disrespected him, he sure as shit has no problem doing it to me.

When he opens the door to Darcey’s cell and comes inside, I lean up against the opposite wall and seethe in his direction. He stares at me for minutes in silence, as usual, and it’s driving me fucking nuts, but I refuse to speak first.

Eventually, he steps into the room and murmurs, “Back so soon, Luscious?”

My teeth grind into dust as I shrug. “I just love it down here so damn much.”

He chuckles, a deep raspy thing, and walks closer, observing me, then lifts his brow, I’m guessing because I’m shirtless and shoeless.

“I got into a fight in the showers,” I grumble. “Left my shoes and shirt behind.”

“That’s foolhardy, inmate. It’s freezing and dirty down here.” He looks at my feet. “I don’t even want to step on this floor with shoes on.”

“Well, it wasn’t exactly my choice to leave my shit.” I smolder at him with my eyes.

He folds his arms over his chest, glowering at me in the low light, eyes illuminated, as they always seem to be. “If there’s something you’d like to say to me, 101, just come out with it.”

“Yea, there’s something I need to say,” I push myself off the wall and stomp up to him. “You fucked me over sending me up there like that. That was a thousand times worse than whatever you think I did to you. And then I had to take a shower with this fucking thing on. I almost got my ass pummeled.”

His jaw ticks visibly. “Did you?”

I pause for a moment. “No… But still. That’s not the point. I didn’t want to fight anyone. And now you’re giving me shit about my fucking shoes that I lost up there. Those were my only shoes, obviously. My fucking favorite pair of Adidas, I might add.”

He has the nerve to fucking smirk. “I’ll get you new Adidas.”

“I don’t want them from you,” I move up to his face. “In fact, I don’t want goddamn anything from you other than the key to this piece of shit.” I gesture to my cock, and he glances down for a moment. Then his eyes slide back up to mine and his brows raise. “Get it off me.”

“Someone’s wound up tonight,” he steps forward, right into me. I have no choice but to back up. He grins, a subtly evil thing that makes me swallow. “Relax, 101. I was planning on coming to get you to take it off. You jumped the gun.”

“That was fucked up, and you know it,” I hiss.

“Mhm,” he rumbles at me, barely paying attention, like I’m something inconsequential he doesn’t need to deal with. I’m fucking livid.

He pulls a key out of his pocket and keeps his eyes on mine while tugging my pants down. My heart rate is building by the second, but I’m trying not to let him know about it, standing stock-still while he grabs my caged cock in his hand and unlocks the device.

The second it snaps open my dick is alleviated, goosebumps sheeting my skin from the sudden release of pressure. He takes the cage off, and my dick almost seems to stretch out, like I’m sure I would if I’d been trapped inside something suffocating for three days. The feeling instantly comes back into my flesh, and it’s euphoric.

It takes me a moment to realize that Kemper’s fingers are rubbing sensation back into my cock and it feels too good. I don’t want him doing that, so I grab my pants and haul them up while pulling away from him. He squints at me, pocketing the cage as a smirk twists the corner of his mouth.

“There, baby Luscious.” He leans in closer to my face, and whispers, “All better.”

I shake my head. “That was really fucked up today. You spout all this shit about me disrespecting you, but then you throw me out like garbage.” I stop to collect myself, blinking hard. “You’re a fucking asshole, Kemper.”

“Don’t piss me off, inmate,” he pushes closer. “I’m just barely forgiving you for your indiscretions. Don’t make me regret it. And don’t call me that.”

Scoffing, I roll my eyes. “What, did you want me to call you Daddy or something?”

His eyes flicker with untapped rage. “You will call me what I am to you.”

“Oh yea?” I cross my arms. “And what’s that? Giant rapist asshole?”

In a snap, he surges forward and grasps me by the throat, slamming my back against the wall. I cough, eyes wide while he presses himself into me.

“Officer, inmate 101,” he growls in my face. “And your behavior clearly still needs work.”

My muscles are tense, rage and fear mixing up inside me like a whirlwind. I’m still beyond fucking pissed, but the way he’s looking at me, I think I might’ve fucked up coming at him. He’s giving me one of those devious looks that shoots a chill up my spine.

Still holding me by the throat, he turns, shoving me backward toward the bed. I crash down on my back and he works fast, grabbing my legs and flipping me onto my stomach. I peer over my shoulder, pulse beating in my ears like a steel drum as I watch him pull out a pair of cuffs.

Fuck no. No no, not this again.

I swallow hard as he takes my wrists and cuffs me to the bed. Then he yanks my pants and boxers down in one fluid movement. I’m fucking naked in this freezing cold room, and yet I’m burning up from the adrenaline coursing through my body.

I try to wriggle away from him, but he straddles my thighs, holding me in place as his capable hands cup my ass.

“Stop. What are you doing?” I gasp, breathless from nerves and exertion.

Terror seizes my gut. He has that threatening look in his dark eyes that lets me know something violent is about to happen.

“I’m taking what’s mine.” I hear his belt unbuckling, a sound that is now associated with dread in my mind.

I keep watching from over my shoulder, breathing heavily while he sits below my ass, stroking his giant dick in his hand. His eyes meet mine, and they’re black; deep, somber pillars of detached emotion.

He thinks he owns me… On some level I knew this would happen, eventually.

I gulp as he pulls a small bottle out of his pocket, squeezing some liquid out and rubbing it all over his erection. Blinking over the widest eyes ever, I look up at him with a gaze pleading for some sympathy.

“No. Don’t do this…” I tug at my cuffs, the metal digging into my flesh. “Please.”

He ignores me, no surprise there, and rubs some warmed liquid between my ass cheeks. My body puckers at his touch and he lets out a low rumble from the back of his throat.

“I’m really going to enjoy this,” he twirls his finger around my rim. “Just so you know.”

“Please don’t. Stop…” I try to move beneath him, but he’s too damn heavy. I know how this goes, and I don’t expect I’ll be able to stop him. But this is different. This is a line I didn’t want to cross. I keep watching over my shoulder in horror as he takes his lubricated cock in his hand and pushes it up to my ass. “Don’t put that inside me, please, I’m begging you. I’ll do whatever you want.”

“But this is what I want, Luscious.” He rubs the head of his cock up and down over my asshole, getting everything all wet with the lubrication.

“No…” I whimper again, closing my eyes and burying my face in the bed so I don’t have to see what’s happening.

He yanks my hips back to get himself in a better position, holding me still with his dominant hands.

“Relax, Dascha,” he whispers, leaning forward to press a kiss on my spine. Tingles zip through me while he caresses my hips, sensually, like he’s my lover and we’re doing this together. Not like some rapist psycho who’s forcing me to get fucked before I’m even sure I want to. “I want you to feel good, you know? I want you to enjoy this. But I will get off either way.”

“I don’t want to,” I breathe. “Not… yet.”

“You’re so beautiful, baby,” he mumbles, sliding his cock in between my cheeks. “If you could see what I’m seeing right now, you’d understand why I can’t wait one more second.” His arms circle me, fingers cupping the muscles in my chest from behind. “I’ve wanted this since the first time I saw you.”

I’m so nervous my teeth are chattering. I can’t tell if this is something I’d even be interested in. It’s all too new. The problem is that he’s rushing me, and it’s not right. Well, he’s downright forcing me.

Still, though… I came with his fingers inside me. It was the best orgasm of my life. This could be the same…

But his cock is massive. It’s going to tear me apart.

“Kemp—Officer,” I ramble to him while he slips and slides his big dick over my rim. “Please… don’t…”

“Don’t what, baby?” He trails kisses all over my back, down to my ass, nipping a cheek until I flinch.

My cock jumps beneath me, bringing my attention to how hard it is. I hadn’t even noticed… I’m rock fucking solid, my pulse bumping through the veins from all the blood rushing.

Of course my cock is hard. It’s been oppressed for days. My balls are so tight, I’m sure I’ll come from just about anything at this point.

But that’s not the point. I’m scared…

“Don’t hurt me,” I plead, voice unsteady, my heart leaping in my chest.

Officer Kemper takes my chin in his fingers and turns my face, so I have to look at him over my shoulder. “I won’t hurt you, love. Not on purpose, anyway. I just want what no one’s ever had before. I need it.”

I shake my head subtly, gazing up at him in confusion. How does he know no one’s ever done this to me before?

My lips part, our eyes locked as, with no further discussion or warning, he nudges the tip of his dick up to my asshole, the fat, round head pushing in ever so slightly. It steals all the breath from inside my lungs.

Then he gives it a hard shove, the wide thing breaking through my barrier. I choke out a strangled noise, my head dropping forward as if I’ve just been stabbed.

“That’s it, baby,” he launches in more, another inch, the burn setting me on fire. “Take it.”

“It… hurts…” I croak, my fists clenched above the cuffs.

“You have to relax your whole body, Dascha. Like when I used my fingers.”

I nod, acknowledging that this is happening, and there’s no going back. All I can do now is focus on getting through it.

I urge myself to relax my muscles all over while he pumps in further, his thick cock ripping me apart with only a couple inches inside. God, it fucking kills. The burn is one thing, but he’s so huge I can feel every vein as his shaft forces into me, stretching my body to fit his girth.

Knowing this isn’t a place his dick is supposed to be is never far in my brain.

But then that factor sends blood rushing to my erection. It firms up like crazy, jamming into the bed while Officer Kemper drills into me from behind.

It’s forbidden, this whole notion. He’s not supposed to be doing this… I’m not supposed to be doing this.

If someone walked in right now, they would see a massive, muscular tattooed guard fucking me in the ass.

My whole body tingles and flushes with heat. He shifts in more, keeping it slow while gripping my hips so hard I can feel each of his fingerprints as they ingrain my flesh.

“I’m halfway in, Luscious,” his voice wavers on his words, the sound letting me know he’s losing it, just a little. It should scare me, but it brings a flicker of elation at the idea of making someone like him surrender control. To me. “I’m gonna move now, baby.”

My chest warms defiantly at how often he calls me baby. I hate the pet names, and I despise how much he thinks I’m his to do this with, but it also seems to make me weak for him against my will.

He draws back a bit, the feeling so foreign it prompts a gasp from my lips. Then he thrusts in again, even deeper, both of us groaning in unison. His movements pick up slightly, though he’s still keeping it slow enough that I think I’m adjusting to his size, though there’s really no way something this big should fit inside me.

Leisurely stroking, he grazes that spot inside me, where his fingers were the other day, and I shudder.

“You like that, baby?” He runs his hands up my sides. “Your ass is the tightest thing I’ve ever had my dick in.”

“I’m… I… fuck…” my voice jumbles into the bed while he pushes deeper and deeper, hitting the good spot more each time. I can’t breathe, my body wound up like a rubber band.

Kemper melts over my back, jamming his cock so deep in me I can feel his pelvis on my butt as he bottoms out. “You like my cock deep in your little pussy, baby?” Then his hips work, building his pace, faster and harder, thrusting into me again and again while he kisses and licks the back of my neck, my shoulders, then my ear. “Take this dick, Luscious.”

His words are so salacious, I should hate what he says, but my cock is weeping into the bed. I can’t believe I like this. I can’t believe he’s doing this and I’m as hard as stone and enjoying it. My mind is all over the place, riddled with so many thoughts about how wrong this is, and how good it feels, that it ultimately goes blank.

Kemper grabs me by the back of my neck and twists my face toward his. “Look at me, Dascha.”

My eyes peel open to meet his. The never-ending oceans catch me, gluing me in place. Rough breaths puff from between his lips while he pumps into me, dragging and driving, pounding me in the ass so deep his balls are smacking against my taint. I have to bite down on my lower lip to keep in the whimpers and whines trying to burst forth.

“God, I love your ass,” he pants, eyes dropping to my mouth. I release my lip and he groans watching it… looking like he wants to kiss me.

Would he kiss me while he fucks me?

I don’t want him to, but the thought is now dancing in the front of my mind. What would it be like? If he captured my mouth right now, while he’s in me up to the hilt? I might like it… who knows.

“My big cock is stretching your tiny pussy, Dascha,” he breathes over my mouth, riding my ass raw.

My cock pulses, the friction of it rutting into the bed almost more than I can bear. It feels marvelous, and it dawns on me that the pain from when he first started is almost entirely gone. It’s still uncomfortable, but I like it, and it draws my balls up so tight I think they’re about to burst.

His cock is sliding over my prostate, shooting bolts of electricity through my loins. Like his goddamn Taser, only laced with pleasure. Every time his enormous cock touches it, blinding euphoria sizzles inside me, radiating a tight suffocation up my chest. And he just keeps pumping into my body, holding me still and touching me all over, the slap slap slap of him fucking me as hard and as deep as humanly possible ringing through the tiny room. The small bed frame is creaking beneath us, like it could come crashing down at any moment.

The sounds of someone getting the life fucked out of them bounce off the walls. And the fact that someone is me has my cock twinging out even more precum.

“This ass,” his voice is ragged and overcome with filthy lust as he drops his forehead onto my shoulder. “This tight perfect ass. I’m gonna come so deep inside you, Luscious.” He bites me and I mewl like a kitten, then chomp my lip to cover it up.

He straightens up to watch himself fucking me, holding my hips and stroking every inch of his length into my tight hole, over and over, milking himself inside me where no one else has ever been until I think I might pass out.

His breaths become violently uneven as a large hand runs up to my throat, holding steady while his hips ripple into mine from behind. His strokes fall shallow and he keeps his long cock all the way inside my body, pumping against my ass cheeks so hard my face is smashing into the bed.

“Tell me you want me to come deep in your pussy, baby,” he pleads, his voice on the verge of cracking.

My hips drive against the bed with his thrusts, my own climax threatening to grab me and tug me over at any second.

“Say it, Dascha,” he growls, and I purr when he hits that damn fucking spot, basically living on it.

“Ah, fuck… Jesus…” My mind is a mass of greedy desire as the words flee my lips on their own like a plea, “Come deep in my pussy, Officer.”

I can’t believe I just said that. Except that I can, because I want it.

I want to feel him pulsing hot cum inside me. I don’t fucking know why, but I do. And I want to come at the same time. I want him to come so hard in me it immediately makes me come.

God, I fucking need this.

“Fuck yes, baby… Yes yes yes I’m coming in you,” he groans, holding my throat so tight, my face is on fire and I can’t breathe. I’m jetting past the stars, cruising the cosmos. “I’m coming hard for you, Dascha.” Each word comes with a bucking thrust as he fills me up, “Take. My. Fucking. Cum.”

I feel his big dick rippling waves inside me, and I let go, my eyes rolling back in my skull while my cock bursts.

This is the most incredible pleasure I never knew I could have… And I come, and come, and come, on the bed and all over my abs, crying into the mattress while Kemper sings my praises, choking me out as his dick shoots cum all the way inside my body.

“God damn. God fucking damn…” he croaks then coughs, his hips eventually slowing. He falls forward on my back, not putting all his weight on me, his arms circling my waist to hold me tight. “Luscious… you are perfection, baby.”

I’m without gravity; weightless and fluffy. For minutes on end, I have no idea where I am or what’s happening. All I can do is focus on the steady cadence of his heart beating into my back as it synchs up with mine. Thump thump thump thump thump.

It occurs to me that he’s still inside me, but it doesn’t hurt. I feel sort of complete… Like a piece of myself I never knew was missing has been snapped in.

His fingers trail all over me while he pulls himself up, dropping a few soft kisses on my shoulder blades.

“Such a pretty broken thing,” he whispers, keeping me warm with his voice and his mysterious words.

It’s so cold it here, there’s probably steam coming off our bodies from how goddamn hot we are.

“I’m gonna move, gorgeous,” his deep voice envelopes me and I think I nod, but I can barely tell if I’m moving.

He tugs his cock out, which is a strange sensation, and then I feel stuff seeping out of me. It brings even more palpable flush to my face, because here I am, lying naked and cuffed on the bed with his cum dripping out of my ass. I can’t believe he just came inside me like that… No mention of condoms or anything. And while I’d like to be concerned, I can’t locate any of the needed negative emotions at the moment.

Kemper gets up and grabs something, a cloth, using it to clean up our mess. He wipes my ass, gently with care. It could be embarrassing, but all I feel is bliss and pure, hushed solace. It’s like I’m wrapped in a giant fur blanket in front of a fireplace. That’s what I’m visualizing, anyway.

I’m in a luxurious bungalow in Tulum, a small fire crackling as I lie on a furry rug, naked and sated. The backdoors are opened to the sounds of the ocean, warm tropical breeze brushing my skin.

He comes back to me immediately, after tossing the dirty rag on the floor and unlocks my cuffs. Then he lies down next to me and takes my wrists in his hands, rubbing them. A purr leaves my lips as I blink at him, wondering why the fuck I’m so comfortable.

At the beginning of every interaction we have, I hate him. And then he does things that cross my wires. It’s confusing as fuck.

Kemper looks down at the bed and lifts a brow. “Did you come?”

I swallow hard then scoff, “No.”

He grins and licks his lip, running his fingers along some wet remains on my abs. “You did. You liked it.”

His smugness is pissing me off, and the stubborn part of me intervenes.

“I absolutely hated it,” I hiss, though there’s very little bite to my tone. “You should leave me alone, or next time, I swear to God, I’ll figure out a way to kill you the second you step foot inside my cell.”

His smile widens, all the colors shimmering in my face as he lets out a small laugh that flips my stomach. It takes all the strength I have left not to smile.

“Whatever you say, Luscious,” he takes me in his arms, pulling me closer.

I start to fight against it, but it’s no use. He’s stronger, plus he’s warm. I have no clothes and I’m tired… As fucking ludicrous as it sounds, I just want to be held.

My head rests on his chest, and he pulls the blanket over me, fingers running absentmindedly up and down my back.

“You’re warm…” Words leave my lips without my permission, but I can’t even worry about it right now. I’m drifting…

“You’re beautiful,” he whispers with awestruck certainty in his deep voice.

“You owe me a pair of sneakers,” I mumble, and his broad chest shakes with a chuckle.

“I’ll get right on it, baby.”

I usually work the overnight shift.

Most guards will alternate working night shifts. For example, we’ll do half the week overnight then the other half day. Or sometimes we’ll do a full week of night shifts then a full week of day.

Joy does the schedule and she’s pretty lenient. She lets us pick what we want as long as it all comes together with enough coverage.

After the first time Dash came to solitary, I volunteered to work as many night shifts as I could. Then I started pulling more doubles. At this point, I haven’t been home in days.

I don’t mind it, though. I like being here when he’s here. I like watching him, even when he thinks I’m staying away. The distance is good for us, and I get that.

But still… When I’m away from him, there’s a physical absence I feel in my body, and my mind, like an electrical draw. A shortage. I feel like something is missing when I can’t see his perfect face; watch him do his push-ups until his arms shake or listen to him singing that goddamn song over and over because he thinks nobody’s listening.

He fascinates me, and sure, I realize it’s not healthy to want someone this bad. But I’ve done a lot of things that aren’t healthy for me over the years. Compared to all that stuff, obsessing over the kid doesn’t seem too bad.

I let Dash sleep in my arms for hours while I stayed awake, watching him to make sure he didn’t have a nightmare. When I felt secure in his peaceful slumber, I went upstairs and found his sneakers.

I fully intend on buying him a new pair, but there isn’t exactly an outlet on Alabaster Isle, and it takes Amazon weeks to deliver here. We go off island once a month as a group, but that won’t be for another two weeks. He needs shoes ASAP, and he won’t fit in my size thirteens. He’s an eleven.

While I was up there, I got him some new clothes, since his socks and shirt were missing, and I used his only pants to clean up our sexy mess.

Unfortunately, the pickins were slim as far as wardrobe goes, being that he’s still an inmate and needs to wear the gray jumpsuit like everyone else. But I got him a smaller size of pants, so he won’t have to pull that drawstring all the way to tie them around his slim waist. And I grabbed him one of my hoodies from my locker. It gets damn cold down here, and the last thing I want is him getting sick.

I’ve seen it happen before… And I won’t have a repeat of that bullshit. Not on my watch, and not with my Luscious. I never left my toys out in the rain as a kid, and I won’t start doing it now.

I claimed him last night. I took something from him that I’m fully confident he would have given me willingly, eventually, if I’d had enough patience to wait. But I didn’t, so I made him see that even when I take from him, I can give him what he needs. I’d say he enjoyed himself. Despite his little fit afterward, I know he came. He came from me fucking him for the first time.

Now he belongs to me. And it’s my responsibility to take care of what’s mine.

Making my way back down to solitary, my arms filled with clothes and more packets of mini muffins since I know Dash loves them, I pass a few guards whom I choose not to acknowledge. I think they might be catching onto how much time I spend with Dash. Sure, most guards in here trade goods for sexual favors with the inmates. But the unspoken rule is to keep it discreet. The Warden has a sort of don’t ask don’t tell policy with us. As long as it doesn’t impede the job, or interfere with what little funding we get, he doesn’t care.

Dash is one of our high-profile prisoners, because of what he did, and it’s a miracle that the Warden chose not to keep him in the East wing. I think if they knew the full extent of his behavioral problems, that would change real quick. So I’ll make it my new duty to ensure they never do.

Aside from the torture that goes on in the East, I wouldn’t get to be with him like I am now, and I can’t have that. No one is taking my Luscious away from me.

My mind is racing through all kinds of thoughts as I unlock the door to the cell and slink inside, making sure no one’s around first.

Like magnets, my eyes find Dash immediately, and a small smile tugs at my lips when I realize he’s still sleeping. He struggles with sleep sometimes. I’ve seen as much from watching him, but I seem to always knock him out cold when we fool around, which is good. He needs his rest.

Moving to the bed quietly, I place his things by his feet then take a seat next to him. I observe him in his state of undisturbed slumber while memorizing the lines of his body; the perfectly even tone of his skin, and the steady rhythm of his calming breaths. The blanket fell down around his waist, exposing his top half; wide shoulders, defined chest, a few scattered freckles, like his tattoos, decorating him in a way wholly unique to him.

His arms are long, the curves of his biceps plump and firm, though not overly bulky and thick like my own. Dash has strength in his body that looks effortless. Veins running down his forearms, and shapely hands with exquisite fingers. He bites his nails, which could be a nervous tick, or just something he does in here to keep them from getting long. Either way, visualizing those hands touching himself, or me, is enough to bring some significant warmth to my flesh.

Reaching out, I run my fingertips gently down the elongated slope of his neck, letting them linger on his pulse point for just a moment. I remember how it raced last night when I was inside him. I remember how harsh his breaths were, like I was controlling his breathing with every thrust.

My dick fills up fast at the images scurrying through my brain, hardening against my thigh as I bite my lip. Last night was my first time with a man… And now it feels like I’ve awoken from a thirty-five-year coma.

I can still feel the way Dash’s body fit mine like a glove. The way he molded to me while I filled him with every inch of myself. Jesus, I wanted to bury my entire body inside him. He satisfied my every appetite last night, and yet I still want so much more.

I’m far from done with Dascha Reznikov. In fact, we’ve only just begun.

He stirs beside me, rolling over onto his back. As soon as it happens, I catch sight of something that almost breaks my face in two.

He’s tenting the blanket like crazy. His erection is at full salute, standing straight up and holding the blanket with it. I chuckle and cover my lips with my fingers, eyeing it hungrily. I’m glad he learned his lesson, and I took the cock cage off. Honestly, his dick is far too perfect to be imprisoned like that. The length of it alone is seriously impressive, but also how hard he gets, and how often it happens, is nothing shy of miraculous.

Some might consider shame-boners inconvenient, but for my toy it’s perfect. It’s like I can count on his dick to tell me things that he might be inclined to hold back.

Unable to resist, my fingers walk down his stomach, opening the blanket so I can look inside and peep his morning wood. My mouth is watering. I’d love to taste him again… He’s so sweet and delicious, and the sounds he makes when he comes are the best music to my ears.

But before I can consider wrapping my lips around his swollen head, he stretches his arms and blinks open his eyes. I drop the blanket and gaze at his face as he stares up at me, confusion lasting only a moment before he yawns and rolls onto his side, closer to me.

He snuggles up against my thigh and rasps, “I’m surprised you’re still here.”

“Why’s that?” My head cocks to the side.

He shrugs a bit, keeping his eyes closed, I think so he doesn’t have to look at me while we talk. It’s possible he’s feeling shy after what happened, which is so adorable it gets me hard as a rock.

Dash’s hand reaches up to touch my knee hesitantly and I want to fucking attack him, he’s being so timid and sexy. But I refrain, letting his curious fingers wander up my leg.

“I thought maybe you’d have to… leave,” he murmurs, his hand slinking toward the inside of my thigh, dangerously close to the erection he’s responsible for growing right now. “And be a guard again.”

“I’m still a guard,” my voice comes out hoarse while I watch his fingers move toward my cock and his face remains buried bashfully in the outside of my thigh where I sit, at the edge of the bed.

His hand covers my erection, and his eyes pop open, flicking up to mine. “But is it okay for you to be in here with me… like this?”

His gaze falls to where his hand is, and he looks like he has no idea what he wants to do, or even how to feel; partially terrified, but even more so turned on and curious as hell. I love that look on him. Uncertainty has never been so hot until Dash.

“Well, not really,” I answer him, parting my legs just an inch more, letting him know it’s okay for him to explore. More than okay. I’m fucking dying for it.

His thumb traces the curve of my head through my pants, and I suck in a breath. He glances up at me, a mischievous twinkle in his hazel eyes as he does it again, this time smoothing his entire palm over it. I blink slowly at him, silently praising his innocent touch.

“Have you done this before?” He asks, then wets his plush pink lips with his tongue, a sight that causes my cock to flinch in his hand. “With another inmate, I mean?”

I shake my head slowly. “Never. Not with an inmate… not with a guy.” I pause to let that fact sink in, for both of us. “You’re my first.”

He seems to like that answer, his cheeks reddening a bit as his hand grips my cock through my pants, jerking it casually.

“You were my first, too,” he says, breathlessly, as if it’s a turn-on to even be talking about this with me. I’d have to say, I agree. “I mean… last night.”

“I know,” I lift my hips to push my cock harder into his hand, and he gasps.

“How do you know that?” He narrows his gaze at me, hooded with desire while he plays with my cock, wriggling under the covers. Just knowing he’s naked under there has my balls aching with need.

“I know a lot about you, Dascha,” I keep my eyes locked on his.

“That’s creepy,” his mouth curves into a teasing smirk I want to bite right off and swallow.

I bet it’d taste like Pop Rocks. Sweet sparks; that’s Dash.

“It’s part of my job to know things about you,” I tell him, though it’s a weak argument. Sure, I know what’s in his file, but that’s about it. The rest I learned by watching him constantly, enamored and unable to stop.

“Hmm, like what?” He purrs as his fingers slink down to rub on my balls.

My eyes fall shut for a second. “I know why you’re in here, of course.”

His hand slows, the smirk falling off as he looks up at me, some visible insecurity taking over.

“Yea, I robbed a bank,” he mutters then shakes his head, pulling his hand away from me. “No clue how that would land me in a place like this, but I guess that’s for you assholes to know and me never to find out, right?”

I’m a little bummed at the loss of playfulness, but I can’t even be worried about that right now. I’m too busy focusing on what he just said.

He says he robbed a bank… As in, that’s all he did?

My forehead lines in confusion as I gape at him, stunned. He’s staring at my thigh, drawing a circle on it over and over with his index finger, lost in his thoughts. And I can relate, because I’m stuck on what he just said, and the tone in which he said it.

“Do you mean that…” I start then stop. I don’t want to upset him, and I don’t want to say the wrong thing. But I’m beyond curious now. “What do you mean?”

“I mean what I said,” he grumbles and sits up next to me, holding the blanket over his lap. “No one has told me shit about why I’m in here, surrounded by people who have done way worse than me. I mean, I understand that I’ve been getting away with robberies for a while, but still. At most that should land me in a federal prison, not Guantanamo Bay for psychos. I don’t belong here.”

He closes his eyes and runs a hand over his face, appearing stressed out. He mumbles something under his breath that I can’t understand and now I’m beyond words.

He thinks he’s in here for robbing a bank? Meaning, he doesn’t know what’s in his file…

He doesn’t know… Or he doesn’t remember?

How is that possible?

I can’t help the blank expression on my face as I watch him. When he reopens his eyes, I see his jaw clench visibly.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he growls, pupils suddenly wide as hell, almost swallowing up the iris.

“Like what?” I ask hesitantly.

“Stop,” he mutters, almost inaudibly.

I shake my head. “Dascha, I’m not looking at you any kind of way. I’m sorry I brought that shit up. Let’s just forget it, okay?”

He glares at me for a moment in silence until finally he lets out a harsh breath. “No, I’m sorry. I guess I’m just on edge, after seeing what they were doing to the guys in the East wing.”

I nod, because I’m not sure what else to say. Climbing off the bed, dazed from that conversation, his words echoing in my mind, I point to all the things I brought him.

“What’s that?” He asks.

“I found your shoes upstairs,” I tell him, and he grabs the stuff, looking through it all. “I’m not going back on my promise. I will get you new shoes, it just takes a while to get stuff out here. But I also got you some new clothes in the meantime.”

He picks up my NYPD Police Academy sweatshirt and holds it up. His eyes light up with amusement, the corner of his mouth quirking as he peeks at me.

“That’s mine,” I say.

“Yea, I can tell,” he grins, holding it up higher. The thing is obviously huge, which is my size. “You want me wearing your clothes, Officer?”

My cock twitches as I gaze down at him. “I’d like to see you wearing only that.”

His smile widens. “Pervert.”

His face is jubilant, practically glowing, and I fucking love it. I love the way he looks when he’s excited, almost as much as I love when he’s uncomfortable, or angry, or sad. He’s just so beautiful, in the entire array of his emotions.

Dash whips the blanket off himself and stands up, completely naked and unashamed. His body is fucking perfect, and I think on some level he knows that. Or at least he knows how I feel about it, which is why he’s taking his time dressing, standing around with his ass and back on display. He even peeks over his shoulder at me and gives me a positively wicked look before pulling his pants up. Then his slips my hoodie over his head, settling into it.

He looks like a fucking dream, I swear to God. I’m done-for with this kid.

He nestles his face in the fabric and sniffs, which makes me grin.

“Smells like a big meathead cop,” he smirks.

“Well, now you can make it smell like a sexy Russian tease,” I raise my brow and he chuckles.

A packet of the mini muffins falls from the sweatshirt pocket onto the floor, and he bends to pick them up. He looks them over for a second before opening, shoving one into his mouth quick.

“Why are you being so nice to me?” He asks while chewing. “Is it just because you fucked me last night?”

I give him a look that says watch it, and he shows me a cheeky grin. Gonna have to keep an eye on the sass.

“I take care of what’s mine, Luscious,” I remind him.

“You know I’m my own person, right, Officer?” He cocks a brow. “I’m not an object.”

I shrug, ignoring his stand for independence. Of course I know he’s not an object. But I want to possess him. It’s that simple.

Since the first time I laid eyes on him, Dascha has possessed my thoughts. This is me getting him back for that.

“Are you alright for now?” I watch him closely while he devours the muffins. “I have to get back to work for a bit.”

He shrugs and nods. “I guess. Still waiting on that toothbrush, though.” He purses his lips at me, and I clench my jaw to keep the amusement hidden. He’s so flirtatious today, I almost can’t believe it.

Is he acting this way because we fucked? Does he feel more comfortable with me now? Was that really all it took?

Or maybe we crossed a line into something deeper. We shared something last night, I suppose. It’s heavy to think about, but I like heavy.

I consider his request for a moment. This is solitary confinement. The inmates aren’t supposed to be comfortable, that’s the point. If I want Dash to have showers, regular food, and access to a sink and toilet in his cell, I should bring him back up to gen-pop. But then it’ll be harder for me to see him…

I make a snap decision while he’s putting his socks and shoes on, opening the cell door and looking around.

Dash peers up and I wave him over. “Come on. Hurry up.”

“Where are we going?” He seems nervous. I still think it’s adorable, but I sort of wish we knew each other in a place where he wasn’t used being treated like trash.

“Do you trust me?” I raise a brow.

He pauses for a moment, staring at me. Then he stands up and wanders over. “I think so… I guess that makes me a fucking debil, or a masochist or something.”

“What’s debil?” I repeat the word, not really sounding like he did when I say it.

He grins up at me. “A moron.”

I can’t help but chuckle, shaking my head and grabbing him by the arm. “Come with me, inmate. Let’s test out that theory.”

He laughs quietly, trying to disguise it while I cuff him, just for show. Then I drag him up the hall, through a few doors and past some more cells, toward the locker room. Opening the door, I peek inside to make sure no one’s in there. When I’m sure the coast is clear, I bring Dash inside, close the door behind us and lock it. This door is never usually locked so if someone else tries to come in, it’ll be very suspicious.

Hopefully, we can get this done and get out of here before anyone pops up.

I remove Dash’s cuffs and go to my locker, taking out my toothbrush. Handing it to him, along with my tube of toothpaste, I gesture to the sinks.

“Go ahead. Do your thing.”

“I have to use your toothbrush?” He looks skeptical and I tilt my head.

“You can throat my cock and swallow my cum, but the toothbrush is going too far?”

He glares at me for a moment, and I glare back. Mine is scarier, kid.

Finally he huffs and shakes his head, a small smirk covering his lips as he goes to the middle sink. “You have a point. Which is alarming, by the way.”

Folding my arms over my chest, I watch him in the mirror while he brushes his teeth thoroughly. He seems to have a thing with brushing his teeth, which isn’t bad. I brush and floss three times a day myself, and mouthwash in between. Nothing like good oral hygiene.

When he’s done, he rinses off the brush and hands it back to me. I put everything away while he washes his face, staring at himself for a moment in the mirror. His eyes lock on his own reflection, and I wonder like hell what he sees when he looks at himself.

There’s no way he knows about the tricks that live inside the crevices of his pretty, infected mind, the words he spoke in the cell coming back to me…

If he truly thinks he’s in here for simply getting caught robbing a bank, then either he’s a deep-seated liar, like Ren. Or he somehow blocked out what happened.

It’s plausible, based on the things I’ve seen. And his file…

I don’t know what to think, but the fact remains. I care strongly for Dash. I don’t want him to be confused or hurt, even if it’s being done to him by his own biology.

I should tell him the truth. But how? What if he gets upset?

He most certainly will get upset, regardless. I don’t want him to lash out or blame me, but at the same time it would likely be better for him to hear it from me; if he found out the truth in the presence of someone who can comfort and guide him. Someone who knows him.

My thoughts are cut short when he turns to face me. “Can I take a shower?”

I give him a stern look. “Dash…”

“Please?” He begs, stepping in closer. “I’d like to shower… after last night.” His cheeks flush and he swallows. “I feel like… I just need to shower. Please? It’ll only take a second.”

I contemplate his request, then glance at my watch. It’s almost three in the afternoon, and shift-change isn’t until six. People won’t be in here at this time of day. Even so, it’s not smart to do this. I don’t really care about miscellaneous guards, but if Velle finds out, it could be a problem. Though he has his own locker room that he and Joy use, upstairs. I would be shocked if he came down here, though weirder things have happened.

And yet looking at Dash, his forest eyes all wide and twinkly, a small pout on his soft lips, I’m not sure how to deny him. He’s goddamn irresistible. The thought of showering with him in here, because naturally I would come in with him, sounds like the best thing ever.

And he has a point. After last night, he deserves a nice warm shower.

“Alright, fine,” I concede, and he lights up, beaming a vast thing that shows off his perfectly straight white teeth. “You have ten minutes. And under one condition.”

He gives me a look which means he obviously knows what the condition is. “And what would that be, Officer Pervert?”

“Comments like that will cost you, inmate,” I warn, burning him with my eyes. He’s being so damn fresh today. I think he needs a little reminder of who’s on top here. “The condition is that I get to wash you.”

“I could get onboard with that,” he breathes, his eyes conveying his nerves and anticipation together.

“Good, because you don’t have an option,” I smirk. “Now, strip, 101.”

He lifts my hoodie off and tosses it onto a nearby bench, kicks off his shoes and socks, then steps out of his pants and boxers, quickly, keeping his eyes averted, I think out of uncertainty. He’s still anxious about what I’ll do, which I can understand and appreciate. I’ve hurt him before, but I don’t want to. If he does as I say, it can only be beneficial to him.

Unbuttoning my shirt, I shrug it off my shoulders, then unbuckle my belt. “Turn on the water.” I nod behind him at one of the shower stalls.

He wanders over, and with his back to me I’m half-tempted to bite my fist. His pale skin looks delicious, decorated only by some occasional ink. I’m not a Dom, and I’ve never been into any sort of BDSM stuff. But looking at Dash’s perfectly milky flesh makes me want to mark him up, maybe with biting or sucking. Something purple would look positively wicked on him…

I force myself to get it together as I undress, Dash turning on the water, placing his hand under it until it warms up. Then he steps beneath.

I stalk toward him, like a predator coming for his prey, though this isn’t supposed to be about devouring. This is about cleaning, and I have to remind myself not to get carried away.

I enter the stall with him and even though I’m only about three inches taller, he has to angle his face upward because of how close we are. There’s limited space inside this tiny stall, and I like it. I want to spend all my time pressed up against him.

“I won’t cuff you, inmate,” I say while gazing down at his lips. They’re so goddamn tempting; soft, plush, with this pale pinkish hue I just want to suck for hours until it darkens. “I’m going to trust that you’ll behave. If you don’t, you’ll get the Taser. Do you understand?”

He nods right away. “Yes.”

“Yes what?”

“Yes, Officer,” he gulps and my cock jumps into his.

We both look down at our dicks, standing up and grazing one another. I flick my hips forward just a bit to rub my erection on his and he sucks in an audible breath, his eyes flinging back up to mine.

God, all I want in the world is to grind my cock into his forever until we both come all over each other, but I don’t have time for that right now. Maybe later.

Reaching out to the soap dispenser on the wall, I squeeze out a handful of body wash, rubbing my hands together to get a nice lather going. My eyes land on Dash’s and he stares up at me, lips pressing together while he stands, still as a statue. Placing my soaped up hands on his chest, I start there, rubbing his pecs and shoulders, up to his neck, all the while watching his face. His breathing is speeding up more by the second, and when my hands run down his abs to his pelvis, he leans back a bit, resting on the wall behind him as I drop to my knees.

“Fuck…” he whispers.

“Easy there, 101,” I grin wickedly, stroking his cock between my fist. “This isn’t playtime. We’re just cleaning you up.” I move onto his balls and he whimpers, eyes drooping shut.

“That feels…” he hums, but then I move onto his thighs and he whines. “Why’d you stop?”

I huff and shake my head, glancing up at him. “What did I just say?”

“Mmm… you’re no fun,” he pouts, and I have to laugh.

Next, I wash his legs, and then his feet. I’m not usually a foot guy, but Dash’s are nice. Big and manly… I don’t know why I like that all of a sudden, but even more so, I like the look on his face while I massage them. I could do this for a while, but I have to keep reminding myself that time is limited.

I stand back up and he breathes out, eyes latched onto mine.

“Turn around, baby,” I instruct, my tone laced with hunger. I can’t keep it out. I want him so badly right now, my dick is throbbing. Being able to touch him, all over, worshipping his perfect body… it’s almost too much. I’m mere seconds away from fucking him against this wall.

And now I’m doing his back… Jesus, how am I supposed to focus?

Dash turns and presses his palms flat on the tiles, popping out his butt a little, until it’s right in front of my crotch. I’m drooling.

Blinking hard, I take more soap in my hands, starting with his shoulder blades and his back, unable to stop myself from pushing into him. He groans quietly when my hard dick slips into the crack of his ass. I drop my head forward, leaving faint breaths on the nape of his neck while he shivers.

“Last night…” I swallow, rubbing his lower back with my hands while I grind into his ass. “Dascha, you’re a revelation. Do you know how incredible it feels to be inside you?”

“No,” his voice scrapes as he turns his head.

“Your ass is fucking Eden, baby,” I murmur in his ear, then lick the shell slowly before sucking the lobe between my lips.

He purrs and pushes his ass back into me. “Fuck me.” He says it like a plea. “Fuck me again. Right now.”

Every muscle in my body is wound with need. But still I growl, “I don’t take orders from you, Luscious.”

“It’s not an order,” he mumbles. “You want to… I know you do.”

My hands massage his ass cheeks for a moment, until his forehead drops against the tiled wall. Then my fingers slink between his cheeks, sliding up and down over his rim with the soap.

“Of course I want to,” I tap my middle fingertip and thumb on my left hand, over and over, in some attempt at control. I can’t fuck him right now…

Can’t I?

My soapy fingers slip and slide between the cheeks of his perfectly plump ass, trailing down to his taint, then back up; washing, that’s it. I’m just cleaning him.

Dash is trembling, his breathing as harsh as mine, though I’m still trying to keep myself in check as I stuff a finger inside him. He gasps and clenches, so I kiss the nape of his neck slowly.

“Relax, baby.” More kisses coat his neck while my finger swirls. “I came inside here last night. I need to clean you up.”

“Y-yea… I remember that you came in my ass.” I can feel him relaxing, and I take the opportunity to slide another wet finger inside him while he mewls. “You don’t believe in condoms?”

“Why would I use I condom with something that’s only mine?” I bite the supple flesh of his neck until he flinches.

Then he sighs, “God…” and I notice one of his hands moving down to his cock.

My fingers slide in and out of his ass, leisurely stroking while he fists his dick and jerks himself.

I’m impressed. He just took my cock, rough and deep, last night for the first time and already he’s begging for more; opening up to me. Not to mention that he comes from penetration alone. I think Dash was made to be a bottom. Correction, my bottom.

I smash my erection into his ass cheek while I finish cleaning his sweet little hole, his ragged breaths echoing off the tiles. My head is fuzzy, and I’m lost in a thick fog of lust. The steam surrounding us has nothing to do with the water anymore.

I can’t stop myself. Even the most controlled man wouldn’t be able to resist this temptation. My toy needs me to fill him again. I have to give him what he needs.

Pulling my fingers back, Dash lets out a frustrated breath. But before he can run his smart mouth, I grab him by the waist and drag him out of the shower, bringing him quickly over to the bench and shoving his wet body down on it.

“W-what are you doing?” His eyes are wide, the filthy desire in them more apparent this time than his fear.

“I have to fuck you again,” I rasp, rushing to grab a few towels, tossing them at him. “Lay these down on that bench.”

He gulps visibly but does as I ask while I go to my pants, taking my cuffs off my holster.

“Lie on your back,” I demand, breathing heavy with anticipation, “And lift your arms above your head.”

He does as he’s told, and I kneel over his hips on the bench, naked and dripping wet, cuffing him to the leg. This thing is pretty narrow, but it’s big enough for two full grown people to fuck on. I would know, because I’ve walked in on people fucking on it before.

Dash licks his lips as I reach down to my pants on the floor again, this time grabbing the small bottle of lotion I used last night. Our eyes stay together while I squirt some out and rub it over my erection, stroking it slowly as my chest moves up and down.

I spread his legs wide, curling one knee around my waist as I come over him on all fours, slinking my lubed fingers between his cheeks.

“This position…” he pants, breathlessly quaking.

“I want to see you.” Taking my cock in my hand again, I press the head up to his hole. “I want to watch your face while I fuck you as deep as I can.”

A small noise wisps from between his lips while I give a hard, impatient shove, forcing my dick into his ass, prompting a louder, more strangled sound from the back of his throat. My eyelids fall and I sigh, pushing deeper inside him, shuddering all over at the fucking pure sensation of filling him. It’s wonderful. Euphoric.

“God, you’re so tight,” I lean over him, thrusting deeper still, letting go of my cock and grabbing his hips with my hands.

“You’re…” he pauses to groan, “Fuckin huge. Jesus, you’re ripping me apart.”

“You flatter me, inmate,” I drop my face to the crook of his neck, kissing and sucking on his pulse while I drive deeper, keeping my pace tame, allowing him time to accommodate to my size again. Having two fingers in him just now may have primed him a tad, but it was nothing compared to taking my cock at this angle.

Lifting my head to watch, I continue plunging into him, my hips rippling, deeper and harder while he bites his lip, eyelids drooping in sheer reverence, though his irises stay with me.

Dash looks like a fucking miracle from the sex gods, long legs spread wide for me, muscular arms cuffed above his head; his full, luscious cock, solid and pulsing out precum on his abs every time I hit his prostate. Eyes rolling back in his skull when it happens, lips now parted and shivering.

I think I could probably come just from looking at him like this. Not that I would need help when his muscles are gripping my cock, stroking me as I work up a rhythm inside him.

Picking up the pace a bit when I’m sure he’s more comfortable, I pull and push until I’m balls deep in his warm cunt, watching in fascination as his balls tap my pelvis every time I dive deep. This is only my second time fucking a man, obviously, but I think I like this position way more.

I love looking at his dick while I’m fucking him. It’s so hard, bobbing around with my heavy thrusts, which lets me know he’s feeling good. And that’s what I want. More than my own pleasure, I want him to love this.

I want him knowing that when his owner takes him for a ride, he’s guaranteed to get off better than he ever has before.

My hands explore him all over, covering his hips and sides, palming his balls and cock until he whimpers, gasping as they continue on, up his abs and pecs. The pads of my thumbs brush over his nipples and they harden like little pebbles. Then my grip comes up to his throat.

Giving him a look, I watch his eyes while I pump between his legs, making sure he’s good.

“Choke me,” he whispers, the green in his eyes shimmering while the brown darkens to nearly black.

That’s all the go I need.

My hands tighten around his throat and I hold him down while I fuck him, roughly, his moans becoming strangled cries while his ankles lock atop my ass to hold me to him.

He fucking loves it, just like I always knew he would. He was nervous as first, naturally, but now he’s mine and he loves how I fuck him. It’s a dream come true.

“C-can I… have my hands?” Dash asks in a stifled breath. “Please?”

My gaze narrows at him while my hips slow. “Why?”

“I want my hands… please, Officer,” his face is flushed beyond belief, from the choking, sure, but also from the shame he feels at being used. I know he loves it and fuck, so do I.

Slowing down further, I consider his plea. His arms are stretched, probably pretty uncomfortably, above his head, and at the angle of the bench’s leg, it could likely be a bit painful.

Plus, he asked so nicely.

“I’ll give you one.” I reach down to my holster to grab the handcuff keys, unlocking his left hand then cuffing the right to the leg.

He releases a steady breath and whispers, “Thank you,” before biting his lip.

“Mmm… you’re welcome, Luscious,” I lean down until our slick bodies are practically one, giving him a nice powerful thrust.

He purrs, lifting his free hand up to me. I look at him skeptically, confused by what he’s doing as he places his palm flat on my chest. A hum breaks while he touches me, gradually exploring to drift over my pectoral muscle. He watches his own hand go, transfixed, as if it’s moving on its own. And honestly, I’m doing the same.

I’m shocked that he’s touching me, barely breathing while I watch him, thumb circling my nipple until an uncontrollable whimper escapes me. His eyes flick to mine and now we’re gazing at each other while his hand caresses my chest, sensually and with a trace of fear, as if he thinks maybe he’s not supposed to be doing this.

He wanted his hands so he could touch me? He wants to touch me while we fuck…?

Inside my chest flutters, hips rocking leisurely into him while his hand runs up my shoulder, then my neck, fingers combing through the wet strands of my hair. A breath bursts from my lips while I stare, and he stares back, touching the tip of his tongue to his teeth.

My eyes fall to his mouth, jaw tightening as I swallow.

“Kemper,” he whispers, sliding his tongue over his lower lip.

“Mm…” my voice rumbles as I gaze, hypnotized by his mouth.

His sweet, tempting, perfectly irresistible mouth.

Dash’s fingers trail my jaw, holding it while he tugs me to him. And I go, like a slave. Like a pet. Like he’s controlling me, his mouth the only place I ever want to be, for the rest of my existence.

He leans up to meet me in the middle. And we pause, my mouth hovering over his, damn near tasting his delicious flavor, wanting him with every fiber of my insides.

Flicking my hips easily, I fuck him steady while watching his lips part. I witness his eyes close. Then mine close, our bated breaths mingling as we come together.

Our lips touch. And sparks fly behind my vision, a chill dancing over me, from our connected mouths and out.

Dash purrs. I groan.

He parts his lips over my lower, sucking tenderly until I gasp, a sound of shock and awe.

I’m freefalling.

This is unlike anything I’ve experienced before. Dash is kissing me, and I’m kissing him back.

I’m kissing a boy, and it feels so fucking right.

Something clicks and we move faster, surer, suddenly much more frantic. Dash pulls my hair, yanking it at the roots while he kisses me dizzy, licking and sucking in between breathing heavy, sounds of raw need moving between us.

My hand comes up to hold his face too, and I kiss him deeper, pushing my tongue in to brush his. He moans as they meet, advancing on one another, and I almost forget we’re fucking for a second. My hips have stopped moving and I’m just kissing him, with every ounce of strength I have. And he’s kissing me back in a fever of unmapped lust.

“Mmm,” he whines, fucking eating me alive.

“I know.” I suck his top lip, then his bottom lip, then the top again, sliding my tongue over the bottom and into his mouth to taste him more.

“I’ve never kissed a guy,” he tugs my face as close to his as possible with swallowing me. “I can’t believe you’re kissing me and fucking me…”

“I fucking love it,” I rumble to him, the desperation in his tone and his frantic kisses jumpstarting my hips once more.

I pick up and grind into him again, milking my cock in his ass while he clings to me and sucks my face. God, I love the taste of him. He’s just like candy. The most addictive sugar I’ve ever tasted.

We finally pull apart to breathe, both sweeping in air while I rush between his thighs, resting my forehead on his.

“Fuck, this is so good.” My head is spinning out of control. I’m seconds away from exploding.

“So so good…” he grazes his fingertips to my lips, tracing my jaw, then down my neck, as if he doesn’t want to stop touching me for one second.

“Kiss me more,” I demand, my tone softer than it’s ever been before.

It’s like something has snapped inside us, and we’re no longer a prisoner and a guard; we’re not enemies, or opposites, or a stalker and his prey.

We’re lovers, coming together in reciprocal desire. As rough and raw as it is when I slam my cock into him, it feels like we’re… making love.

Dash grabs my face and kisses me again, nipping my lip between sucking it and giving me his tongue. The sounds of our passion vibrate through the room, and I couldn’t give a single fuck if someone finds out about this.

I don’t care about anything but him.

“I’m gonna come soon, baby,” I gasp in his mouth, and he shudders. “Come with me. I need you to… fuck, Dash, I need you to come with me.”

“Fuck me harder,” his fingers burrow in my hair while he holds my face to his. “Right there… On that spot. Jesus, yes. I’m gonna come.”

“Yea? This spot feels good, baby?”

“Yea… more. Just like that.”

I give him what he wants, and his sounds swell my heart so big it wants to burst out of me. It’s thrashing, jumping aggressively, like it’s trying to escape me and take refuge in him.

My hips work, my dick lashing his prostate, owning his ass until he tightens all over.

“I’m gonna… come,” he moans, then rasps out loud. “Fuck… I’m coming!”

His climax sends me right over the edge. I feel his dick pulsing out streams of slickness on both of us as my own cock erupts in his ass.

“I’m coming so hard in you, Dascha… God, you’re fucking perfect.”

The thrusting doesn’t stop, even after my dick is done aching out every last drop into him. It just feels incredible. I never want it to stop. Dash is clinging to me, kissing all over my mouth while he breathes like he just came back up from being trapped under ice. Torrents of light flash around the room, a magnetic force holding us together in ecstasy.

Because we were made for each other.

Finally, Dash’s body goes limp, his legs falling off my waist as he seems to liquefy beneath me. But his hand stays put, holding me by the nape of my neck.

And we keep kissing. We kiss for endless minutes that feel like hours. Our lips stay locked together while we breathe one another in, savoring the paradise we’ve just discovered; unearthed, like a hidden treasure has shown itself for the first time.

I never knew it could be like this.

We stop kissing when our lips are raw, and my jaw is sore. I collapse on his chest, minding my weight, breathing harsh and inhaling the scent of our sex and him, heady and intoxicating. His fingers trail along my shoulders, in my hair. We stay quiet as our heart rates regulate and we come down from the world’s longest sex-high.

Picking myself up on wobbly arms, I grab the cuff keys, unlocking his other hand. Then I take his wrist and rub it, like I’ve done before. Because I always thought I needed to cuff him, but after this time, now I’m not so sure.

Dash touching me was life-affirming.

I stay on all fours over him, gazing down at his face; blushed cheeks and swollen lips, dazed, drowsy eyes. His post-sex look is mesmerizing. I wish I could take a picture.

I drop a kiss on his lips, and he grins at me sleepily. Then I kiss his cheeks, his chin, his jaw, his neck. I have no idea what’s come over me, but I can’t stop. He chuckles, placing his hands on my sides.

“Who are you and what have you done with the big asshole who put a cock cage on me?” He murmurs, and I laugh.

“Who are you and what have you done with the stubborn bitch who fought me tooth and nail before?” I arch a brow at him, and he sighs, blinking while giving me a studious look.

“I don’t even know, to be honest,” he says. “I guess maybe you’re not that bad.”

He shows me a cocky little smirk, and I just have to kiss it off his lips.

As bizarre as it would have seemed earlier, now we can’t even be bothered to leave this locker room. We end up kissing and touching for almost another hour, before we finally gather ourselves up and leave.

Back into the reality of Alabaster Pen, though I’m not quite sure what that means anymore.

48 days in

We kissed.

We fucking kissed.

What the hell was that about??

I can’t stop thinking about what happened in the locker room. For hours after Kemper puts me back into my cell and disappears, all I’ve been able to do is remember the feeling of his lips on mine. The taste of his tongue, the warmth of his minty breaths in between us sucking each other’s faces like there’s no tomorrow.

He kisses so… gently. So hesitant. For a giant, muscled-up cop who gets off on forcing shit and being the most dominant dude I’ve ever met, he really seemed like he was at my mercy when I was kissing him.

When he was kissing me? When we were kissing…?

I don’t even know anymore, but I liked it. I don’t think I can hide that fact. It felt like the most right thing that’s ever happened to me, and I really don’t fucking get it.

And despite how confusing it is that apparently I enjoy getting fucked by a guy, because let’s face it, I enjoyed the fuck out of that too, the kissing seems even more disturbing to me.

We all know sex for me is usually detached. But with Kemper it doesn’t feel that way. And now that we spent hours making out like a couple of horny teenagers, those ties I have to him have become even stronger. It’s like we’ve been building something, with every interaction we’ve had since I’ve been here; piece by piece, stacking up small parts to this creation which neither of us truly understands. And the kissing solidified it. It was like the adhesive bond to hold together what before wasn’t quite so sturdy.

I think Officer Kemper and I are a thing. Where’s the vodka when you need it?

The troubling fact that he kind of just took off after bringing me back from the locker room has taken a backseat in my mind to all this obsessing. I can’t have feelings for him…

Forget that he’s a guy, and I’ve never been interested in the same sex this way before. He’s my stalker. My rapist.

Is this some sort of Stockholm Syndrome situation? Have I been developing this attachment to him simply because he’s forcing it?

I wish there was a way to find out, but unfortunately I’m stuck in here and I can’t escape him. And the craziest thing is that the thought of getting away from him is no longer appealing to me. It’s unnerving.

I shake my head while continuing with my rampant pacing around Darcey’s cell. Maybe it’s good that he took off. Clearly, we need some space. I mean, last night was one thing… He cuffed me and fucked me like I kind of always knew in the back of my mind he would, because he’s basically a wild animal who also happens to be armed.

But then we hung out this morning. Well, he brought me clothes and food, which I suppose is like the Alabaster Pen version of a first date. And let me shower in what’s basically the employee locker room. It’s pretty obvious that it would be a serious violation of the rules if we got caught, and yet Kemper did it for me without batting an eye.

I take care of what’s mine.

I can hear his growly voice saying the words in my mind, and it sends a tingle to my skin. I’m wearing a hole in the damn floor from all my pacing as I remember the shower, the feel of him doing just that… Taking care of me.

Scoffing, I shake my head. I’m a grown ass man. I don’t need some huge dude to bring me gifts and wash me like I’m a needy chick.

But then I swallow down my reservations at the memory of how good it felt, to have his hands on me. Possessive, which is obviously his thing, but then also cherishing. His hands treasured me like I was some prized gift. Even thinking about it now grips my chest like it’s being crushed from the inside out.

I practically begged him to fuck me again. Why?

What changed from last night to this afternoon? I didn’t want it then, but it happened anyway. And then today, when we were in that shower, all I could think about was how goddamn good it would feel to have him inside me again, ripping me apart in a way that doesn’t feel damaging, but somehow… healing.

Then he did. And I wasn’t wrong. I came harder than I ever have before, with his lips on mine, crying my pleasure into his fucking mouth.

I stop pacing for a moment, and lean up against the wall, squeezing my eyes shut.

I’m fucking lost.

No… maybe I was lost before. And someone finally found me.

I hear footsteps, and I can already tell they aren’t Kemper’s. He has a way of walking that’s specific to him, and what’s crazier is that I’ve even picked up on it.

Quickly, I tug his hoodie over my head and fold it up, stashing it beneath the mattress like he told me to before he left.

I’d love for you to wear my clothes up in gen-pop, baby, but it could get us in trouble.

Us. He said it so effortlessly. Like we’re a thing; a secret couple, sneaking around against the wishes of society.

I’m not sure if that’s what we are, but I couldn’t help the frisson of salacious excitement that ran through me when he said it. The idea that I’m forbidden to be with him… I can’t help how much it turns me on.

The other guard who’s sometimes down here, I think his name is Brenner, steps inside the cell and nods at the wall. “Alright, 101. You know the drill.”

I stride up to the wall and place my hands flat on it while he pats me down quickly. Then he cuffs my wrists and shackles my ankles, as per usual, dragging me along with him, out of solitary and back up to general population.

I’m relieved to be getting out of solitary after only a day, which I know is Kemper’s doing. Though I completely forgot about all that drama with those assholes in the shower yesterday, and now I’m nervous they might be holding a grudge. I’m not sure if any of them were sent to solitary as well, but I didn’t notice anyone else in passing. I’m probably being blamed for the whole thing, since I’m the resident troublemaker and all.

As we walk the row, I check Kang’s and Ren’s cells on the way down, but they’re empty. I’m not sure of the time, since coming from solitary back up always throws my inner clock off a bit, but I assume they’re probably still in the cafeteria for the final dinner group. I’m not surprised when I get to our cell and Luthor’s missing, too.

Brenner removes my cuffs and shackles and leaves me to rub my wrists in the quiet comfort of my marginally upgraded cell. It’s strange to think that I haven’t even really noticed how terrible solitary is lately.

Because of Kemper.

My heart does a weird little spasm in my chest, but I ignore it, focusing on the raw scars on my wrists. These marks hurt like a bitch. I wish I had some ointment or bandages, or…

My eyes land on my bed and my jaw drops. There’s a small gym bag sitting by my pillow. It looks brand new and as I move closer, gaping at it, I realize that it is brand new. Still has the tags and everything.

Wandering over, I glance around as if someone could pop out at any moment, before sitting down on my bed. The bag is Adidas, and it’s super nice. And heavy, I find when I pick it up. Unzipping, I check inside, and my eyes widen. There’s all sorts of awesome shit in here.

Packs of brand new socks, a notebook with felt pens, washcloths, more toiletries, ointment—for the freaking scars… wow—And even an expensive-looking kit of products from Kiehl’s. I can’t help the smile that crosses my face while I take everything out, opening each container to sniff them.

It’s like Christmas. I’m enjoying digging through all my new stuff so much that I barely even notice Joy depositing Luthor back into the cell. I snap out of it and try moving my stuff behind my back, but Joy just lifts her brow at me and shakes her head, storming off behind the clank of our cell door closing.

Luthor eyes me speculatively for a moment, then takes a breath and lets it out. “I’m glad you’re okay. I can’t believe you and Ren fought those dudes…”

“Ren had my back,” I mumble at the memory of him standing up for me when he really didn’t have to. “He’s not a bad guy.”

Luthor nods, as if he’s considering my words, before shaking himself out of it. “Wanna see my progress?”

I don’t even need to ask. I know he’s talking about his computer. And before I can answer him, he jumps up to his bunk and starts fiddling around with something. I grin to myself, glad to be back with him, though there’s a small voice in a dark corner of my mind, tugging my gaze back to the backpack and all my new goodies.

I suck my lower lip, savoring the fact that it’s still sore from all the fierce kissing earlier…

From the burn of his stubble.

I think I miss him, and I don’t want to. I don’t know if I should…

Actually, I think I really shouldn’t. But that doesn’t change the fact that I do.

It doesn’t stop me, all the while as Luthor is showing me his computer mock-up and talking in nerd terms that sound like another language, from wondering where Kemper is. If he’s coming back… When I’ll see him again.

And what will happen when I do?

I have trouble sleeping for the next two nights, and I refuse to acknowledge that it might have something to do with a certain tattooed lunatic being M.I.A.

I’m tired and the voices are constant; loud, unruly and insatiable.

Showering has changed, too. I don’t attempt privacy anymore. I shower right next to Luthor, Ren and Kang. It’s not weird or anything, I just don’t want to run into Gage and his crew of assholes again alone.

It’s nice to know I have friends in here. I’ve always been a bit of a loner. I’m an introvert, but that doesn’t mean I want to be alone all the time. I crave human connection, so having it in here of all places is something I don’t want to take for granted.

Today’s the third day in a row we’re showering together. I mean, we’re not under the same stream of water or anything, but it certainly takes some getting used to, being so close to other naked dudes while I’m washing my balls. Especially with Ren around.

Ignoring the fact that he’s sucked me off before, and I’ve witnessed him taking a dick, something I now have experience in, a bizarre notion on its own, he’s a goddamn nymphomaniac, and he jokes about sex constantly.

He’s a very flirtatious guy, likely a symptom of his blatant sex addiction. It’s fine for him… He can do whatever he wants. I just don’t want someone to take it the wrong way.

Like Luthor. Or Kemper…

We’re lathering up in silence—well, we’re silent, but there are voices echoing all around the showers from other inmates—and I’m using the body wash from my Kiehl’s kit, which smells outstanding.

I can sense Ren staring at me from my left, and eventually I roll my eyes and sigh, “You wanna use some?”

A massive grin sweeps over his face as he nods enthusiastically. “I thought you’d never ask.”

Chuckling while he holds out his cupped hands, I squirt some of the good stuff into them. He immediately lathers up and runs his hands all over himself, eyes closing, groaning in pleasure, prompting me to swallow hard.

Ren is good looking, in an obvious way. Dark hair, bright blue eyes, a jawline that could cut glass. But I never look at him with those eyes, because as far as I’m concerned that would break guy code. He’s Luthor’s, whether or not they want to admit it or figure out their issues. Even now that I’m apparently exploring my sexuality in ways I never thought I would, I’m not interested in being a homewrecker. Even if the home isn’t quite a home yet.

That said, everything I’ve experienced in the last few weeks has opened my eyes to things I’ve never noticed before. Like the lines of Ren’s muscles…

That V in his pelvis. Kemper has it, only Kemper is thicker, than just about everyone’s.

A throat clearing brings my attention back to Ren’s face. He’s smirking at me, because he just caught me checking him out, and it immediately sends my heart into my throat. I glance over my shoulders to make sure Kemper isn’t around to catch the same, since his reaction would differ greatly from the little chuckles I’m getting from Luthor and Ren.

My cheeks burn and I look away from everyone, focusing on my rinsing. Unfortunately, Ren’s not one to let such things go.

“You like the tat?” He murmurs, and I already know which ones he’s talking about.

He has a yin-yang on his pelvis that he loves showing everyone, because it gives him an excuse to pull his pants down, not that he really needs one.

I don’t answer him, but he keeps talking. “I can give you one if you want. Not the same thing, obviously. Whatever you choose. As long as it’s not too involved.”

My forehead creases as I glance at him. “You did that yourself?”

Ren nods. “Yup. I’m the resident tattoo artist. You didn’t know that?”

I look to my right, to Luthor and Kang, to verify what Ren’s saying is the truth, since lying is apparently a second language to him. They both nod in approval.

“He did this one,” Kang points to some Asian lettering on his chest.

“What does it say?” I ask.

He grins and shakes his head, turning the water off and grabbing his towel without answering me. I just purse my lips at the floor. Fucking secrets in this place, man.

“Let me know what you want,” Ren goes on with the tattoo conversation. “I’ll get Rook to let you come in whenever you’re up for it.”

I blink at the wall in thought. I enjoy getting tattooed, almost more than the actual ink I end up with. I love the pain and choosing my own scars. It feels good.

My mind wanders, to the same place it’s been for the last three days.

Kemper has a ton of tattoos. I wonder how often he gets them… If he even has any space left.

I know he does. He has full sleeves on both arms, and some running down his right side, onto his leg. They even go up to his neck, on his back, his chest. Though when we were naked together, in the locker room, I saw some blank canvas. I wonder if he’d want to get something new…

“So Dash, where’d you get all this stuff, anyway?” Ren asks, cutting into my muddled up thought process. I peek at him. “You’ve obviously found a nice Daddy in here to sponsor you.” He smirks and leans in closer. “Tell me your secrets.”

I roll my eyes. “I’m not doing anything. And I definitely don’t have a Daddy.”

“Yea, okay,” Ren huffs, sarcastically. “My money’s on Rook. I heard about what happened with you two, the night of the blackout.”

My eyes spring up to Luthor as I glare at him. He holds his hands up in defense.

“Sorry, man! He would’ve heard from someone else anyway,” Luthor gripes. “Plus, it was… it was a crazy night.” He shakes his head a bit before going back to rinsing himself off.

Ren’s gaze lingers on him for a moment, then comes back to me for more interrogating. “You’re the only dude in this place who seems to love solitary. And every time you come back, you’ve got presents out the wazoo. I’m getting jealous. My experiences in solitary definitely weren’t my idea of fun…”

“I don’t have fun in solitary,” I growl. “It’s awful.”

“Well, whatever awful shit you’re enduring, you must be good at it,” Ren winks at me. “Is it that guy Brenner? He has a decent dick. It’s not really long, but like, fat.”

He makes a circle with his hand and I give him a horrified look. Luthor is making the same face.

“I’m not hooking up with Brenner,” I frown. “I’m not hooking up with anyone.”

“Right,” he laughs, and we finish rinsing at the same time, turning our showers off.

I grab my towel and dry off, watching Ren as he ambles over to Luthor and whispers something. Luthor rolls his eyes, but the smile he’s clearly trying to hide is visible. He wraps his towel around his waist as Ren shakes his head like a dog, soaking Luthor while they both laugh. I can’t help but grin. They’re kind of cute together, if they didn’t have so many issues standing in their way, most of which seem to be Ren’s.

Observing them, I also notice that Ren’s hair is longer than probably any of the rest of us. It’s not long by any means, but it’s almost to his ears and I’m guessing that’s one of the things he uses sex with guards to control. I know hair-length seems like a vanity which is not all that important in the grand scheme, especially with what we have to endure in here, but it’s a freedom you one-hundred-percent take for granted on the outside.

I haven’t had anyone shave my head again since Kemper did it on my first day, and it’s getting a bit longer. Running my fingers through my wet hair, I spike it up a bit. It’s not much, but I desperately want to keep it. I’m praying they won’t come for it.

I don’t think Kemper could help me keep my hair, since he’s in solitary. Usually Joy is the one who shaves stuff up here. I see her doing it all the time before or after showers. I’m not sure how or when she decides to shave people, but I assume it has something to do with Velle. He gets the orders from the Warden and enforces them.

“Ren, who lets you grow your hair out?” I ask him, pulling his attention away from Luthor, who’s trying to cover himself up while he gets dressed.

“Joy,” he tells me, stepping into his pants. “She said I’m too pretty not to have hair.” I laugh and shake my head, glancing at Luthor who’s grinning. “No seriously,” Ren adds. “She really said that.”

“You’re a moron,” Luthor sighs, walking past us to catch up with Kang, who’s talking to Joy at the entrance of the showers.

I follow behind him and Ren, smiling. If I was an asshole, I’d ask Joy if she really said that, but I don’t want to bring any attention to the hair conversation. I’m dying to grow mine out to where I had it when I got in here. It wasn’t too long, but I kept it longer on the top so I could muss it up a bit when it was platinum.

I wonder if anyone could get me hair dye… I’d love to dye it lilac again, to match Zadira.

My chest caves as the hopelessness grips behind my ribs. I’ll never get out of here… I’ll never see Zadira again.

She’s probably in a police impound lot, waiting to be auctioned off to some dumbass who doesn’t know jack shit about cars, and who won’t appreciate how long it took me to get her coloring perfect. They probably won’t even use the right protective wax when they detail her. They might just bring her to a regular car wash!

Depression continues to swirl as the guards bring us back to the row.

Ren whispers, “Think about it,” to me as they shove him inside his cell and lock the door.

I’m not opposed to getting another tattoo, especially after seeing how good Ren is. I’m sure he doesn’t have the tools available to do complex pieces, like what Kemper or Velle have. But I’m more of a small scattered sketches guy, and for that I think he’d be perfect.

If I could think of something to get…

Luthor and I adjourn to our cell where we fuck around for a few hours, Luthor messing with his computer and me finishing up The Shining yet again. I’m not in the best headspace to read right now, what with my mind whirring like a blender, but I give it a shot because there’s nothing else to do, and I can’t keep obsessing over my newfound sexual awakening.

The topic is too deep for the moment, not when my sanity is on the verge of a break in my harrowing life sentence.

Hours pass. We go to dinner and come back to more quiet. It’s a chill evening, and my mood is a bit sour. Even more so when we overhear a couple guards talking about how beautiful it is outside today.

It’s May. The best time of year in New York, in my opinion. I love spring, when it finally stops raining so much and you get some of those beautiful sunny days. Everyone comes out of hiding and the city is bustling with good motherfucking vibes.

It’s perfect. And where am I while it’s all going down?

Locked away in a cement hole surrounded by black mold and misery.

Luthor falls asleep early while I lie in bed, hanging upside down over the edge. I start off doing some curl-ups, but my energy fades fast and I end up staring at the ceiling for hours.

Until I hear footsteps. The ones I’ve been secretly missing…

My stomach twists as I sit up slowly, watching the door open then close, the giant shadowy figure making gentle movements, I’m guessing to keep quiet.

I ignore the relief flooding my chest, in such a dominant rush it confuses me to my core. I used to dread hearing those footsteps and seeing the shadows as he entered my cell. I should dread it still.

But I don’t. Something shifted, and even though there’s still a stir of unease when I see him, at not knowing what his unpredictable moods could cause, I don’t fear him anymore.

I fear how much I crave him, and the things he does to me.

“Hey…” I whisper as he stands and stares, like he always does, dark blue eyes glowing at me from across the cell.

My eyes drop to take in his large, overpowering form and I notice that one of his hands is behind his back.

“Hey,” he replies, and a shiver zips up my spine from the gruff voice that utters the same damn word I said, though my body reacts to it as if it’s something strangely enticing.

He walks over to my bed, eyes darting for a moment up to Luthor’s bunk. He’s snoring, as usual, while Kemper takes a seat at the foot of my bed. I inch closer to him as he removes his hand from behind his back.

“I brought you something special.”

My gaze falls from the eager look on his face to what he’s holding, my lips parting as I suck in a breath of disbelief.

I blink repeatedly at the treat he’s handing to me. “How…?” I can’t even formulate the words needed to express this level of surprise.

Ice cream.

He brought me ice cream… My favorite kind.

“Hurry up and eat it, Luscious,” he delivers a small grin, shoving the cup of vanilla soft serve with cherry dip at me. “It’s already melted, since it took me forever to get it here.”

Taking the cup, my eyes dart up and down between his bold irises and the ice cream. It’s from Mr. Softee. This stuff has been my favorite treat for as long as I can remember. My dad used to take me to the Mr. Softee truck in the summers and I always got cherry-dipped vanilla soft serve. When I was younger, I used to get rainbow sprinkles, but then my friends told me it was queer, so I stopped.

Lifting a spoonful to my mouth, I revel in the first bite. God, it’s like an orgasm.

I love to eat, and not only do we get the worst fucking food ever in this place, but specialty treats like ice cream are of course nonexistent. I honestly didn’t think I’d ever see a Mr. Softee cup again, for the rest of my life.

I take a few more bites, faster this time, cracking the spoon into the hardened red shell of the cherry-dip and scooping vanilla with it. Whether it’s been refrozen is irrelevant. It’s fucking amazing.

I’m in heaven.

Kemper huffs a quiet laugh and my eyes bounce up to his face. “What?”

“You look like a kid right now,” he mumbles, those mysterious eyes glinting at me. “Just… blissfully innocent. It’s pretty adorable.”

“That’s weird,” I say with a swallow of ice cream, and the unapologetic look on his face makes me chuckle. I kind of admire how he doesn’t give a fuck what anyone thinks. “Thank you for this. I don’t even know how you…” I pause and shake my head, continuing on with my ice cream. “Just thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he lifts a hand to brush his fingers along the nape of my neck.

Goosebumps sweep my body, and the thing my stomach is doing… I used to think it was disgust. Now I know it’s not that. I think it’s excitement… Intrigue. Desire.

Have I always felt this way? Or is it just starting now…?

I can’t deal with the confusing feelings right now, so I just keep eating my ice cream while he watches and touches me. Soft… gently. In a way that brings warmth to my chest, spreading up my neck and cheeks.

“How did you know this was my favorite?” I ask, lapping some vanilla off my lip.

He eyes my mouth intently, visible tension in his jaw, before he shifts. “I told you, I know you Dascha. More than you think.”

I blink at him, wondering what the hell that means, and how it’s possible for me to be growing so attached to someone who should terrify me in theory.

“You sound like a stalker,” I mutter, with a bit of attitude that I know he likes, because he chuckles, then scoots closer to me.

“Come here.”

The command is mellow, but still possessive, as if he knows he’ll get what he wants, regardless of whether I go willingly.

What he wants is me. And I know he will get it; he’ll take it if he has to. And for the first time since I’ve been here, I don’t think I’d mind him taking from me. I also don’t think I mind giving.

His large hand grasps my jaw, and he twists his torso, simultaneously tugging my face to his. I have just enough time to swallow all my nerves with the last bite of ice cream before he’s pressing his lips to mine, groaning as he does.

I breathe a gasp into his mouth while he sucks my bottom lip, dipping his head as I part my lips for him. His tongue seeks mine, and they press together with hesitation, as if we’re both still unsure of whether the other day was a fluke.

It wasn’t. This feels fucking marvelous.

I press my hand on his chest and he purrs, a rumbling moan of a noise that I can feel on my palm, from beneath the rock of his pectoral muscle through his uniform.

“My Luscious,” he growls, nipping my lip hard enough that I whimper, my cock throbbing between my thighs. “You taste even sweeter now.”

“Mmmf.” I don’t know what I was trying to say, but I can’t think. My mind is hazy and the lust surrounding us is thick like smoke.

This is so new. This is so fucking different. Since when is this so damn good…?

I can’t even be concerned with any of it. I just want sex. I want more sex from him, and I don’t care if it’s bad, or if I haven’t let myself come to terms with it.

I want him to…

“Fuck me,” I crawl onto his lap, straddling his hips and going for the buttons on his shirt.

“Jesus, baby,” he holds my waist in his big hands, sliding them down to cup my ass and push me harder onto his erection. “You’re insatiable. It better only be for me…”

“Yes,” I breathe over his lower lip, tugging his unbuttoned shirt out of his pants. “Only you, Officer.”

“Fuck, what are you doing to me, Dascha?” He lifts my shirt over my head, then shrugs out of his while I scramble with shaky hands to unbuckle his belt, slowing down at the sight of all the weapons on his holster. We’re breathless when my eyes meet his and he gives me a look.

I can hear his voice, though he isn’t speaking…

I’ll only hurt you if you want me to, baby.

My balls are aching as I grind them on him in between unzipping his pants and shoving them down as much as I can. He kicks off his boots and they clunk to the floor, then yanks my pants and boxers down, taking my cock in his hand.

“Fuck…” My head drops forward while he strokes me in his fist. Then he grabs my face and kisses me, hard.

“You drive me fucking crazy, baby,” he mumbles into my mouth in between both of our heavy breaths. “I’ve never wanted a guy before, but I feel like you’re made for me.”

My head spins at his words, the yearning taking me to another level. I feel like I’m outside my body, looking on while I scramble out of my pants and socks and he does the same.

“This is fucking ridiculous,” I whisper as he moves me, effortlessly, to sit astride his broad shoulders, then licks a warm line up the length of my erection. My head drops back with a moan. “I can’t believe we’re doing this…”

“Don’t get up in your head, Dascha,” his hands travel up my sides. “Just let me do bad things to you.”

“Bad,” I moan when he sucks my cock into his mouth. “So fucking bad…”

“Mmm so good,” he says when he pops off my dick, jerking himself while I glance behind me to watch. He’s using some lubrication on his cock, probably the lotion he always has, and the nerves zip through my stomach as he slides wet fingers between my cheeks.

I’ve done this twice before, and it seems to get better each time. It’s thrilling, and yes, I’m nervous, but I’m also excited. I know he’ll give me an orgasm so intense I won’t remember my own name. If it comes from his colossal cock in my ass, so be it.

“You gonna ride me, Luscious?” He rumbles up at me, and I swallow hard.

I’ve never done that before… duh. It’s not something I ever thought I’d do. It feels kind of like a girl move… Riding a cock. And I’m not a fucking girl.

But I like seeing my hands gripping his chest. I like seeing my cock on his abs while I move down enough to get my ass near his dick. I like the feeling of him pushing the head up to my asshole from behind, and I like that I’m on top of him.

“C-can I do it?” I stutter, my face melting in humility. His eyelids droop and he swallows.

The sight of his Adam’s apple sliding in his throat, sheeted with rough stubble, pulses my cock. Kemper nods, and I reach behind me and grab his dick, heavy in my palm as I nudge it up to my ass, urging myself to relax.

At least a minute passes while I try to get my body to accept him. I want it, but I’m in my head and I think it’s tensing my muscles.

“You want me to warm you up first, baby?” He murmurs, eyes dark and hooded with so much restless need, I think it’s clear that he’s enjoying himself, even if nothing has happened yet.

Biting my lip and shaking my head, I finally relax enough to allow the round head of his cock to glide inside my ass. I let out a strangled gasp and he hums.

“Fuck, baby, that’s it,” his hands move to my front, tracing the curves of my pecs and teasing my nipples. “You’re fucking perfect, Dascha. You look like a wicked fantasy come true.”

Liquid heat seeps into every crevice of my insides as I drive myself further down on his cock, trembling from the instant sensation. I keep going, taking him deeper, both of us breathing harsh until I’m seated on him and I can’t fucking believe it.

Our eyes stay together, unbreakable, while I move, gradually, his full length inside me where I sit atop his sturdy form. It’s fucking insane but I love it, and I can’t help loving it.

It feels like this is something I never knew I needed until right now.

Kemper holds my hips and helps me work up a rhythm. I’m unsteady at first; a bit uncoordinated, but he doesn’t care. In fact, I think he loves it. His eyes are burning blue up at me, like the hottest part of a flame. I bite my lip and he shudders, hauling me down hard on his cock and holding me there for a second.

“I want to fucking live inside you, Dascha,” he rasps, finally letting me move again, steadily picking the pace up. “Never take this away from me…”

I whine out a throaty sound, unsure of what’s happening inside me while I ride his dick, faster, harder, my erection bobbing on the clusters of muscle in his stomach as I go. Watching it turns me the fuck on, as does seeing the precum drip out onto his abs when he hits my prostate.

Kemper growls and sits up, putting us nose to nose, and I waste absolutely no time grabbing his face and kissing him, almost aggressively. I’m fucking desperate for his lips, and tongue, and those breaths that let me know I’m giving him good feelings.

I’m eating him alive as he holds us together, moving his hips with mine, thrusting up into me while I swivel down on him. His thick shaft is stretching me in the most delicious way, brushing my prostate again and again until I’m about to erupt.

“Fuck me, baby,” he purrs on my lips. “God, I love your tight pussy riding my cock.”

A choked noise bursts from my lips while my orgasm looms. My fingers lace in his hair and my face drops to the crook of his neck, biting and sucking on his flesh while my hips roll on him, keeping his dick as deep as possible.

My balls on his pelvis are driving me fucking wild. I’m about to lose it when he abruptly pushes me onto my back, then scoops my hips up higher, still inside me all the while.

He lets out the hungry snarl of an animal before sliding his mouth over my cock, sucking while his hips buck into me, pounding my ass rapidly, balls deep.

“Jesus fuck oh my God, Kemper.” All the words come out in a long stream as my body winds and winds. Reaching for his head, I yank his hair while he sucks the head of my cock hard and fucks me harder. “I’m gonna fucking come.”

He groans on my dick, lulling all the way inside me as he comes. I can feel his orgasm bursting deep in my ass and it’s more than I can bear.

My balls draw up and I come right behind him, pouring my climax into his mouth while his moans vibrate into me.

“Cal… fucking fuck, Cal, that’s so goddamn good… fuck…” I don’t even know what I’m saying. The words are pouring out of me like the cum jetting into his mouth.

He swallows it all, gladly of course, and when he finally pops off my dick, he sighs and drops his forehead onto my abs. My fingers strum through his hair, trailing his shoulders while he puts my hips down and gently pulls out of me.

I’m floaty and it’s quiet around us, compared to the creaking of the bed and rampant grunts from just a moment ago. There’s no way Luthor slept through all of that, but I can’t be bothered to think about it right now. I’m at peace.

Seriously, this has to be the best feeling on earth.

Kemper reaches onto the floor and picks up something, using it to wipe me. I think they’re his boxers, but I’m not sure. I’m just lying in my bed under a sheet of calm that feels better than anything I’ve experienced before. He plops down next to me and pulls me on top of him a bit, folding the blanket over our naked, sweaty bodies. Two full-grown men crammed into a tiny bunk bed, but it works.

I rest my head on his chest, his heart thumping into my cheek as the rate slows palpably. A soft sigh flees my lips, and he chuckles. It forces me to look up at him.

“What’s funny?” I ask, my voice hesitant, distracted by all the color he has.

It’s always so vibrant when we’re done fooling around.

“I like making you like this,” he touches his fingertips to my cheek. “I like making you feel good.”

“Pretty different from before, huh?” I pause after I speak the words, because I’m still afraid of pissing him off.

But he just grins and nods. “Yea. It is.”

Blinking at him, I can’t miss his eyes dropping to my lips. So I give him what he obviously wants and place a slow kiss on his mouth. He always tastes like mint. Like strength and repose.

“You called me by my name,” he mumbles on my lips, and I pull back to look down at him. “My first name.”

I freeze for a moment, because I barely even remember doing it. I’ve never called him by his first name before. It makes it feel so much more… real.

“I’m sorry, Officer,” I tease, though part of me isn’t joking.

“You can call me whatever you want, baby,” his hand slinks along my neck and lands palm-down over my heart. “It’s different now. At least… I think it is.”

His brow lifts a bit, like he’s asking me a question. And I don’t know how to answer.

Well, I know how I want to… But does it make sense? Is that even what he’s asking?

I’m so up in my head, I just beam at him, “Whatever I want, hm?”

His smile shines. “Anything but Giant Rapist Asshole.”

A laugh bursts from my lips and his grin widens, as if he’s beyond proud of himself for making it happen. It’s kind of adorable.

“What about Psycho Stalker?” I give him a cheeky smirk, and he hums.

“That’s got a nice ring to it.” He pulls my lips to his once more.

We kiss for a while again. Minutes pass, spent with our lips together, teasing and tasting in sheer hedonism. It’s fucking baffling, but good. Better than good…

It’s perfect.

When we finally pull apart, he says, “I wish I didn’t have to leave…”

“Me neither. You’re so warm,” I doze with my head on his chest.

“I wish we were somewhere else,” his deep voice vibrates into my cheek while his fingers comb through what’s available of my hair.

“Like where?”

He’s quiet for a moment, before taking in an audible breath. “Somewhere far away from here…”

This time we’re both quiet, minds buzzing through all the possibilities we’ll never get to explore. It’s a bummer, but I feel too good to let that bring me down from this high.

My default comes out in the form of humor, and I tease, “You should help me escape, then.”

Kemper’s body goes stiff. His hands have stopped moving and his are muscles tense. My stomach falls regretfully, hoping I didn’t upset him with my stupid joke.

Lifting my head, I’m ready to tell him I was kidding, but the look on his face stops me. His eyes are wide and bright, and he appears less scary than he ever has before. Of all the times I’ve seen him, this is the most human reaction he’s had, the one I’m getting right now.

“I would do that,” he whispers.

I’m inclined to laugh, but he looks so serious. Not a trace of humor, on his face or in his eyes, the deepest blue somehow sparkling potential up at me.

“You would?” My brows stitch together as I stare at him, bewildered by what he’s saying.

Kemper nods. “Yes. I want to get you out of here, Dash. We could…” His voice trails and he looks unsure of what he was about to say. But I’m itching to hear it.

“We could what?” I plead for his words.

“We could… run away,” his voice is hushed with trepidation before he breathes, “Together.”

Hour fifty-six with no sleep.

I’m finishing up a double-shift—my second one in a row—and my eyelids want to fall occasionally, which is why I need to keep moving. I have shit to do and sleep isn’t a part of the plan just yet.

If I drank coffee, now would be the time for a cup. But I don’t, so I’ll have to rely on my body’s natural adrenaline to get me by, no matter how much it seems to be running out.

Sauntering through the corridors at a steady pace, I push open door after door, mind thrumming as I reach the one I know will require a key. The last door, separating solitary and the East wing.

Using my key, I unlock the door and walk through, taking the long hall to another door on the right. This is a place I don’t come often.

The control room.

Outside, I shift my weight back and forth, thinking. Considering…

If I were going to help him get out, I would need to make sure he could bypass the cameras in this one corridor.

Part of me doesn’t really believe that I’m considering this. Jeopardizing my job for a… I’m still not sure what Dash is to me.

A man I’m infatuated with. The first man I’ve ever been interested in, who’s captured my heart in only a few interactions. A stubborn, sexy, mouthy Russian bank robber with eyes like the wilderness who trembles when I touch him and kisses me like he might just be as confused by me as I am by him.

Am I going to help him escape Alabaster Penitentiary? And then what?

I know I could do it. For all the top-notch security they have in this run-down building, there are holes. Gaps in the force field that other officers might not even know about, or maybe they don’t care to know.

Maybe they just assume no inmate could ever get through these gaps on their own, so it doesn’t matter. But if a C.O. were to help an inmate, then theoretically it could be very easy for him to escape.

I’ve never even thought about it before, but from the moment Dash mentioned it the other night, it hasn’t left my mind. I’ve been thinking about this for days, and the more I do, the more the idea of freeing him grows in my mind, from a tiny bud into a full blossom.

It could work.

I peer inside the small plexiglass window of the door to the control room. There’s only one person in there right now. Along with a lack of funding for maintenance and repairs to Alabaster Pen, we’re also severely understaffed. The control room should be operated by at least three people at all times, but at certain parts of the day, mainly shift-changes, there could be as few as only one person.

That’s terrible for security, but great for Dash. If I can get him through the door to the East wing, then I can tell him exactly what time is best to avoid being seen by the camera operator. A few short steps after that, and he’d be home free.

But what does that even mean? Would I leave with him?

I suppose I would need to. If he escapes, it’s only a matter of time before someone links him to me, since I’ve been in charge of overseeing solitary. And it wouldn’t be difficult for the Warden to figure out how much time I’ve been spending around Dash.

No, if he leaves, I have to go with him.

But where would we go? Does he really want to be with me… outside of here?

It seems like such a bizarre concept. I don’t really know much of a world outside Alabaster Pen anymore. Since Dash got here, this place has become my life. I mean sure, I’m not trapped here like he is… But what makes me think what we have within these walls would translate into regular society?

The things we do in the dark are one thing… but could we step out into the light? Together?

Would he want to?

I shake my head, skeptical. I don’t want to fool myself here. Dash may just be hypnotized by the orgasms, and the gifts, and the fact that he doesn’t have many options.

My chest constricts, in insecurity and fear. What if I sacrifice my job, my freedom… my life for him, and then he leaves me? That would be terrible.

My jaw clenches with my fists at my sides. I would hunt him down. I’ll follow him to the ends of the earth and—

Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath. Relax. There’s no need to crucify him for something he hasn’t even done yet.

The point is that he means something to me, and I want to help him. Despite what he did, I don’t think he deserves to rot in this place. There are worse people out there, walking free. Hell, I know some of them.

Dascha Reznikov deserves to be freed from this hellhole, and I’ll be the one to do it.

I watch the control room for a while, keeping my eyes and ears open for anything that could help. By the time I’m moving again, hours have passed and my back is stiff, my head murky with the need to sleep. Glancing at my watch, I find that my shift is over in ten minutes. But the thought of going home and crawling into my bed doesn’t draw me anywhere near as much as the desire to go upstairs and curl up beside a twenty-five-year-old prisoner in an uncomfortable rickety old bunk bed.

Dash has distorted the walls surrounding himself; the barbed wire which had been keeping us separate is gone, and now we’re on the same side of the fence. Unintentionally or not, what’s done is done, and I need him to come to terms with what I know we are.

We’re made for each other.

He’s mine.

Just remembering him climbing on top of me the other night, kissing me frantically and pleading with me to fuck him has me walking, back toward the endless corridors.

We fucked with no cuffs. That means that I’m no longer forcing him. I don’t need to convince him he’s mine anymore, because he is.

And now I need to get him the fuck out of here.

I power walk the whole way, back through solitary and up to general population. I wait twenty minutes for the lights to go out in the row, and then I sneak to the end, toward Dash’s cell, where I spend another half-hour listening to him and his cellmate talk. They’re just blabbing about nothing, but it keeps a small smile on my face the entire time, hearing Dash chat with someone about TV shows and cars. Apparently Dash loves his car. He has a name for it and everything, which is fucking adorable.

Eventually the cellmate, Lexington Deon, falls asleep and I open the door, quietly slinking inside. Dash is awake, as usual, and I can see him smirking at me from bed the second I set foot in his cell. He doesn’t even sit up, just lies there with his arms folded behind his head.

“How did I know you’d show up tonight?” He grins as I tread softly over to the bed, kicking off my boots and crawling in next to him. He scoots over to make room, but I immediately grab him by the waist and pull him into me. Being that we’re two large men in a barely-twin-sized bed, we’re practically on top of each other as it is.

“Because I told you I’d see you in a couple days,” I murmur through a tired grin, nestling my face into his neck and inhaling. He smells heavenly.

Like Dash, plus the soap I got him. Delicious.

“Yea, well that could mean anything,” he spins in my arms until we’re face to face. “You’re not exactly transparent, are you, Officer?”

I narrow my gaze at him, silently telling him to be careful with the sass, to which he chuckles and presses a kiss on my lips. I can’t help the hum that escapes me, my hand drifting up his back, cherishing the feel of him. It’s amazing, this feeling. I don’t think I’ve ever experienced something like this before…

I’ve had relationships. Of course I have. But this is a first. This kind of untroubled solace. Having someone who makes my heart race, and yet somehow calms me at the same time. I’m completely unfamiliar with it, and I’m not sure if it’s because I never knew I liked guys, or because I didn’t have Dash.

I don’t care to find out, though. I just want to keep him; to never let go of this, not even for one second. I’m at risk of smothering it if I’m not careful.

“Did you get something decent to eat today?” I ask on his lips, grabbing a handful of his ass that makes my cock jump into him.

“Mm… not really,” he traces my jaw with his fingers. “Mystery meat casserole. Good thing I still had a couple packs of mini muffins left.”

“I’ll bring you more tomorrow.” I kiss his neck, casually licking and sucking while I listen to the steady sounds of his breathing, like anticipation and need flowing from his lungs. “So… I think Thursday is the best day.”

“For what?” His voice is hoarse with desire as his hands rest on my chest, fingers tracing lines of muscle before going for the buttons on my uniform shirt.

“To leave,” I breathe.

He goes suddenly still and pulls away enough to stop my lips.

“Wait… This is really happening?” His eyes are wide and shiny. “Like… I can get out?”

“Yes, baby,” I take his chin between my fingers. “I don’t say things for no reason. I told you I want to get you out of here, and I meant it.”

He sucks in a breath, gaping at me. “Holy fuck…”

“It’s Friday today, so we’ll have to wait until next week,” I go on, marveling at his beauty and wanting to kiss every perfect line of his face. “I have a plan. It’s risky, of course it is, but I think it could work. We can go over it in a few days, after I’ve verified a few things. But I’m fully serious about this, Dascha.” I raise my brows at him. “Are you?”

He looks a bit stunned, and while it’s an adorable expression, I’m not placated by his uncertainty. I need him to be sure, about everything. Escaping, building a new life… Us.

All of it.

“I’m… yes.” He clears his throat, then lowers his voice to a whisper. “Yes, I’m serious, too. I want to get the fuck out of here.”

“Good. I can help you do it,” I tell him, my tone firmer than a moment ago. I want him to want me with him… But he hasn’t alluded to it yet. It’s making me nervous.

“Wow. This is crazy,” he breathes and shakes his head. Then his eyes flick. “I’m gonna miss Luthor.”

I stare at him blankly for several weighted seconds before asking, “Do you know where you’d like to go? Once you’re free?”

Dash doesn’t have the same problem, barely a second of thought passing before he answers, “Tulum.”

“In Mexico?” I blink.

He nods. “Yes. I’ve always dreamt of retiring there. I was going to leave after my last job, but obviously that didn’t happen…” His eyes drop for a moment and he swallows visibly. “I have money stashed at my house in Brooklyn. I need to get it, then I can be out.”

I. Not we.

My stomach sinks as a dismal ache appears behind my ribs. I don’t know what to say, so I just rumble, “You’re sure it’s still there?”

“Yea, it was my dad’s stashing spot,” he says with confidence. “Survived multiple search warrants.” I nod and bite the inside of my cheek. I’m two more breaths away from freaking the fuck out, when he mutters, “So, what about you? Would you… meet me there, or…?”

My eyes jump to his as a million pounds of weight dissolve from my chest. I want to grab his face and kiss the air out of his sexy body. Jesus, this up and down shit is torturous.

Being in love is such a sweet torture.

Gulping at my thoughts, I shake them away, to be obsessed over later. “We can’t leave together, but I’ll meet you.” My insecurities force me to add, “If that’s what you want…”

His lips part, but he stays quiet for a moment, appearing flustered. His cheeks are visibly pink, even in the low light. It’s so gorgeous I could explode.

“I um… I kind of like you, Officer Kemper,” he chokes the words out, seriousness painted on his face, though a small grin is trying to tug at his lips. “It’s fucking idiotic, I know. I must be a real dumbass…”

I huff and grab the back of his neck. “Don’t talk about what’s mine like that.”

Pressing my lips to his, I kiss him hard, possessing him through our mouths, until we’re both breathless and he’s trying to crawl on top of me. But I take over and pin him to the mattress, grinding my hips into his.

“You’re really going to leave everything behind… for me?” He gazes up at me, licking his lips.

“I have nothing that I want as much as I want you,” I growl these truths, which should sound ludicrous. After only knowing him for a couple months, inside a prison.

This broken boy… With a world of scars inside him. I know it doesn’t make any sense, but I need him. I’ve never felt as whole as I do with him.

Dascha Reznikov has filled in all the cracks in my foundation.

“I’m so overwhelmed by this,” he says, clutching two handfuls of my shirt as it hangs open. “I don’t even know what to think…”

“Don’t think, baby,” I rumble over his mouth. “Just feel. It feels good, doesn’t it?” He nods enthusiastically. “It feels right, me and you?” He nods again. “We can do this.”

His lips tremble subtly as he whispers, “We can do this.”

I hum out of the most intense satisfaction I’ve ever felt and kiss him again, sucking his luscious mouth while he pushes my shirt off and I pull his over his head. I’m so tired, but I know sleep will feel a zillion times better after some mind-blowing sex with my toy.

My… boyfriend?

I shake it away again, and keep kissing him, swallowing up his little moans and gasps like snacks. That’s what Dash is for me. He’s the best treat I could ever indulge in.

Our clothes come off at our leisure, and we explore the slow sensuality that we’re building. No cuffs, no restrictions. Nothing to hide behind.

And it’s overwhelming, yes. But it’s also exciting. It’s real, I know it is.

“Would you want to get another tattoo?” Dash’s breathy voice croons at me and I pause my incessant sucking and biting of his collarbone to glance up at him. “Ren does them. I was thinking of getting one. Maybe we could do it… together.”

My heart thuds. “You want us to get matching tattoos?”

“Not matching,” he rolls his eyes, grinning. “But like, something we could get together, before we leave. To remind us of… how we met.”

My smile is out of control. I don’t think I’ve ever smiled so wide. I’m afraid of showing it to him, so I have to go back to nuzzling my face in his neck.

“I don’t think we’ll need help remembering this place,” I tease, giving his skin a little nip until he shudders, fingers digging into my shoulders. “But yea. I want your name tattooed on me.”

“It doesn’t have to be my name,” he laughs. “That’s sorta nuts. We still barely know each other.”

My head lifts at that. “I know everything I need to know, Dascha. Are you having doubts about this?”

“What? No,” he mumbles, blinking rapidly. “I’m just saying…”

“Baby, I know I’ve hurt you before,” I start, trying to convey as much sincerity as I can in my eyes and tone, “But it was only ever because I didn’t understand my feelings for you. It’ll be different outside of here, I promise.” His eyes are very wide again. I take his hand and place it over my heart. “Do you trust me?”

He nods slowly. “Yes.”

Elation lances between my ribs as I grasp his jaw and pull his mouth to mine. I kiss him as gently as I can manage, while his fingers trace my sternum.

“You have space right here,” he says when we pull apart.

“I’m getting your name,” I tell him, and he chuckles, shaking his head. But I’m fully serious.

“You’re such a psycho,” he grins.

I smile over his lips. “Does it worry you?”

He hums, “Mm… nah. I think I’ve figured out how to handle you.” His hand slides down my torso, continuing on below my waist to reach inside my open pants. He palms my thick cock and I growl, nipping at his mouth.

“So are you going to get my name, then?” I ask him, giving him a fiery look, although now he’s teasing my balls good and my eyes want to close.

“I’ll surprise you,” he smirks, and I want to fuck him rough. Get rid of all that attitude.

I like it, though. I wouldn’t want him any other way.

My thoughts swirl while we kiss and touch. There’s a future on the horizon, one I haven’t seen before, but one that is very much possible. It still seems crazy, but I’ve always been good at driving toward a goal, regardless of the insanity it holds.

And if my goal is getting Dascha to Tulum, to fulfill his dreams, then I’ll do just that.

I’ll make it happen. For him.

56 days in

Trying not to act like I have a giant secret is the hardest part.

I’ve made friends in here. Good friends, probably better than any I’ve ever had on the outside.

Luthor and I have spent hours upon hours talking about everything under the sun. Kang has been trying to teach me Korean, and I’m teaching him Russian in exchange. It’s not fucking easy, he’s picking it up quicker than I am, but we get a good laugh out of the process. And Ren, of all people, believe it or not, is helping me come to terms with my sexuality. He’s so open and unapologetic. Despite how fucked up he can be, it’s a great energy to be around.

There’s something on my mind now, and it makes me want to shout at the top of my lungs. When Velle kicks my legs out while walking me to the showers, or when Joy grabs my tray of food before I’m even done eating. When I’m cuffed and ignored and given the bare minimum for human survival, I want to scream in all their faces that I’M GETTING OUT.

Kemper came to my room again last night to hammer out the final details. He’s been in my cell more and more lately, and that’s another thing I wish I could talk to Luthor about. He doesn’t say anything about my nightly visitor, but I know he knows who I’m seeing. I appreciate that he’s waiting for me to bring it up, but I’m apprehensive about the whole thing.

I came in here raving about how straight I am. Only a couple months later and I have a boyfriend.

And we can spare the obligatory prison jokes. I’m not his bitch.

I like Kemper. I still don’t know exactly how it happened, having hit me like a Mack truck. He flipped a switch inside me, and the more I’ve thought about it, the more grateful I am to him for doing so.

I know he hurt me in the beginning, and some people would call me a moron for willingly chaining myself to someone who’s chained me up before. But it’s not that simple. All the things I used to see as black and white have distorted into a mass of gray; complexities I never knew existed now consuming me.

I don’t want to go to Tulum alone. I’m sick of being alone…

I want to go with Kemper. I can’t wait, actually. I’m so anxious, I’m crawling out of my skin.

Last night he told me what I have to do. In only three more days, the plan goes into motion.

On Wednesday evening, I’ll need to do something to get sent back to solitary. I thought just punching Velle again would be good enough, but Kemper urged me to choose my action wisely. It has to be something that will get me sent to solitary alone, without drawing too much attention. The amount of time I’ve spent in solitary could be viewed as suspect, if the Warden found out. Instead, I’ll just do something stupid at dinner. Dump a tray of food on someone or whatever. I’ll figure it out in the moment.

After that, Kemper will leave my cell in solitary unlocked. Then he’ll check all the doors between solitary and the East, which apparently are rarely locked, a fact I found surprising. The hardest part will be getting through the East wing undetected. Kemper said he’ll unlock that door too, then distract the guards watching the cameras. I’ll have to sneak through there to get to the sewer system, and from there I’ll make my escape, Shawshank Redemption style.

I have to admit, I was pretty amazed that doing it that way was part of Kemper’s plan. Apparently, he’s never read the book, or seen the movie, sacrilege for a King fan like me. I explained the entire scene to him, and the look on his face was priceless. Then I told him we’ll watch it once we get to Tulum, and I think he liked that because, almost immediately, he pulled my dick out and sucked me off so good I came a gallon down his throat while my toes curled, and I bit my lip bloody to keep myself quiet.

My stomach flips at the memory, and I have to force the smile off my face. Once I’m out of the sewer channel, on the outside, I’ll run for a mile or so, through the woods. Kemper told me about a dock where he’ll meet me, and then we’ll take a boat to Coney Island. From there, we’ll grab my getaway funds and work miscellaneous buses all the way to Mexico.

We have it all figured out. Except for what our lives will actually be like once we’re free. What will we do in Tulum, as a couple?

I’ll be in a gay relationship… Jesus, I’ve never even had a girlfriend.

But as overwhelming as it is to picture it, it hurts my heart to think about going without Kemper. To be honest, even though I can’t picture him in clothes that aren’t a C.O. uniform, I can certainly picture him smiling on a beach, sipping the umbrella drinks with me. I can see it, as plain as day.

His colors will blend in so well there… all warm and tropical. He is sunshine to me, in this bleak, dingy place. It makes sense for us to go someplace where sunshine is always on display.

I just want to be happy. I think I can finally get that. Maybe he can stop the voices…

I’m getting my tattoo tomorrow, and I’m excited. I already know what it’ll say, and where it’ll be. Well, where they’ll be. I think Kemper is getting his today…

I wish we could go together, but obviously that wouldn’t work. We can’t be seen together, especially now. Though I’m sure Ren will get what’s going on after he does our tattoos. But he won’t say anything. And even if he did, no one would believe him.

All these thoughts… So many damn thoughts. They’re running rampant in my mind while I sit on my bed, holding up a book I’m not even reading. Thus Spoke Zarathustra. It’s Joy’s… I couldn’t believe she actually had a copy of this specific book by Nietzsche. My mind is reeling too much to pay attention, but I’ve already read it, a few times, as a teenager. To be honest, just having this book in my hands is a bit distracting.

Luthor is on the bunk above me, fiddling with his machine. It’s coming along, or at least it looks like it is to me. Luthor’s not satisfied, but then I can relate. I worked on Zadira’s paint job for months because I needed it to be perfect.

Maybe I can get another Audi to paint in Tulum…

“How’s it going up there, brother?” I call to Luthor, wanting to talk to him.

In a few days I’ll be out. And I’ll never see him again… It’s depressing.

“Man, I don’t know about this thing,” he grumbles, and it makes me chuckle. “I need an input relay, a better power supply box, and don’t even get me started on the CPU.” He huffs and it makes me laugh harder.

I have no clue what he’s even talking about, but fuck, I’m gonna miss this.

“You won’t stop working on it, though, right?” I ask, really trying not to get sentimental, but it’s hard.

“Nah, I’m good. I mean, what else is there to do?” He curses and I hear a clink, like something just fell behind the bed.

“Good. Do what makes you happy, Luth. You deserve happiness,” I say while staring off into space. “I think you and Ren should try to work things out.”

“What the fuck are you rambling about down there?” He mutters. “Why do you sound like you’re dying or something?”

Biting the inside of my cheek, I force myself not to say what I want. “I’m just saying… I might not always be here. I’m in solitary a lot, and everything…”

“Yea, about that. I’m starting to think Ren’s right. You like being down there.”

“Do not. It’s not my fault I keep getting sent there…”

“Dash, it is your fault though,” his tone is a bit grumpier than usual, which only happens when he’s frustrated with Ren. “Take responsibility for what you’ve done. You’re in here for a reason, just like the rest of us.”

I glare up at the bottom of his mattress. “What’s your problem today?”

“Nothing. I’m sorry, I’m just… stressed,” he breathes. “I was thinking about O’Malley. And Darcey. It’s fucked up, what happens to them in here. I mean, I know they’re dangerous criminals, but does that warrant torture? I don’t even know…”

“There are dangerous criminals all over the world. And only a small portion of them are actually locked up,” I say with certainty. I know this.

Evil rarely gets what it deserves. It just keeps fucking people like us over forever until we wind up in here.

“I guess. Good to know we’re in decent company for the rest of our lives,” he hums, still tinkering around.

“It shouldn’t be for the rest of our lives, though,” I object. “We live in the United fucking States. There’s a thing called due process of law. They can’t just lock us up in here without even a fair trial, or—”

“Dash!” Luthor barks at me and I stop talking. “You need to accept that you’re in here. You’re not going anywhere! What did I tell you on your first day? Don’t be that guy… The guy who always thinks he’s getting out. I’ve been here for five fucking years and I’m telling you it’s a dead end.” His words and the irate sadness in them make me swallow hard. “Just do what you can to find some semblance of life behind bars. You’re stuck in here, just like we all are.”

My heart sits heavy in the cavity of my chest. I wish I could take Luthor with me. He, of all the fucking psychos in this place, doesn’t deserve to be here. He’s young, and such a genuinely good person. I hate that I get to leave and he doesn’t.

I need to talk to Kemper. We have to take Luthor with us. I can’t leave him here to rot.

I say nothing else for the rest of the night, and eventually Luthor falls asleep. I listen to his easy breaths for hours above my head, and I don’t get a wink of sleep. There’s too much built-up noise.

And Kemper never shows up, which keeps me on edge. I really could’ve used one of those euphoric orgasms to help me relax… As crazy as it sounds, for someone who just lost his butt virginity last week, I crave him inside me now. I’m addicted, and it happened so fast. I would be alarmed, if I wasn’t too busy fantasizing about all the hard ridges of his body, and the contrast of his soft lips and the sweet way he almost worships me.

I don’t know… it’s complicated, how I feel for him. It’s unexpected and new, but I want to explore these feelings outside of this goddamn prison. I want to see if it will feel the same outside of these walls.

Anyway, I knew he likely wouldn’t stop by tonight. I’ll get to see him Wednesday night, before everything goes down. Until then, I’ll have to settle for my memories.

Closing my eyes, I remember all the things he’s done to me, gauging how my feelings about those things have changed since the beginning. I think about it all night, in fact, rolling around to the sounds of his voice in my mind until eventually the lights turn back on in the row and they gather us for breakfast.

I’m tired and fidgety for showers and then lunch, wound up and anxious, so when Rook grabs me on my way out of the cafeteria I nearly jump out of my skin.

“Let’s go, 101,” he mutters, bringing me to Ren’s cell instead of my own without another word.

When my cuffs are off and Rook leaves, I give Ren a brief wave as he sets up some tools on a tray table by his bed. Ren doesn’t have a roommate, so he has the whole place to himself. You’d think the privacy would be nice, but human contact is a necessity in here, which is why Ren bribes guards to let him have visitors.

We all know that Ren requires more human contact than the regular person.

I wander over to where he’s fiddling with some items—needles, a tube of ink, some cotton swabs. Not necessarily in the same form as what you find in a professional tattoo shop, but beggars can’t be choosers, I suppose.

“So, you know what you want?” He lifts his chin in my direction, no mention of Kemper, who I think was here last night.

Maybe he didn’t get my name…

I don’t know why that thought depresses me. But I shake it off and nod, holding out my wrists and telling him what I want the words to say. He arches a brow at me, a wicked smirk crossing his lips. But he says nothing and simply motions to his bed.

“Have a seat.”

I do as he says, and he immediately gets started, holding my left wrist in his hand, heating the needle, and repeatedly dunking it in black ink. It hurts way worse than having it done professionally, but of course I like it. My dick wants to respond to the pain in a way that would be inconvenient for me in this moment, and I decide to start a conversation to distract myself.

“So what are you gonna do to get Luthor back?”

Ren’s eyes dart from where he’s etching letters into my skin to mine. “Well, first off, I never really had him to begin with. I’ve just always…” He swallows visibly, jaw clenching. It’s interesting that someone as confident as Warren Xavier can get so choked up. And over someone as sweet as Luthor. “I’ve had feelings for him for a while, and he knows that. We came close a couple times, but I always end up jumping the gun and scaring him off. In case you didn’t notice, he doesn’t do relationships. Of any kind.”

I think about his words for a moment. “You’re right. But I know he’s interested in you, Ren. He clearly cares a lot about you. You need to show him you’re serious. He deserves the real deal.”

“It’s not that simple, Dascha,” he mumbles. “I’m not sure if I’m… equipped to give him what he needs. He needs someone reliable, someone… monogamous. And I don’t know if I’m capable of doing that.”

I roll my eyes. “That sounds like bullshit to me.”

“That’s because you don’t get it,” he murmurs. “Have you ever been in love, Dascha?”

The question stuns me, rocking my chest so hard, so unexpectedly, I can almost feel my heart rattle a bit.

I swallow over the excess saliva in my mouth, all the while wondering why this question is making my body react this way.

“I… I don’t think so…” That answer feels like a lie.

Why does it feel like I just lied?

“Well, then you definitely don’t know how it feels to love multiple people at once,” he goes on, unaware of the turmoil happening inside me. “I’ve never known how to love one person at a time. For me, sex is the only way I can feel… human. It’s the only way I can feel anything, sometimes. I can’t tie myself to one person knowing I’ll end up hurting them. Especially if that person is Lexington. I care about him too much to do that…”

His words linger in the air between us and before I can even think, my mouth opens. “Ren, what you’re saying is that Luthor isn’t enough for you, but you haven’t given him a chance to try. That’s fucked up.”

Ren stops working on my wrist for a moment and stares at the floor. His brows knit together, and he appears distraught. Profoundly troubled.

I recognize the look.

He goes back to tattooing me, staying quiet the whole time. He’s obviously deep in thought, and after he moves over to my right wrist, he finally sighs and says, “So what would you suggest I do then? He won’t take me seriously.”

“Yea, not when you admit failure before you’ve even tried,” I scoff. He peeks at me, a small smirk covering his lips. “Look, I’m no expert on relationships. I just discovered this new side of myself and I don’t know if Kem—”

I catch myself before I say his name and freeze while Ren just gawks at me. His eyes narrow, but I jump back in with more words before he can say anything.

“My point is that relationships are tricky, but you can’t just shut yourself off to it because you’re afraid it won’t work. Give it a shot, Ren. If you both care about each other, you owe to one another and yourselves to at least try.”

Ren locks his baby blue eyes on mine, gaping for a moment before his lips curl into a tiny grin. “For someone who says he’s never been in love, you sure know a lot about the topic…”

Gulping down my emotions, I keep my face still. “I just want Luthor to be happy. And maybe you, too.”

He laughs. “Oh, so now you like me?”

“You’re alright, I guess,” I grin, and he chuckles some more, shaking his head as he continues on with my tattoo. “You do give one hell of a blowjob.”

“Of that, Dascha, I am well aware.” He winks at me and I can’t help the flush that crawls to my cheeks.

Only ten more minutes and Ren’s done with my tats. For prison ink, they don’t look half bad.

Holding my wrists up, I observe the word My on the left, and Officer on the right. Exactly where I’ve been cuffed a million times since arriving at Alabaster Penitentiary, the most painful of which done by Kemper. My Officer.

I smile at the thought that he doesn’t cuff me anymore when we fool around. I’m proud of that fact. To me, it means we’re more than just a prisoner and a guard.

He’s my officer, and I’m his prisoner. By choice.

And soon we’ll be figuring out what all that means in Mexico, on the beach eating tacos and drinking margaritas. I really hope I’m not being delusional in thinking this could work, because I’m becoming so very excited about it.

“Thanks, Ren,” I hum, and much to both of our surprises, I pull him in for a hug.

It takes a second for his mild shock to wear off before he’s wrapping his arms around me and squeezing. I rest my head on his shoulder and embrace the feel of someone who has helped me in ways I never predicted needing.

“You’ll be alright, Dash,” he sighs by my ear and holds the back of my head with his hand. “You know who you are.”

I nod, fighting back pressure behind my eyes. I really can’t believe it took me coming to prison to discover all these things about myself. I want to keep this feeling. I want to bottle it and have it available whenever I start to doubt myself.

Leaving Ren’s cell, I possess a sense of freedom that I shouldn’t have while chained up like a wild animal. I’m eager for tomorrow.

Unfortunately, I don’t get far before Velle pops up, startling Rook and me.

“What’s going on over here?” He grunts at Rook, eyes bouncing between us, as if he suspects we just got done fucking.

Rook says nothing, doing a little shrug that Velle doesn’t seem at all satisfied with.

Velle shakes his head in an admonishing manner, then barks, “Leave us, Officer.”

Rook shoots me a quick look, as if he might want to protest, but of course he doesn’t, and simply saunters away, exiting the row to leave me alone with my bestie.

Peering at Velle, I wonder what the hell he wants when I’m fucking twenty feet from my cell.

He grabs my wrists, the cuffs loose enough that they don’t interfere with my new tattoos. Velle looks over the black script on my flesh then presents me with a skeptical expression.

“You know, 101, I’ve been wondering about you,” he sighs, dropping my wrists. “You spend an awful lot of time in solitary. You keep popping up with all this contraband.” He inches in closer to my face. “Who are you fucking?”

“Does it really matter?” I grit my teeth. “I’m not doing anything that other inmates don’t do. Must be a side-effect of this fucking place.”

“I just want to make sure you aren’t taking advantage of one of my Officers,” he glares into my eyes, urging me to back down, which I won’t do. This guy is a fucking pain in the ass.

“Well, I haven’t been with Rook, if that’s what you’re worried about,” I lift my shoulder. “Except for that one time.”

“A lapse in judgement on my part,” he growls. “I don’t want you anywhere near him again. You’re toxic.”

“Me?” I scoff. “I haven’t even done shit to warrant being in here. I’m a fucking bank robber, not a psychopath. I’m just trying to get by, Officer, so why don’t you take me off the prisoner pedestal and leave me the fuck alone?”

Velle’s eyes narrow on me, in a look I know all too well. His head cocks right and his forehead lines.

He’s looking at me like I’m crazy. I fucking despise that look.

“Oh, wow. Reznikov,” he shakes his head, a sudden air of pity surrounding us. “You’re truly fucking insane, aren’t you?”

My jaw locks and all my muscles tense. “Don’t fucking call me that.”

Rather than bending, he lets out a condescending chuckle. “I’ve seen your file, 101.”

My stomach drops. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that I know what you did to wind up here, and it has very little to do with the banks you’ve robbed,” he folds his arms over his chest. My face falls in confusion as I blink at him. “You’re in here for first degree murder.”

Silence seems to stretch between us for a split second that feels like an hour. My vision wavers, my head suffused with memories, trickling back like the water that’s always dripping somewhere out of sight.

The day I was arrested…

The bank. Municipal Credit Union.

The Scorpion. I had it with me… Everything happened so fast and my adrenaline was jacked. I squint, eyelids fluttering over and over while my gaze stays on the floor and I think…

“I shot Mike…” the words tumble from my lips, seeming to come from somewhere else entirely.

“Yea. And you killed a twenty-two-year-old girl. Another bank employee. Karly Clayton.”

A scream echoes, vibrating my temples so hard I have to close my eyes.

“Do you know who she was, 101?” Velle’s voice probes my mind and I shake my head. “She was the Governor’s niece.”

My eyes fling back up to his, brows zipping together in consternation. I don’t know what he’s talking about.

Girl? What fucking girl??

“You killed two people, Dascha,” he goes on, stepping closer to me. “In cold blood. One of them, the relative of our fucking Governor. You’re not just a bank robber. You deserve to be here just as much as everyone else. Maybe more. Because you’re clearly fucked…” He scoffs and shakes his head again, sharp eyes holding onto me. Strangling the life out of me where I stand.

“No…” I whisper in disbelief. “No, that’s not…”

“Don’t fucking lie, inmate,” he hisses in my face then grabs me by the shirt, hauling me closer. “Don’t pull that innocent act. You’re a killer. Admit it.”

My eyes are wide, limbs shivering while my mind flies. “I don’t… remember.”

My voice cuts out as I crush my eyes shut, all kinds of images rushing through my head.

Voices. There are always voices. I don’t know where they come from, but…

I killed a girl?? I don’t remember…

That wasn’t real, was it?

I don’t… I’m not…

My entire body is keyed up and mentally, I’m at a loss. I don’t even know what to say or do. Tears build from within my eye sockets, the smell of blood and gunpowder beckoning to me, so prominent I can’t tell what’s real and what isn’t.

Velle snarls out something of dissatisfaction and drags me back to my cell, taking off my cuffs and tossing me inside before storming away. Collapsing to the floor, I curl up into a ball, quaking while the voices taunt me, louder and louder, until it’s too much. I can’t breathe.

I can’t move.

I’m lost.

I killed her…? How? Why?

I don’t remember!

“Dash, you alright, man?” Luthor’s voice comes from beside me as he helps me up, bringing me to my bed. “What happened?”

I’m still too stunned to speak. I can’t get past the flashes in my mind, everything blurring together like a jumbled mess of blood and fury, harrowed anguish.

Mom’s face. The girl at the bank.

Mike.

Kemper.

Who am I?

What’s going on…?

“I can’t… breathe…” I gasp, my heart racing like crazy. A cold sweat breaks out on my skin while I twitch and shiver.

“Here,” Luthor pushes my shoulders forward. “Put your head between your knees. Like this.”

Sputtering, I’m attempting to calm down, but it’s not working. There are screams, the voices of millions of people, a brashy clamor bellowing in my brain.

You killed her.

Killer.

Killer.

You’re a killer!

“Breathe in through your nose, and out through your mouth.” Luthor demonstrates. “Do it, Dash.”

Offering a weak nod, I suck air in through my nose, hold it for a moment then let it go. He rubs my back while I shake, the frame of my person heavy and yet somehow aerated.

Squeezing my eyes tighter, I focus on Luthor. The feel of his hand on me. The warmth of his friendly presence, and his soothing voice. My heart rate regulates steadily, the tension in my muscles easing a bit.

Many minutes later, I sit up straight again and finally reopen my eyes, blinking myself back to what I think is reality, yet still disturbed by what Velle said…

I can’t believe it could be true.

I need to get the fuck out of here.

“Dude, what the hell happened to you?” Luthor’s face is painted with concern. It reminds me of what a great friend he is. And how much I need to get him out of here, too.

“Luthor, if I told you to come with me to solitary tomorrow night…” I start, speaking in between ragged breaths. “If I told you we could get out of here, and all you have to do is follow me… Would you?”

Luthor blinks over saucer eyes, as if he has no clue how to respond to that. “Dash… I think you need to get some rest. You’re not making any sense.”

“No, I’m serious,” I scrub a hand over my face. “I’m getting out of here tomorrow, Luthor. And if you want, you can come with me. I think you should. This place is…” I shake my head. “I don’t want you to waste away in here. You’re my friend.”

His face is the picture of bewilderment as he stares at me for minutes in silence, mouth hanging open.

“What are you even talking about?” He finally gasps. “How could you bet getting out? It makes no sense.”

“I have a plan. We do… One of the guards is…” I stop myself, choosing not to incorporate Kemper into this. I don’t want to fuck anything up. “It’s going to work. Tomorrow night, through solitary… You have to come with me, Luthor. You can be free and live. Live the rest of your life, outside of this shithole. Please. Come.”

I’m begging him with my gaze, stuck on his vibrant eyes while the wheels in his mind turn. I can see it happening, but he’s ultimately skeptical. Because he stands up and starts pacing.

“No. You’re fucking nuts. There’s no way that’d ever work, and I can’t… I’m not…” He stops and exhales loudly, rocking his head repeatedly. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. No one gets out.”

“I am,” I jump up and grab his shoulders. “I’m getting out, Luth. And you need to come.”

“I can’t.” His forehead creases, face engraved with apprehension.

“Why not?” I hiss. “Why the fuck can’t you at least try?”

“Because…” he whispers in a broken tone. “I can’t leave…”

My anger is bubbling until I stop for a moment to read what his eyes are telling me. My hand slips away from him and I blink.

He can’t leave Ren.

Swallowing hard, I gape at my friend, who is stuck in the middle of something so fucking brutally, profoundly complicated, he barely even knows what he’s doing. But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t get it.

That’s why I could never leave home, after all…

There was always something holding me there, whether I wanted it to or not.

So I say nothing more. I simply nod in understanding and pull Luthor into a hug. I hug him tight, with everything I can, because I’ll never see him again after tomorrow, regardless of what happens.

If I get caught, they could kill me. If I don’t get caught, I’ll never be able to come back to New York as long as I’m alive.

“You’re my best friend, Luthor,” I exhale.

He nods and pulls back. “Regardless of how fucked up it is, I’m glad you came here. I’m glad I got to meet you.”

A small smile tugs at my lips, despite all the terribleness stacking up inside me. There’s one good thing that came out of Alabaster Penitentiary, and that’s the people I’ve met here, as a whole. All of them, even Velle. They’ve changed my world.

For better or worse.

Another night with no sleep.

After the lights went out in the row, Luthor went to bed. And I stayed up, pacing.

Thinking. Remembering, or trying to.

There’s a hole in my memories of the day I was arrested.

Last I recall, I took the girl outside to make one final effort at escaping. After that, I woke up in the car, blindfolded. I can’t remember what actually happened, and I refuse to believe that I killed an innocent girl.

I didn’t mean to kill her…

Mike, sure. He was a rat who betrayed me. He deserved to die. But the girl did nothing to me. She was just… there.

The jagged memories wear my mind thin, and of course, today is one of the days when we don’t get breakfast or a shower. We’re in the cell literally all damn day, and I’m trapped with nothing but my thoughts.

No amount of push-ups can distract me from the sounds of my brain; the noises and the voices and the screams that keep coming.

Taunting me. Calling me names.

Murderer.

Killer.

Evil.

Crazy.

You killed her.

You’re a killer.

You’re a worthless monster.

You belong here.

By the tenth hour, my self-loathing turns to anger. And my anger needs to be pointed at someone. So I turn it on the one person I’m supposed to trust in here.

The person who said he wouldn’t hurt me anymore…

Kemper.

He’s a guard. He’s seen my file, just like Velle has, which means he knew. He fucking knew I killed that girl, and he never said anything.

He should’ve told me. Why wouldn’t he tell me??

I’ve only said to him a hundred times that I thought I was in here for robbing the banks. He knew I didn’t remember it. He had all those opportunities to tell me what I did, and he kept his lying, betraying mouth shut.

I’m so exhausted, my thoughts are barely making any sense, but the fury has hijacked all previously rational musings, and now I’m enraged. My head isn’t clear. I’m amped up on no sleep and forced adrenaline, and the fucking voices, all of them.

Shouting in the row builds, meaning it’s dinner time. Just knowing I have to go into the cafeteria right now and make a scene to get myself thrown in solitary is weighing on me. I’m stressed and nervous, and fucking pissed as Rook comes into the cell, cuffing Luthor and me. He brings us out to the row, walking us slower than my wired body can stand, toward the cafeteria.

Luthor nudges me. “You alright?”

“Not really,” I reply through a straining jaw, but don’t elaborate.

I don’t even know what I would say…

I just found out I’m a murderer. Turns out I totally deserve to be locked away in a place I’m attempting to escape from later…

We’re ushered into the caf, the same way I have been for months now, and even knowing that this could potentially be my last visit to this gross, crusty room that smells like mildew and old food, I can’t think about anything I’m supposed to be thinking right now.

All I can do is look around. For midnight blue eyes, golden hair and tattoos.

I know he’ll be up here right now. He has to be.

Because I need to talk to him.

Something told me to come upstairs.

The plan was that I wouldn’t see Dash until tonight in solitary, when I drop by to unlock his cell. But for some reason, I had a strong urge to come up, and make sure he was alright with whatever he’s doing to get himself sent back downstairs.

And sure enough, I think I made the right call. Because he doesn’t look great.

I can tell from looking at him for one second that something is wrong. He’s all fidgety, with dark circles under his eyes and his hair, which is growing out, is all messed up like he’s been trying to pull it out.

The moment his cuffs are removed, he’s immediately searching all around the room. I know he’s looking for me.

And when our eyes meet, I observe an emotion in his that I haven’t seen in a while.

Rage.

He immediately starts stomping toward me, and my eyes shift to make sure no one’s watching him, since he clearly isn’t concerned with his actions at the moment. It tightens my jaw.

He needs to get his head on straight. This isn’t a fucking joke.

No one seems to be paying attention to him. It’s bustling in the cafeteria and there’s a whole slew of inmates up at the chow line, grabbing trays. All the other guards are focusing on that.

But not me. I’m watching Dash closely while he approaches me, radiating a silent fury. He stops with only a foot of space between us and he’s seething. I can feel it.

Grabbing him by the arm, I tug him around a corner, just slightly out of sight of everyone else so I can figure out what his issue is.

“What’s going on?” I ask, quietly, focusing my eyes on the swirling hazel of green and brown, which is much darker at the moment, containing his wrath.

“Velle told me what’s in my file last night,” he grunts, then closes his eyes and shakes his head before aiming them back up at me. He grips his hair and murmurs, “Apparently, I… killed the Governor’s niece.” He almost chokes on the word killed, and I can tell he’s struggling with this.

Fuck…

My gut flops and my muscles tense. Jesus fucking Christ… Velle. That asshole.

I was supposed to tell Dash about that. Okay, so… this isn’t great.

My mouth opens, but before I can speak, he jumps in, “Did you know?”

“Dash…” I mumble, keeping my tone as pacifying as possible.

He doesn’t even let me attempt it. “You fucking knew. How could you not tell me?!”

His volume is rising a bit in his anger, and I need to keep him quiet. This isn’t part of the plan. I don’t want anyone to see us together. It could jeopardize everything.

“Dash, it’s not like that. I wanted to tell you, I was just waiting for the right time.”

I reach out and try to take his arm, but he yanks it back.

“Don’t touch me. You should’ve told me!” He breathes out hard, and his eyes fall to my collarbone, exposed by the open top button of my uniform shirt. They widen, I’m guessing when he notices the ink there… His name.

I witness him swallowing hard as his gaze crawls back up to my face. In this moment, I want to grab him and crush his lips to mine. I want to feel his touch on the place where I permanently etched his name in my flesh. To let him know I’ll always keep him, no matter what.

But he’s still so angry. His eyes narrow to slits as he licks his lips. “You knew I didn’t remember, and you didn’t fucking say anything. What kind of…” He pauses and grumbles something under his breath.

Eyeing him carefully, I try to touch his hand again. “Baby, please relax…”

He pulls away again and glares at me, flames burning in his irises. “Don’t patronize me like I’m crazy! I’m not fucking crazy!”

My teeth grind as I lean in. “I know you’re not. Now lower your voice.”

“Isn’t this your responsibility??” He barks, eyes falling to the tattoo once more. I scan the room over his head to make sure no one heard. He’s being entirely too loud, and I’m two seconds away from covering his damn mouth with my hand. “You spout all this shit about taking care of me, but then you lie. Just like everyone else.”

His words sting. I need to assure him that I didn’t do this on purpose, but he’s so wound up, spinning out in some kind of episode, and he won’t even give me a second to speak.

“You should’ve fucking told me,” he goes on, his movements growing twitchier by the second. As much as he’s infuriating me, I’m worried more than anything. I need to help him relax before this escalates. “How do I know I can trust you? How can I trust myself?!”

“Dascha, baby, you need to calm down,” I speak to him slow, tranquilly, leaning in to take his chin in my fingers when he refuses to make eye contact. “If someone hears you, I won’t be able to—”

“Stop trying to manipulate me!” He backs forcefully out of my hold. “You’re always doing that! Fuck, I don’t even know who I am or what’s happening, and it’s your fucking fault!”

“Dascha,” I hiss, but it’s too late. He’s pacing around, mumbling to himself, louder than he should be, and I notice a couple guards looking our way. “Dash, please. Baby, look at me.”

“I can’t do this. I can’t… I didn’t. I didn’t mean to!” He shouts, covering his eyes with his hands.

Two guards, Brenner and Peters, come stomping over and my heart lodges in my throat. I keep trying to call Dash, but at the same time I can’t let them know I’m talking to him.

I don’t know what to do. This is going to fuck up everything.

“Problem over here, 101?” Brenner assesses the situation, but Dash is unresponsive. He’s too busy panicking.

“No… no no stop,” he keeps muttering.

Brenner and Peters shoot me a look and I shrug. I don’t know what else to do.

“Alright, kid. You’re coming with us,” Peters sighs, taking out his cuffs as he reaches for Dash.

My mouth opens as if to protest, but I snap it shut. I can’t fucking stop him. I can’t move.

“No! Leave me alone!” Dash yells, and now everyone is looking in our direction.

Brenner and Peters quickly lose patience, grabbing Dash by his arms while he struggles against them. His eyes are wide and confused, searching for me.

They lock on mine and he whimpers, “No, don’t do this. I’m sorry, okay?!”

Pressing my lips together, I use all my strength to remain indifferent, forcing myself not to get involved. I nod at Brenner and Peters, knowing I need to act like I’m not dying inside watching this happen.

“Kemper! Please!” Dash cries while they rip his arms behind his back, practically lifting him up to get him to stop resisting. But he just won’t calm down. “I’m sorry!”

“We’re gonna have to sedate him,” Peters mumbles, nodding someone over.

It’s Velle. Fuck, no. God dammit.

Velle storms over, removing a syringe from his holster. “Hold him still.”

“I’m not sure that’s necessary,” I bark, but everyone ignores me.

“No! No, don’t. Please!” Dash bellows, struggling against the two large officers with all his might. “Kemper, don’t forget me! Please don’t…”

Brenner grabs his chin and forces him still while Velle sticks a needle in his neck. I gulp down sorrow like the burn of the strongest liquor on earth.

Don’t hurt him! Please don’t hurt him.

It’s killing me to watch this. This is killing me.

Dash’s eyes lock on mine. “Kemper, don’t… forget…”

And then he goes limp in their arms, eyes still open. He looks dead.

I slump against the wall behind me, scratching my nails into the cement so hard I think I’m bleeding.

“Get him downstairs,” Velle breathes, brushing a strand of hair out of his face. He glances at me for a moment, and I swear I see a small smirk on his lips, before he spins and leaves.

Leaves Brenner and Peters to bring Dash downstairs.

Leaves me to fall back into the shadows.

Because I know they’re not bringing him to solitary.

He’s going to the East wing.

60 days in

When my eyes want to open, it’s difficult. My eyelids seem to weigh a ton.

Swallowing is hard, too. My throat is bone-dry, and I have to cluck my tongue a bunch of times to even get it to move. When I lick my lips, they’re all chapped and cracking.

My neck can barely hold my head up. What the fuck happened to me??

As my eyes finally blink themselves open and I look around, I don’t recognize the room I’m in. It’s much larger than my cell, in gen-pop or solitary. And with a closer look, I notice the padding on the walls.

Fuck.

I jerk my arms, and they won’t move. Glancing down, my eyes fall shut in realization.

I’m in a straitjacket.

Fuck fuck fuck.

My back is sore from lying on the floor. There’s no furniture in this room. It’s just padded all over, and across from where I’m lying is a door; heavy metal, like the ones in solitary, with a small plexiglass window at the top.

“Help,” I croak, writhing on the floor until I finally squirm enough to sit up. My feet are bare. I have no shoes or socks. “Someone?”

No one comes, and I decide I’m probably better off that way. I don’t want to know who’s around here. Last time I saw someone in a room like this was O’Malley, and I don’t want them doing to me what they were doing to him.

A chill zips up my spine, and I struggle against the constricting fabric of the straitjacket some more. I hate feeling strapped down like this. I hate not being able to move, and this is a million times worse than cuffs.

What the hell happened?? How did I end up here?

My brain struggles to remember. I was in the cafeteria. I was supposed to make a scene, to get sent to solitary. Maybe the plan went wrong? They sent me here instead…?

I close my eyes and try, as hard as I can, to remember.

My mind goes to Kemper, my heart leaping into my throat. Is he alright?

I’m not sure what I did, but there’s a sinking feeling in my gut, and I can see Kemper’s face. Flashes in my mind, of Kemper looking worried. Looking… troubled; distraught. I don’t enjoy seeing his face like that. He’s usually in control of everything. I don’t want to see him looking at me like…

Like I’m fucking crazy.

Am I?

I’m in a fucking straitjacket right now, in a padded cell… You tell me.

Struggling some more inside the material, I refuse to believe that Kemper would give up on me. He wouldn’t.

The plan is still in place, I just have to get the fuck out of this cell. He’s coming for me. I know he is.

Kemper always comes for me.

Some time passes, and I’m so dehydrated, I’m hallucinating a little. It’s obvious they drugged me last night, and the aftereffects of whatever they gave me are pretty intense. I’m burdened and tired, but I manage to stand up and go to the window. Peering through, I see nothing but a hallway. It’s familiar, from the day Kemper brought me down here.

That means O’Malley is nearby. And Darcey.

I can’t see shit through the window, and in the hours since I woke up, I haven’t seen or heard a single person. It’s concerning, especially because I’m supposed to be escaping through the sewers right now, and meeting Kemper at the dock.

I don’t want to fuck up the plan. I can’t.

I need to get out of here. Where’s Kemper??

I try a few things while wandering around, seeing if maybe there’s a tear in the straitjacket’s material, to poke my way through. But I can’t find anything.

I’m fucking stuck, and the more my choppy memories come back, the more I’m thinking I fucked shit up.

I killed that girl.

I drove Kemper away.

I still don’t remember killing the girl, but I know I did. It feels like I did, and the flashes of blood and screams are trying to tell me something.

I blacked out that day when I was hitting Ren. I know that wasn’t the first time, and it probably won’t be the last.

Plopping down on the floor in defeat, tears threaten to burst from behind my eyes. I don’t want to lose Kemper. I don’t want to be stuck here, tortured, poked and prodded by doctors.

I’m scared.

Gulping, I lie on my side on the floor to rest my heavy head. But then footsteps prick my ears. I scramble back up and watch the door. They don’t sound clunky, like Kemper’s. They’re actually very quiet, but I can hear them still. It’s the first noise I’ve heard since I’ve been in here.

The steps grow closer and closer to my door, and my body tenses. The sound of keys jingling outside my door brings a wave of terror. I stand and back up against the opposite wall, fearing whoever is about to walk in here.

I can see a shadow through the window, but I’m not sure who it is as the keys unlock the door and it opens a crack. Familiar gray eyes shielded by black-rimmed glasses are the first things I see peering through. I squint at the figure as the door opens more, and he walks inside.

“Darcey?” I ask, stepping forward.

I’m stunned. I have no clue what he’s doing here.

He says nothing, but as he moves into the light, and I inch closer, my eyes widen.

He’s covered in blood. And I mean, drenched.

There’s blood all over his clothes, which I think were at one time the light gray ones we all wear. Now they’re deep maroon, his arms, hands, and neck all coated in red. It’s splattered on his face, even on his glasses. He must notice, because he removes them and tries to wipe the lenses on his shirt, but it just makes it worse.

I wander up to him. “Here. Wipe them on me.”

His eyes light up a bit, a small smile quirking his lips as he cleans the blood off his glasses on my straitjacket.

What the fuck is happening right now?

“Thanks.” He seems much more dazed than I’ve ever seen him before. It’s like he’s in a trance; slow movements, almost sedated, in a sense.

“Is that… your blood?” I ask, hesitantly. I’m not sure I want to know the answer.

“It’s always my blood,” his voice comes out small, practically nonexistent.

Then he pulls butterfly knife out of his back pocket and opens it.

I swallow hard. “Darcey… don’t.” My head shakes as I try to back up.

But he mumbles, “Stay still,” and begins cutting the material of the straitjacket. He slices through the fabric in zig-zags until I can squirm out of it, freeing myself from its tight hold.

I can finally breathe, stretching out my arms. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” he says peacefully, and I don’t have the slightest idea why he’s covered in blood, or how he got the keys to my cell. But I’m grateful.

I can’t waste any more time. I need to get the hell out of here.

Kemper could be out there waiting, and I don’t want to miss him.

“Darcey, I’m getting the fuck out of here,” I tell him, moving toward the door and peering out into the hallway to check for signs of anybody.

I see no one, and at the end of the hall is the doorway Kemper was telling me about. There’s one camera there, but if I can try to sneak past, I can get to the sewers like we planned.

“You can come,” I tell him, turning back to find him staring at the floor. It’s as if he’s in some kind of catatonic state.

He glances up at me, the size of his pupils startling me. They’re huge.

“No thanks,” he sighs. “I’ll stay for a bit. I want to see how this goes…” Some amusement flashes in his eyes as he looks past me, at what, I have no idea.

What is with all these guys wanting to stay in this damn place??

I shake it off and say, “Alright, well I’m out. Do those keys open that door out there?”

He nods and hands me the keys. “You take ‘em.”

“Thanks,” I grip the keys in my fist, preparing to go. This is it. But first, my eyes drop to his feet. “What size shoe do you wear?”

He chuckles and removes his sneakers without saying a word, giving them to me, no hesitations. I step into them and they fit perfectly.

“Thanks again, Darcey,” I cock my head at him. This dude is certifiable, and yet I think he’s my friend.

We’re all fucked in here, after all.

“You’re welcome, Dash,” he does a small wave, his movements lithe, if not sluggish. “Don’t forget us.”

“Oh, I won’t,” I grin, waving back at him as I slink out of the room.

Stalking the hallway, slowly, I tiptoe to the door and use the keys to unlock it. I glance up at the camera, moving into the shadows, like Kemper instructed, hugging the wall as I hurry through the hall to the corner. I have no clue what time it is. It might not even be Thursday anymore, so I’m not sure how many guards are on camera duty.

But I have to try. I can’t worry about it right now. I’m going to make it.

I’m getting the fuck out.

I follow all of Kemper’s directions I memorized. Right, left, left, right, until I finally reach the sewer channel. I have to crawl through a small hatch, and then climb down a ladder into it, which is creepy as hell. It’s small, tighter than I’m entirely comfortable with, but I refuse to think about it as I force myself through, for about twelve feet. And then down the ladder.

In the sewer, it’s cold, dark, and it smells awful. But I just keep pushing.

I keep moving.

It’d be quicker if I had a flashlight, but I don’t, and I have to feel around to figure out where I’m going. Wading through sludge, I make a couple wrong turns, since everything looks the fucking same, and end up backtracking.

It seems like I’ve been walking down here for an hour.

Everything is pitch black, even after my eyes have adjusted to the light. A squeak beneath my foot causes me to flinch. I stepped on a rat. God, this is disgusting.

But eventually I make it to the end. Exhausted and covered in filth.

Kicking out the grate at the end, I burst through to the sight of trees and grass. For the first fucking time in months, I can see the sky.

Tears fall from my eyes as the cool air pricks my skin. Breeze brushes my flesh as I let out a sobbing laugh.

And it’s not raining, but I lift my hands in the air, just like in Andy did in The Shawshank Redemption.

I’m free. I’m fucking free.

My legs are burning, as are my lungs.

I’ve been running, sprinting, through the woods, for only fifteen minutes. But after no cardio for months, this is really strenuous right now.

Kemper said less than two miles through the woods and I’d find the small dock. I probably could’ve gotten there sooner if I didn’t keep stopping at every noise I hear.

I’m terrified that search dogs are going to jump out of nowhere and attack me, or that Velle will hop out from around a tree with his Glock aimed at my face. I keep hearing helicopters in the sky.

But I haven’t so much as glimpsed any sign that it’s real. I’m seeing things…

It’s my nerves. My adrenaline is jacked beyond belief and it’s fucking with me. That’s all.

I need to get to that damn dock. I need to get to Kemper.

I come to a stop and lean up against a tree to catch my breath. My hands grip the bark and squeeze, because holy fuck, I didn’t think I’d ever see another tree again. A seagull squawks above my head and I flinch, then laugh to myself. This is fucking crazy. I’m outside.

The smile falls from my lips as I look at the ground; at Darcey’s sneakers on my feet, all brown from the sewer, but still with visible traces of blood on them.

I’m not imagining this, am I? Please God, let this be real.

I kick at some leaves and dirt on the ground, making a small hole with the toe of my shoe. I’m here. I know I am.

This is real. It has to be.

Blinking hard, I shake myself out of it. I don’t have time for this. I’m near the dock, I know it. I can hear the ocean. I can smell it, too; stronger than ever.

Glancing around once more, I pick back up and start running again, weaving between the trees. Only a few more minutes and I see something in the distance.

It’s the shoreline. Some sand, and sure enough, a small dock. There’s a boathouse there, too. That must be where Kemper is.

Thank God.

I breathe out, an uncontrollable smile crossing my lips as I make a run for it. But something stops me. Voices. Or at least one.

Fear clutches my insides as I back up against a tree to keep myself hidden. Holding in my erratic breaths, I try to listen.

The voices don’t exactly sound close. In fact, they seem to be traveling from somewhere else.

Confused, I peer around the tree and my eyes scan. It’s hard to see, since I’m still within the forest, and I decide to sneak, carefully, up to where the trees end, meeting the shore. As I get closer, I discover why the voices sound like that.

Just down the shore from the dock, less than half a mile away, is a massive mansion. I’m talking gargantuan. The place is like a palace, made almost entirely of what looks to be white marble.

I’ve never seen anything like it, and my mouth hangs agape as I stare up at the monstrosity, a giant even from as far away as I am.

That must be the Warden’s place. What did Luthor say it was called?

The Ivory Mansion.

That’s where the Warden lives, with all the guards residing on the opposite side. Well, I can see how that’s possible now. I think the mansion is bigger than Alabaster Pen.

My eyes scan the exterior to find where the voice was coming from, and I see someone standing out on a balcony.

I duck out of sight quickly when I realize it’s the Warden. Fuck!

I slap my hand over my heart as it tries to jump out of my body. He didn’t see me, did he??

I can still hear him speaking, his voice traveling due to how high up he is, above the ocean. What a spectacular view that must be…

But who is he talking to?

Peeking out again, I watch him, pacing, his hand held to his face. He’s on the phone. And he clearly isn’t happy, speaking loud enough that his voice is booming. He seems pissed. And now I know I need to listen to him. Because if he’s talking about my escape, that’s something I think I should know.

I can only make out every few words, but he hasn’t said my name yet. I discern the words don’t care, unacceptable, and how much this will cost me?!

Then I hear something that perks my ears right up.

It’s still broken, but something along the lines of, wasn’t done with that Irish prick. Now I’m left cleaning up your mess.

I squint and blink. O’Malley? What is he talking about??

I’m confused, but I have bigger things to worry about right now. If the Warden’s wing is right there, he’ll probably be able to hear the boat engine when I start it up. This is really dangerous, and I have no idea why Kemper wouldn’t have mentioned that the place he fucking lives is so damn close to the dock. Why didn’t he tell me the Warden would be right fucking there??

I’m stressed, frustrated, and exhausted. I want to get into that damn boathouse so I can collect my thoughts, but I think it’s clear I need to at least wait until the Warden goes back inside.

Waiting for him to finish his call, I glance at the sky. It’s gray and overcast today, but based on the fact that I can’t really find the sun, I’m guessing it must be later in the day. If we wait until it gets darker, that will probably be our best bet to get out of here without anyone hearing or noticing the boat.

Only a couple minutes of barking things later, the Warden storms back inside his palace, and I use the opportunity to dart across the shore to the dock. Climbing up onto the wood, I yank open the door to the boathouse, so damn eager to see Kemper, my heart practically falls out of my chest and splats on the floor when I find nothing but boat stuff inside.

Swallowing down my feelings, I go to a hole in the floor and splash water on myself, washing off some disgusting sewer remnants. I’m not freaking out yet. Kemper is on his way.

I’m sure he just got held up, since the plan went sideways for a minute there. But as soon as he gets to the East wing and realizes I’m gone, he’ll immediately come to the dock.

I just need to give him some time. He’ll be here.

I rinse off Darcey’s sneakers, cringing at how torn up and ratty my jumpsuit pants are. I’m not sure what state my house is in, but I pray there’s at least still a change of clothes there.

My heart seizes in my chest for a terrifying moment.

Mom.

Fuck… What’s been happening to her since I’ve been gone?

I wonder if they told her I was dead. Part of me hopes they did…

But it won’t matter. None of it will.

Voices assault my brain, and my eyes squeeze shut.

Don’t please! Please don’t hurt me!

Mama loves you, malysh.

You’ll always be Mama’s good boy.

Stop… don’t.

NO!

Gunfire and screams ring through my head until I crumble to the ground, holding my head in my hands. I push it between my knees and cover it with my arms, rocking back and forth to soothe the noise away.

Leave me alone.

Don’t touch me.

Stop.

Stop…

STOP!

Blood is everywhere behind my eyes; a screen of dark red so pungent I can smell it. I gag and lie down on my side, curling into a ball.

Where’s Kemper??

I need him.

Kemper, please come soon.

Please.

It’s been hours, and my hip has gone numb from lying on this wooden floor for so long.

My heart rests, withered in the hollow cavity behind my ribs while I stare at the door of the boathouse. It’s dark all around me, reflective of how I’m feeling.

Lost.

He’s not coming. Why isn’t he coming?

Did he forget about me? Did he change his mind?

Why isn’t he here??

I swallow down the panicked tightness of tears that want to rupture from my face and press my hand to my chest. My heartbeat is shallow, as if it’s missing half its strength.

I can’t believe I fell for his words, and his possessive ways. He told me he’d take care of me, but he’s not here.

Either he changed his mind, and decided he doesn’t want me to be his, or he never really meant it in the first place. Maybe he just wanted to get rid of me. Maybe this entire plan was to get me out, as in out of his life.

Sniffling as I sit up, I rub my dreary eyes. It’s foolish for me to stay here for one more second. There could be search parties everywhere. I’m a fucking moron for even waiting as long as I did.

I have to go.

Scrambling to my feet, my entire body is weighted in defeat. Doing this alone is something I never wanted to do. But I will do it, if I have to. I’m getting to Tulum. I can obsess about Kemper all I want once I get there, but for right now, I need to keep moving.

I grab two cans of gas and climb down the ladder that deposits you right into the boat, hopping in. Scanning the controls, I suck in a breath and let it out quickly. Hopefully driving a boat isn’t that difficult, because I certainly hadn’t planned on being the one to do this.

The keys are already in the ignition, which seems odd. But then I suppose it’s exactly as Kemper said it would be. I shake his name away and start her up, the engine whirring, not as loud as I thought it’d be, thank God.

It takes me a moment to get a hang of the controls, and I almost hit the side of the dock trying out reverse for the first time, but I pick it up quick enough, and as soon as I’m away from the wood, I gun it, out into open ocean.

It’s dark, very hard to see with only one small headlight that doesn’t exactly cut through the fog much. But I just keep going. I keep driving, as fast as I feel safe traveling, into the night, water spraying at the sides, moist wind hitting my face.

I’m fortunate to have a decent sense of direction, but there’s also a compass in the dash, and from what Kemper told me, I just need to keep heading south to get to Coney Island. Well, southwest. I suppose I’ll be going southwest for the foreseeable future.

My mind is relatively clear as I drive, the skies black and revealing no police choppers, no spotlights. Just the occasional airplane flying overhead, and how low they are lets me know I’m getting closer to the city.

The air is freezing, but it still feels better than freezing in a tiny cell. I find myself wondering how Luthor is doing. I suppose they’re all sleeping by now. Ren’s probably doing something he shouldn’t be… Unless he took my advice and decided to act right. I hope he does.

I want him and Luthor to be happy. And Kang, Joy, Rook, Darcey… hell, even Velle.

I hope they’re all okay. And… Kemper.

My thoughts choke on his name. He was supposed to be here right now, driving the boat. He was supposed to be with me.

I need to know what happened to him. But it’ll have to wait.

Because right now, I can see a shoreline in the distance that is most definitely Coney Island. When I spot the Cyclone, a smile tugs at my lips. I remember the last time I went on that ride…

I was sixteen, and I wanted to celebrate robbing a store on my own. I wanted to prove to myself that I didn’t need my dad around; that I could function just fine by myself. Lola and I went to Coney Island, we got corn dogs at Nathan’s and I took her on the Cyclone. She screamed the whole time, and it made me laugh. She’s not afraid of shit, so it was hilarious to see her freaking out like such a girl.

In recent years, the only time I’ve gone to Coney is to meet up with shady people and talk business. Now I wish I’d gone more to hang out and have fun. I so rarely have fun.

Determined, I think, I’ll have fun in Tulum.

When I get close enough, I cut my lights to avoid being spotted by the Coast Guard. I don’t really see anyone, but I’m not taking any chances. Once I’m within swimming distance of the shore, I ditch the boat and dive into the water. I swim to the rocks by one of the docks, trying to stay hidden as I climb up the side and slink onto the boardwalk.

There are usually cops crawling all over this place, but I know the best spots to avoid them, which is what I do. I sneak, carefully, through an alleyway between the theme park and Popeye’s, and then I’m home free.

Now I’m just a random weirdo walking the streets at night in ratty clothes, soaking wet. It’s New York City. No one gives a fuck.

I power walk to a cabstand I know a couple blocks down and hop in the yellow car, giving the driver my address. As he drives, I rest my head against the headrest, releasing a little chuckle to myself.

I can’t believe I did it. Jesus Christ, I escaped from prison. Does this happen??

I’m sort of in shock, watching all the buildings and houses and people passing through the windows as we drive the streets. It doesn’t feel like I ever even left. And sure, I wasn’t gone as long as anyone else who’s on the inside, considering that I was the newest inmate. But it was long enough for me to realize that I have to stop taking life for granted.

I’ve been given a second chance, handed a new life on a silver platter. I’d be a fool not to take this and run with it.

It’ll be tough saying goodbye to New York. I’ve lived my entire life here. But then, I’ve been dreaming of Tulum since I was a teenager. I used to close my eyes at night, rocking myself in my small bed, dreaming of a tropical paradise, with palm trees and jet skis, and drinks served out of coconuts.

This great escape has always been my plan, before I even wound up in prison.

So I cherish the look of Brooklyn out the cab window, knowing this is the last time I’ll ever see it. And I’m fine with it. More than. I’m relieved.

Until the driver pulls up in front of my building, and I gulp. Oh shit…

There’s police caution tape over our door.

“Oh no. No no no,” the driver mutters. “You get out of my car. Get out now! I want nothing to do with you.”

“But I have to pay you,” I mumble.

“No! Just go!” He shouts at me, shooing me out of the vehicle.

The second I close the door, he peels away from the curb while I rub the back of my neck. Turning toward my home, I don’t even know what to do. This is bad… I hadn’t expected this.

It’s been months, and they still have the tape up? I hope they didn’t find my money…

Slinking around back to my bedroom window, I climb up, the way I always used to sneak in and out. Crashing into my room, I look around in discontented nostalgia. I would say it looks exactly the same, but it really doesn’t. The place is trashed.

Everything has been toppled over and rifled through. The cops were obviously searching for my getaway funds, or evidence of something. Not sure why, if they weren’t even building a case against me. They decided I was guilty and threw me into Alabaster without so much as a wave goodbye. Makes little sense that they’d be trying to connect any dots.

I beeline to my closet, my heart thumping in my jugular. The entire contents are practically flipped upside down, but relief floods my limbs when I notice the false wall, still intact.

I sigh out hard and drop to the floor, removing it to find my safe. Still here.

“Yes,” I cry softly, resting my forehead on it. “Thank you. Thank you thank you thank you.”

Opening the safe, I remove my getaway stash, in full. I could weep, I’m so happy.

Three-hundred and forty-two thousand dollars cash. And my fake passport for one David Renier.

It’s all here. Everything I need to get the fuck out. Plus, my map of Tulum, and the brochure of a resort I’ve always wanted to live on, called Abre Tus Ojos.

I sigh and grab a backpack, stuffing everything inside. Then I change my clothes, putting on a blue baseball cap, hopefully to keep myself inconspicuous. Peering around the room, I say a quick goodbye, to this bedroom where I’ve lived all my life. It doesn’t hold any particularly wonderful memories, so I’m alright giving it the finger, as I go to crawl back out the window.

But something stops me. A tingle runs from the base of my spine up to my skull.

Swallowing hard, I turn and stare at the doorway.

Mom.

She must not be here… right? I mean, the place looks like a crime scene. Why would she still be here?

But I have to check. Before I leave forever… I think I need to check on her.

Straightening up, I breathe in and walk to the door, moving glacially through the hall to my mother’s room. More caution tape.

Swallow. Blink.

My hand shakes turning the handle, dreadful uncertainty filling me like sand as I push open the door and peer inside…

Sick.

My vacant gaze stays aimed up. There’s a crack on the ceiling, in the plaster. It’s thicker than it was a year ago, I think.

Maybe this place is falling apart. Crumbling, just like the people inside it.

Sick.

Her hand brushes my arm, and I gulp, closing my eyes again. Just wishing I was somewhere else.

In Mexico. Far away from here.

“Dascha, you’re perfect, my sweet malysh,” Mom’s voice croons from my side as her body rustles the sheets of the bed. “Such a better man than your father.”

Cringing, my brain aches, static in my mind turning to whispers. When her fingers graze some ink on my chest that she always traces, the voices grow louder.

Sick sick sick.

You’re sick.

“I don’t like this,” I choke on my words. Not that they matter. She doesn’t care.

She never has, not since he left.

As far as she’s concerned, I replaced him. But I didn’t want to.

I don’t want this.

“Nonsense, sweetheart,” she huffs, and my eyes peel open to glance at her as her slender fingers brush through tangled strands of silvery blonde hair. “You enjoy yourself. I can tell you do.”

Bile rises, burning my insides as pressure builds behind my eyes; thickness tightens my throat, and my chest, and I just want to die.

The bed smells like her, and us together, and it’s nauseating.

I know it’s not right… She’s been doing this to me for two years, since he left. She knows I don’t want to, and she makes me anyway.

I dream at night about taking a knife to my wrists. Slicing along my veins and watching the thick blood erupt from my body, gushing and draining me until there’s nothing left.

Sick sick sick.

You’re sick.

Disgusting.

Vile!

I cover my face with my arms, trying to shake away the voices, but they won’t stop. They’re so loud.

“Dascha, baby, relax,” Mom caresses my neck, then presses a kiss on my bicep. “Go get Mama a drink, will you?”

It always goes like this. A drink before and a drink after.

My hollow shell crawls out of the bed and I don’t bother getting dressed. I peer back at her once as she lights a cigarette, lying in her bed, a sheet covering her from the chest down.

My head cocks to the side.

You know what you have to do…

Do it, Dascha. It’s the only way.

The only way to stop this.

Forcing my feet to move, I meander out of her bedroom to the kitchen. I go for the bottle of vodka, pouring some into a glass for her. And then I open a drawer, taking out the sharpest kitchen knife we have.

Holding the cold blade up to my skin gives me chills. My eyes close and I exhale, praying for sweet release.

Praying for an end to the nightmares, and the sadness.

And the sickness.

Do it, Dascha! You must do it, now.

My eyelids slide and I pick up the glass, sauntering back to Mom’s room. My movements are graceful and steady as I enter the bedroom once more, holding out the drink, while my other hand stays behind my back.

Mom takes the glass and smiles at me, sipping from it. Crawling onto the bed, I kneel beside her, my sullen gaze locked on her pretty face. The smooth slope of her long neck…

“Mama…” I whisper, the voices in my brain so loud I can barely hear myself.

“Da, dorogoy?” She looks youthful in this moment, her pale skin in cadence with the cream-colored linens.

She blinks up at me, green eyes shimmering like emeralds.

“I’m sorry,” I breathe.

And I watch her brow furrow while I lunge my right hand forward, stabbing the knife into the side of her neck.

Dascha!

She tries to croak my name, but it’s unintelligible as blood shoots from her carotid artery through the hole I just made in her jugular. I regard her face closely, studying the lines and changes in her baffled expression.

I wonder what she feels. If it hurts. If it hurts more to know that her son just took from her, more than she’s been taking from him for years.

Red soaks into the sheets, splashing my vision as I raise the knife again and plunge it into her chest. It’s hard to get it through the breastplate, but I’m strong enough to do it.

Air puffs from between her lips and she coughs, lung punctured, sputtering blood from her mouth onto my bare chest. I lift the knife once more and stab her in the stomach. Then again, and again… And again.

Blood splashes up on my skin, in my face, on my arms, the more I stab and pierce her, as she gurgles and gives up her last breaths.

“I’m sick because of you!” I roar, stabbing more and more. “He left because of you!”

Growling and huffing, the slice slice slice of a blade penetrating her flesh is all I hear. The voices have stopped. Silenced.

I surrender a ragged breath and wipe my forehead with a bloody hand, the sticky remnants smeared across my face. But I don’t care.

I’m weightless.

“And I don’t like it,” I sigh, closing my eyes as my head drops back.

I haven’t felt this free since I was a small child, when my father took me out on a boat, in summer. The wind was in my face. It was serendipitous.

In this moment, though, the quiet is just as serene. My body is mine and mine alone.

Not hers. Never hers again.

Hours have passed. Many many hours of work, and I’m fatigued.

I had to cut up Mom’s mattress into pieces, which took some effort. I had to cut up Mom, too.

I moved her to the bathtub and removed her arms, and her legs. And then her head.

It was not easy. But I did it.

I brought everything downstairs, carrying Mom’s parts in a wicker laundry basket. I turned on the giant furnace, as high as it goes, and I fed everything inside, one piece at a time. I burned it all up.

All the bedding, the mattress chunks.

And then my mother. I burned up her body parts, because it was the only way.

She’s still burning now, and I’m watching the flames through the glass on the small hinged door of the furnace.

I feel nothing. No sorrow, no regret, no empathy.

If that means I’m a sociopath, then so be it.

Each and every time I screamed inside when she touched me has gone up into smoke in the New York sky. Every splash of pain I felt in the pleasure she forced on me, that I didn’t want… It’s all gone now.

It’s all been burned away.

I hear footsteps at the top of the joined steps to the basement and my head slowly tilts in their direction. We have only one neighbor in the building, Mrs. Petrovsky.

I ascend the stairs slowly, wearing nothing but a pair of sweatpants, still covered in my mother’s blood. I meet Mrs. Petrovsky at the top of the steps and show her a kind smile.

“Zdravstvuyte,” I say as she eyes me through her thick glasses.

“Vse v poryadke?” She asks me if everything is alright, and I nod casually.

“Da, da. Vse khorosho.”

I tell her that I’m fine, and that I’m just tinkering with the furnace. Then I distract her by asking if she needs any groceries. Of course she asks for a hundred things, because she always does, and I agree to bring her what she needs tomorrow. She offers me her famous Pelmeni in exchange, to which I chuckle and gladly accept.

“Spasibo, ti khoroshiy mal’chik.” She squeezes my hand and I help her back to her door.

She makes no mention of why her seventeen-year-old neighbor is half naked and covered in blood, or why the furnace in the basement is turned up higher than it ever has been before.

Or what the smell is that’s been coming from down here all damn night.

And I go back to my task. Cleaning up any traces of blood in the basement, the bathroom, and Mom’s room. Then I clean out the furnace, sweeping all the ashes into a bag and putting them out with the garbage.

Her bones are all that’s left of her. Just some bones, which I collect in a plastic bin. I cover it up tight and hide it behind one of the false walls, in the closet of her bedroom. I take one last look around before I close the door on my way out.

And I go take a shower, then I go to bed.

I sleep for two days, and when I awake, I have no memory of anything that happened.

But I refuse to enter her bedroom. I hate even looking at it. It haunts me, and the voices tell me not to go there, so I don’t.

Sometimes I wonder what she’s doing in there. Sometimes I think about her… And I wonder why she couldn’t have just loved me the way she was supposed to.

Despite the dancing star, my mother was truly sick.

And now I am, too.

Stumbling forward, I grab the wall to keep myself upright.

What the fuck was that??

A memory? Did that really happen??

It just came out of nowhere, assaulting my mind like a demented slideshow. My brain is a blur as I gaze around my mother’s bedroom.

I remember.

I remember all of it, like it happened yesterday. I remember all the times she made me come into bed with her… All the times she made me think it was what I needed to do for her.

I was fifteen when it started. My dad had left earlier that year. She used to ask me to sleep in her bed, to keep her company. I thought it was innocent…

Until it wasn’t.

Gagging, I close my eyes tight and pull my hair in my fists.

It went on for nearly two years, until that night, when I was seventeen.

I killed her.

Eight years ago, I killed my mother. And I haven’t been inside this room since.

I crumple to my knees on the floor beside her bed frame. There’s no mattress on it. Just an old box spring.

Other than that, everything looks the same as it always did, except a layer of dust and spiderwebs covering the furniture, which is tossed all over the place. From the police.

They searched in here. What were they looking for?

Were they looking for her? Do they know I killed her??

My head tilts around the room, observing the toppled belongings of my mother. It still smells like her in here.

I gag again.

Fuck… I’m a goddamn murderer. Who knows how many people I’ve killed at this point…

I crawl toward the closet. It’s a mess, clothes, shoes and handbags everywhere. But the false wall is still in place, just like it was in my closet. Smashing my fist against it over and over, I growl out my frustrated turmoil until the wall eventually gives. I pull it out of the way and grab the plastic bin.

The top takes some banging around before it’ll come off, but when it does, and I look inside, the contents confirm my sudden memories.

It’s her bones. My mother’s bones are in here.

A big pile, atop it, her skull.

I swallow over and over as the bile tries to rise in my throat. The smell of burnt human still lingers on them, and it reminds me so much of that day… Standing in front of the furnace. Watching her disappear.

I turn and throw up on the floor, heaving my guts out at the treacherous visions floating behind my eyes. They’ve twisted my stomach up in knots, and I can barely see through the tears blurring my vision.

I have to get the fuck out of here.

My hands are shaking violently as I attempt to put the lid back on the bin, shoving it back where it came from. Putting the wall back in place, my sight wavers. I stumble to my feet and run out of the room, slamming the door behind me, chest heaving, panic gripping me inside as I struggle to push past it.

I’m trying to focus, but my entire life is crumbling around me. I have no idea who I truly am…

I’m a fucking monster, that’s who I am. Evil personified.

Velle was right. I’m a cold-blooded murderer. I did belong in Alabaster Penitentiary.

Blinking hard, I force myself to move, grabbing my backpack and darting to my bedroom window, climbing out into the backyard, behind the house.

From there, I run to the closest subway, and take the train to the nearest bus station. I’m on autopilot as I buy a bus ticket to Washington DC, waiting in the station for two hours until the bus arrives.

Everything is rushing around inside me, from my thoughts to my blood to my oxygen. I feel like I’m spiraling out of control, and all I want is to lose it, but I can’t.

I have to stay smart, because I’m a fugitive. I’m a fucking killer on the run. And if there’s any chance of me actually making it to Tulum, I need to be smart.

And not break the fuck down.

When we finally board the bus to DC, I sit in the back by myself, watching New York City pass by. I can’t stop thinking about how much better this trip would be if Kemper were here, like he was supposed to be. I wouldn’t be alone right now, like I always seem to be. I wouldn’t be dealing with the worst moment of my life by my fucking self.

Alone with my thoughts and my demons. That must be what happened… He saw into my darkness and decided it was too much for him. It’s the only explanation.

I’m a fucking mess. A complete and utter disaster.

Leaving the only home I’ve ever known; a city that enabled me for my entire life, I wonder…

What the fuck am I supposed to do with my demons now?

In Tennessee, I buy a car.

I don’t want to risk taking buses the entire way, so after my second bus trip from DC to Gatlinburg, I go to a diner and ask around about vehicles.

I flirt with the waitress a little, and she introduces me to a patron, a local, dude who owns a garage. I make up a story about how I’m moving to LA to be a movie star, and they all eat it up. According to my fiction, my car broke down in Alexandria, which has me in a tough spot. They’re all too eager to help.

The guy, Bob, gives me a lift to his shop and shows me his inventory, which consists of a rusty old Dodge Ram with over a hundred thousand miles on it, and a Buick Le Sabre from the nineties that only had one owner.

The car lover in me is screaming, but I have so few options at the moment, I can’t exactly shop around, which means I can’t be picky. Plus, I need to keep myself under the radar. So I buy the Buick for eight hundred bucks cash, thank Bob, and head out onto the road, missing Zadira with every fiber of my being.

I drive for hours, through Atlanta, and onto Mississippi. I stop in Biloxi and buy a prepaid cell phone. It feels weird to hold a phone again for the first time in months. It’s nothing fancy, but it has data and everything. And of course, the first thought that pops into my head is that I wish I could call Kemper.

It’s insane, I know. I don’t know his number, and I’m not sure how I would even find it. I really shouldn’t be worrying about that at all right now. I just need to keep moving.

I can obsess once I get into Mexico.

I’m able to distract myself from my neuroses until Texas, but once I get to Houston, I’m going out of my mind. I’m so close to Mexico I can smell it, but Tulum is at the very end, and I still have thirty hours to drive to my final destination. And there’s something I need to do before I move another inch.

I decide to stop at a motel for the night and get settled in the room with some fast food. It probably seems nuts, but the McDonald’s french fries taste so good I almost burst into tears. I can’t stop thinking about all the times the food in Alabaster Pen made me sick. And now I’m lying on an actual bed, eating cheeseburgers and fries and the best chicken nuggets ever. No debate.

I mean, the bed probably has sex juices all over it, but it’s still better than that mattress pad on the floor in solitary.

Although it was on the floor in solitary where I watched Kemper’s eyes for the first time, when he threatened me and made me jerk off for him…

My stomach twists, painfully so, as I wonder what he’s doing, unable to muzzle the stupid voice in the back of my mind, telling me he might be in Tulum waiting for me.

We just got separated, or something held him up. But he’s still coming.

He could be. I have to hold out hope for him, because the thought of being played so hard, especially with everything else I’m currently facing… It’s just too much.

Lying on my back on the hard motel room bed, watching bad TV, the little touchscreen device on the nightstand beckons.

I know I shouldn’t do it… I don’t need the distraction. But I can’t help myself.

Reaching for it, I type my name into a Google search, and I hold my breath while it loads.

As expected, the results are staggering. Tons of news articles about the robbery at Municipal Credit Union. Pictures upon pictures of the Governor’s niece, Karly Clayton.

Governor’s niece killed in bank robbery gone wrong.

I click on one article and sure enough, there’s a picture of me. It’s an old mugshot, from one of the times I was picked up a couple years back, when the charges were ultimately dismissed.

Chewing on my lip, I read the article which states, as plain as day, that I was killed by police during the altercation, which also resulted in Karly’s death.

I’m dead. I blink at the words a few times.

They told everyone I’m dead. Which means there wouldn’t be SWAT teams searching for me as we speak…

I shake that thought away skeptically. If they can toss me in a place like Alabaster Pen to rot, then they can certainly send people after me, despite the world thinking I’m dead. The corruption is real, and I refuse to take an easy breath until I’m settled in Tulum under an alias, far away from New York, and the United States government.

Going back to the article, I zoom in on Karly’s face and try to remember. I see flashes of her, at the bank. Me grabbing her and dragging her around with my machine gun in her back.

It still plays in choppy visions… Bringing her outside. The screaming and the blood, a bunch of cops tackling me, smashing my face into the pavement until I couldn’t breathe.

Then it all went black, and I woke up blindfolded in the back of a car.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper to Karly’s picture. And I think I really mean it.

I didn’t want to kill her. She didn’t do anything to me.

I fucked up, and I wish I could take it back.

Swiping away a tear that slides down my cheek, I roll my eyes at myself. You’re a fucking killer and now you’re crying over it? You can’t be evil and have feelings, debil. It doesn’t work that way.

Moving on in my search results, I end up getting sucked into a hole of articles, some from the past, even one of the first times I was arrested. It shows the same picture of me as the more recent ones. Eventually I find some about the disappearance of my mother. I read and read, many of them claiming they suspected foul play related to her disappearance, but couldn’t find a body, thus lacking sufficient evidence to support the theories.

Her bones in that bin flit through my brain, and I blink.

I can hear her gurgling and choking on her own blood when I stabbed her. I can feel myself hauling her into our bathtub and using a meat cleaver to dismember her body.

The sounds of her flesh and bone being hacked apart…

I growl out loud and toss my phone across the room, grabbing a pillow to cover my head and scream until my lungs hurt.

How did everything get so fucked up?

And where the fuck is Kemper when I need him??

He’s the only person I want right now, which is fucking ludicrous. Why would I ever even miss someone like him? Someone who used and abused me… Just like my mother did.

I shake my head beneath the pillow. No, Kemper wasn’t like her.

Yes, he did things I didn’t want. But he cared for me… He made me care for him.

It’s not the same. Is it?

I don’t know what to think anymore. All I know is that I’m going to Mexico tomorrow, alone.

Just like I’d always planned. Though it feels much less like a victory than I used to hope.

10 days out

I’m in Mexico for five days before I decide to do something really stupid.

I got into Mexico without any issues, which was truly splendid. I stayed in Veracruz for a night before journeying the rest of the way, to Tulum. And I have to say, as annoyed as I am with my old rust bucket, the drive along the Gulf was just as incredible as I’d always imagined.

It was beautiful, and I stopped only about a dozen times to take in the scenery, wishing I was looking at it with a certain big tattooed lunatic.

Anyway, I arrived in Tulum, like a dream come true. This is where I belong, surrounded by sand and sun and crystal clear waters. All the colors to sooth my twisted soul.

I came straight to Abre Tus Ojos, which is a sort of resort-like place that specializes in exclusive bungalow-style condos for rent. They’re currently all rented, though they have someone moving out next month. I’ll be staying in the resort side until the permanent place becomes available, which is fine for me. I have the money.

As beautiful as my new hometown is, I spent my first day and a half in Tulum sleeping. I was worn beyond all recognition from the prison break, and the almost week-long journey down here, not to mention the emotional burden I’m currently carrying like fifty-pound weights on my head and my heart. As soon as I got settled in my room at Abre, I crashed and didn’t open my eyes again for almost nineteen hours. I needed the rest, for sure.

The next day, I went out and bought some clothes. Then some hair dye, since I have enough hair to dye it again.

It’s pink now, and I love it.

I’ve had days to decompress from all the chaos, physical and mental, and it’s finally time for me to start obsessing again.

I can’t stop thinking about Kemper. I really can’t, and I need to know why he ditched me. It just doesn’t seem plausible. There’s something wrong.

Sure, I haven’t been in an actual relationship before, so I wouldn’t know if a dude is just telling me what I want to hear. But it really didn’t feel like that. Kemper isn’t the kind to bullshit someone. If he wanted nothing to do with me, he would’ve just ignored me. Or he would’ve told me flat out that he didn’t care about me. He’s that kind of asshole.

He’s not the kind of asshole, however, who pretends to give a fuck, creates an entire plan for us to run away together, then never shows up. That’s going through a lot of effort just to fuck with me…

If something happened to him, I need to know about it. And if he did ditch me, then I at least deserve to know why.

I spend a full day looking up people from Alabaster, in hopes that I’ll somehow find his number. Unfortunately, I can’t find any information on a Callum Kemper anywhere, so I try other names, eventually stumbling upon the mobile number listed for one Joy Jameson.

Pacing around and around in my room, I whip up a plan to call Joy and blackmail her into letting me talk to Luthor. I would ask her to let me speak to Kemper, but that’s risky. I feel like she’ll be more inclined to put me on with Luthor, and then I can harass him for details.

I know, I know. Calling the prison I escaped from sounds like a really smart idea. But my burner phone is registered in Mississippi, and I already bought a new one, ready to throw this one away as soon as I’m done.

The point is, I have to do this. I have to know…

Another few hours of talking myself up to it, and a couple shots of vodka later, I’m placing the call. Ringing in my ears barely drowns out the rushing blood, my palms sweating so bad the phone almost slips out of my hand a few times while I walk, back and forth, and back and forth, and back—

“Hello?” Joy’s mellow, raspy voice croons through the speaker into my ear and for a very brief moment I freeze, forgetting everything I just spent the last three hours rehearsing. “Hello?? Anyone there? You’re disturbing me at work, so this better be—”

“Listen up closely,” I growl into the phone in my disguised tone I’ve been practicing. “I need to speak to an inmate at Alabaster Penitentiary. Lexington Deon. It’s in your best interest to cooperate.”

I pause and pull the phone away from my face to suck in a breath, attempting to keep my voice from shaking.

“Who the hell is this?” Joy sounds disgruntled already, which doesn’t surprise me. “And what the hell are you talking about?”

“Let me speak to Lexington Deon now,” I demand, wearing a hole in the rug in my room. “By my calculations, it should be dinner time for his group. Meaning he’s likely with you in the cafeteria right now. Give him the phone.”

“First of all, who the hell are you, and how do you know these things?” She barks in my ear. “Second of all, I don’t take orders from randos on the phone, so I’m hanging up now—”

“Hang up on me and I’ll expose every secret there is to know about Alabaster Pen,” I jump in. “Including some very interesting information on your pals, John Chevelle and Harley Samuels.”

“Who the fuck…” she whispers, sounding as shocked as I’d expect her to, until her voice trails and she gasps. “I swear to God, Reznikov, if this is you… This phone call will be the last thing you ever do.”

My heart flies into my throat so hard I almost cough. But I then I remind myself not to give into what she’s doing. Never confess.

Deny deny deny.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I lower my tone as best I can. “You have two minutes to get Lexington on the phone, or you’re all going down. And the Warden will know exactly who’s responsible for Dascha Reznikov’s escape.”

Okay, that was off-script. I might’ve just fucked myself. I guess we’ll find out.

I can feel Joy weighing her options over the line, but she eventually sighs audibly and mutters a petulant, “Hold on.”

The familiar sounds of dinner time in the caf tickle my ears, and oddly enough it gives me a brief homesick feeling, which is completely stupid. I just miss the people, that’s it. I’m not homesick for a horrible prison. That would be idiotic.

There’s some shuffling around for another minute or so before I’m finally graced with Luthor’s voice. “Hello?”

“Luthor…” I sigh, excitement rippling through my body at talking to my friend again. I miss the dude like crazy already. “It’s Dash.”

“Holy fuck…” he gasps, and I can almost picture him glancing around, as if someone is going to find out it’s me from the look on his face. “Are you serious right now?? How are you even… Why the fuck are you calling me?? How stupid are you?!”

“Not enough time in the day, Luth,” I grin.

“Bro, I can’t believe you escaped! You’re a fucking madman.” His tone is admonishing, yes, but also doused in admiration. “And now you’re calling Joy to get to me? Are you nuts?? They’re gonna think I was in on it with you!”

“Come on, man. You know the Warden won’t tell anyone I escaped.”

I’ve thought a lot about this. Being that my case is apparently high profile enough for the Governor to send me to Alabaster, I’m guessing if anyone were to find out I escaped under the Warden’s watch, it would be his head on the chopping block. Alabaster is already under-funded and falling apart. The last thing they need is a scandal, like the killer of the Governor’s niece escaping. Better yet, being set free by their own guards and The Carver.

It would be a hailing shitstorm, aimed right at Manuel Blanco.

Luthor is silent for a second, clearly thinking about what I’ve said. “Okay… well then, how can I help you? Did you just miss me and want to chat? Because Joy could still tell someone…”

My impatience bubbles over and I blurt out, “She won’t. Look, Luthor, as much as I do miss you and really would love to talk forever, I called for a reason. I need to ask you about Kemp—Officer Kemper.”

I can’t help the way I gulp around his name. It feels like forever since I’ve seen or spoken to him, but he’s been on my mind this whole time.

Luthor is quiet again for another moment. “Officer Kemper… Who the hell…?” He pauses and then says, “Oh, you mean that dude who quit?”

My nerves hit hard. “So he did quit… When?”

“A while ago,” Luthor says, sounding as confused as I’m feeling. “I didn’t think you even knew him.”

My temples are already throbbing to match the heavy thudding of my pulse. “Why wouldn’t I… Huh??”

“Because, his last day was the day you got here.”

An odd chill washes over me from head to toe. My legs give out and I plop down on the edge of my bed, staring straight ahead while I grip my phone so hard, I think it might snap in two.

“What the fuck are you talking about??” I croak, more genuinely confounded than I think I ever have been in my life.

“Dash… what are you talking about?” Luthor huffs, his words echoing off the inside of my skull. “Officer Kemper hasn’t worked at Alabaster in months.”

All the air leaves my lungs in a sweep, and my hand falls away from my head, dropping the phone onto the floor.

The only thing I can do is stare. Stare at the wall in my Mexican safe-haven.

Where apparently nothing in my life is as it seems.

Confusion is my middle name.

I’ve spent the last twenty-four hours lying on my bed, facing the ceiling. Wondering if my entire existence has been one giant hallucination.

Based on what I’ve learned in the last week, I’d say it’s a resounding yes.

I’ve killed people I don’t remember killing. I fabricated a relationship with someone I apparently didn’t even know.

My brain is broken, and that’s the only plausible explanation. I can’t avoid the facts anymore… There is something seriously wrong with me.

I’ve ransacked my mind for any and all possible clues that could allude to Kemper, my Officer Kemper, not being real.

But I keep coming up blank.

He was there. I know he was. He was with me… I felt him.

I felt him inside me, for fuck’s sake. If he wasn’t really there, then who the hell have I been fucking for months??

I’m so out of it, I’m unraveling, every semblance of my sanity being torn to shreds, until I don’t even know who I am anymore.

There’s a switch that everyone has in their brains, one which allows them to distinguish between what’s real and what isn’t… And mine doesn’t work. It’s defective. My head can’t tell when things are truly happening, and when they’re not.

I’ve avoided thinking about these issues my entire adult life, but now that I’ve apparently hallucinated months of interactions, I have to admit it.

I think I’m fucking crazy.

The depression devours me for days, during which I don’t leave my room.

I don’t eat; I don’t shower. I barely have the strength to get up and use the bathroom.

I simply lie in bed for two full days, staring at the TV, absorbing nothing I’m watching, drifting in and out of consciousness.

I’ve never felt this helpless in my entire life. I would kill myself if it didn’t seem like so much goddamn work.

At night, I sob until I can’t feel my face. My heart is broken, and the fucked up thing is that I did it to myself. I fell in love with an imaginary friend, and then I yanked him away.

I can’t breathe as I panic, curling up into a ball on my knees, trying with every ounce of strength inside myself not to lose control of my mind. The voices are saying things to me, and for the first time, I can tell it isn’t right. This is happening to me because I’m sick. This is the sickness my father was always warning me about…

This disease… it’s not like cancer or MS. My brain is doing this to me. My own mind is attacking me, and it makes me so angry I could scream.

I think I do. I scream for hours, throwing things all over my room. I don’t want this… I don’t want to be this fucked up, damaged human.

I just want to be like everyone else.

I fall asleep on the floor for another twenty-four hours. And when the sun assaults me from outside my window, I finally decide to get up and try.

I’m in Tulum. I escaped prison and made it to the place I’ve dreamt about since I was young. I promised myself I wouldn’t take life for granted, and as much hurt is happening inside me, I have to at least get up.

On this day, I finally brush my teeth and take a shower. Then I get dressed in new clothes and clean my room, fixing everything I destroyed in my fit of rage.

I talk myself up to going outside, and while it all seems severely overwhelming, I manage it, strolling carefully to the taco truck at the edge of the resort to get some delicious al pastor that brightens everything up around me just a little.

Riding the high, I decide to take a long walk, hoping that nature will give me some perspective, which it does. As much as I’m struggling to grasp reality, I know in my heart I’m actually in Tulum. I’ve wanted to come since I was a teenager, and I’m finally here, despite all the odds stacked against me.

I managed this myself, and it makes me just the slightest bit glad.

By the time I’m done walking, the sun has set, and it’s happy hour at one of the outdoor bars I think looks cool, all those chili pepper Christmas lights strung up all over the place. I wander over, needing a vodka on the rocks to take the edge off as I take a seat on a stool at the far end of the bar. I can’t help fidgeting a little, quelled by the other people around, though the place is pretty much empty.

It’s just the bartender, and one couple seated at a table on the deck.

The bartender wanders my way and asks, “What can I get you?”

“Stoli. Rocks, please,” I nod at him, placing a bill down on the bar.

“Coming right up.” He pours my drink and sets it in front of me but stalks off without taking my money.

Out the corner of my eye, I see that a new person just sat down at the opposite end of the bar. Pulling in a breath, I let it out slowly and lift my drink to my lips, swallowing the burn to distract from the insipid state of my existence.

That is, until I hear something that steals every bit of harmony I’m pretending to have.

It’s a voice. A familiar one, coming from the person who just sat down at the other end of the bar.

“Just a Coke, please,” the voice grumbles, and even though it’s not close to me, it gives me chills.

My eyes flick to the guy from whom the voice came, and I become so dizzy, I think I may fall off my barstool. Gripping the edge of the bar so I don’t, I blink, over and over again at the man sitting there. I blink hard, and long, shaking my head to make sure this isn’t a hallucination.

Is this some kind of sick joke??

It doesn’t feel like it, but then how the hell would I know?

The bartender delivers a glass of Coke to the man, who grunts, “Thank you.”

My heart thuds. I know it’s him, without a shred of doubt.

I’m not sure how… I haven’t the slightest clue how it’s even possible, but I know it’s him.

It’s Kemper. Sitting at the other end of the bar, here in Tulum.

It’s been a rough few days, which I suppose is what led me to the bar at the resort.

I mean, there would have to be extreme distress, right? To bring someone in recovery to a bar, even if I have no intention of ordering a real drink. Which is exactly why I’m here, ordering a Coke to drown my sorrows, in sugar, I guess.

Really, the last week has been a nightmare, and I’m starting to seriously regret this getaway. I haven’t gotten away from anything. In fact, the problems are more present than ever, and now we have nothing else to focus on.

No jobs, no friends, no house. It’s just us, all the time, and it’s excruciating.

My eyes lift from the glass in front of me and I think I see something, or rather someone, who I definitely shouldn’t be seeing. I take a hard blink, assuming he’s a figment of my imagination. But when I reopen my eyes, I find him still there.

Still sitting at the other end of the bar, staring at me, and trying not act like he’s not.

My heart does a weird little thud through all the confusion currently swimming around inside me. Why is he here??

He has pink hair now, but it’s definitely him. I couldn’t forget that face…

Dascha Reznikov. Otherwise known as the reason why I quit my job at Alabaster Penitentiary and decided to book this elaborate vacation to Mexico.

His eyes, which are visibly shiny, even from many feet away, keep bouncing up to me in between darting down to the glass of clear liquid in his hand, which he’s spinning more than he is drinking it. And each time our eyes meet, in between him trying to act like he’s not staring at me, the look in them is a confusion mirroring my own.

He looks like he might recognize me, and what’s worse, he seems shocked that I’m here. The feeling is mutual.

It was only a few months ago that we were preparing to bring him into Alabaster Penitentiary, when I was simultaneously preparing to quit, because I just couldn’t be a part of those kinds of human rights violations any longer. But regardless, once inmates are sentenced to Alabaster Pen, they don’t get out.

That he’s here in this bar right now means something crazy happened. And as intrigued as I am to find out what that was, I need to tread carefully with Dascha. Dash.

It was bad enough that standing next to him for five minutes, and shaving his head, gave me more tingles than I’ve felt in probably my entire adult life.

I left behind a world I was used to, a comfortable life, because of those tingles.

And now here he is. Staring at me, chewing on a very pouty-looking lower lip.

Standing up. Walking towards me.

Oh shit, he’s coming over here. Fuck fuck… Okay, Jesus, I’m not prepared for this.

Glancing around momentarily, I wish I wasn’t such a lonely bastard, and I was among friends who could serve as a buffer or something. But I’m not.

I’m alone, with nothing but a glass of goddamn Coca Cola to distract from the fact that Dash is coming straight for me. Gulping, my lips part, but to my surprise, he doesn’t walk up to me.

Instead, he takes a seat at the bar next to me. Well, not right next to me. He leaves one in between us, since we’re the only two people here and it would be strange, and inconsiderate to personal space rules, if he sat directly beside me.

He settles into his seat, drink still in hand, and glances up at the TV behind the bar which is playing a soccer game. My gaze at him narrows, mouth quirking ever so slightly as I wonder if he really moved to see the game better. Or is that just an excuse?

Shit, maybe he doesn’t even remember me… Maybe I’m building all of this bullshit up in my head, when really it was an inconsequential moment we shared. I do have a tendency to obsess over things, which is exactly what I’m doing right now, thinking about this kid and whether he even—

“Did you know soccer is the most popular game in the world?” He speaks, interrupting my rampant thoughts with a voice that is positively enchanting.

It’s deep and sort of raspy; smooth, like he could have been a singer in a grunge band. It’s so distracting I almost miss what he said. Even more so when he turns his face in my direction, locking me in place with eyes colored my favorite hazel, of the green and brown persuasion. It’s such an underrated combination.

Stuttering over the fact that my thoughts are really running away from me, and he must think I’m a fucking weirdo because I’m just staring at him without saying a damn word, I grunt an overly short, “What?”

He’s not fazed in the slightest by my curt response. In fact, it seems to make those eyes sparkle even more.

“It’s a known fact. Though, I’m not entirely sure how one would know such a thing,” he goes on, lifting his drink to his lips and taking a sip. “Imagine all the data required to prove something is the most popular anything? It seems like a lot of work…”

I just blink at him. I’m stunned that I’m sitting here with a world-famous bank robber, who I’ve somehow wound up in the same room as twice now, on opposite ends of two different countries, and I’m listening to him talk about something completely nonsensical. Though if I’m being honest, what he’s saying is making a ton of sense in my brain.

“That’s a really good point,” I cock my head while I think about it more. “So, how do you know soccer is the most popular sport then?”

“Where do we find out anything these days?” He shows off a sly smirk. “Google.”

I have to laugh at that, except then it occurs to me that I haven’t laughed in a while, so I cut it short. “You know not everything you read from Google is true, right?”

He shrugs, eyes bouncing back to the TV. “Soccer is pretty awesome, so I’ll choose to believe this one.”

I let a small scoff out and he glances my way again. “Soccer,” I whisper, picking up my glass of Coke, “Is boring as hell.”

He unleashes a killer smile, then covers it up by looking down at the bar. “Oh yea? Then what’s the best sport?”

“Well, it depends on what you’re looking for,” I spin a bit to face him as he does the same. I won’t focus on how close our knees are to touching, but it’s about two agonizing inches. “If you’re looking for excitement, it’s hockey. Hands down.”

“I like hockey, too,” he murmurs.

I move past his comment and keep going, though he seems charmed by such a pointless conversation. I like it. A lot. “If you’re looking for the most enthusiastic fandoms, I would say American football. Though your soccer might have us beat in other countries.”

He hums a small noise that sounds like a laugh which hits me directly in the junk and makes me suddenly dizzy.

“Any American I think would agree with you. Funny how America is too focused on its own football to get in on the soccer hype.” He takes another sip of his drink, turning back to watch the television screen while I watch his side profile.

It’s wrong of me not to divulge that I know who he is. I acknowledge that. But I’m still kind of waiting for him to say he remembers me, and much to my disappointment, he really doesn’t seem like he does.

I don’t want to ruin this moment by bringing up the whole how are you not in prison right now conversation.

So rather than admitting that I already know his nationality, I ask, “Are you American?”

“I was born in the States, but my parents are Russian,” he says, a small frown line forming near his mouth, though it doesn’t look like he’s frowning. “They came to New York only a few months before I was born. You?”

“I’m American,” I nod, wondering how this conversation is continuing without us even having asked one another for a name yet. It’s bizarre, but the weirder thing is that it doesn’t feel weird. It’s just flowing organically.

“You look American,” he says, casually, as if that comment makes any sense. And then when he notices that I’m giving him a look out the corner of his eye, he grins.

“How does one look American, exactly?” I lift a brow.

He spins to face me again, this time fully, and his knees touch mine. He doesn’t seem at all affected by it, but a serious shock zaps me from the contact, which has me light-headed.

“I like your tattoos,” he ignores my question and leans in, as if he’s looking for something on me. I’m not sure what it is, but he’s staring at my neck and his gaze is burning my skin. I can feel a flush rising from my chest up which makes me want to bolt.

What the fuck is this reaction I have to him?? It was the same thing when I shaved his head that day… His first day in Alabaster Pen, and my last. Because I knew after that moment, I wouldn’t be able to stay away from this magnetic force Dascha Reznikov seems to possess. And as much as it hurt to think about leaving him to fend for himself against the wolves, Velle in particular, I had to get the fuck away before I did something stupid.

I’d been thinking of quitting my job for a while, and Dash coming in was the straw that broke the camel’s back. After the Warden had me shave his head, I immediately stormed off and waited for him in his office. And I quit.

The things that had tied me to Alabaster Pen for years before were no longer things I wanted controlling my life. I was willing to leave everything I’d known behind to escape my demons.

But apparently, they follow you wherever you go… Literally.

I wish someone would have warned me.

Zoning back in on Dash staring at my collarbone, I decide to change the subject and mumble, “I’m Kellan, by the way. Kellan Kemper. I didn’t catch your… name.”

I almost choke on the last word, because as soon as I say my name, his eyes jump to mine and become as wide as goddamn saucers. I don’t know why he’s looking at me like I just confessed something illicit to him, but I really wish he’d stop.

I should probably get far away from him. This isn’t boding well for my denial.

“Your name is… Kellan?” He mumbles, his forehead creasing as he stares into his glass for a moment before tossing it back fast.

“Last time I checked,” I tease, attempting a casual tone. “Why? Bad experience with someone who has that name?”

He stares at me for a second, lips parted slightly, just enough for me to see his tongue touch his top teeth. It hits me in the groin so hard I shift and clear my throat, looking away before I fall down.

“No, I just… I’m having Deja vu or something,” he shakes his head. “You look like someone else. I’m Dash.”

Okay, I feel really bad. I should just admit to him that we’ve seen each other before.

But as much as I know I should, I still don’t. The main reason being that I don’t want him to run off when he finds out I know he’s apparently an escaped convict.

I like talking to him. I’ve spent months wondering what his voice sounds like in conversation, when he’s not upset and dealing with the Warden, that is, and how his face looks when he’s speaking directly to me. And then I’ve spent those same months pretending I haven’t been wondering any of those things.

I’m so confused.

“I should go,” I mutter, then toss some pesos on the bar. This is getting too real.

It was one thing thinking about this kid when he was just some random guy I’d seen only once in real life. That’s how I always think about guys I notice, anyway… In secret, objective fantasies.

Could never be more than that.

But it’s an entirely different thing to be sitting next to him in a bar, talking. I know we’ve only been doing it for a couple minutes, but it just seems like a bad idea.

Dash looks like he wants to object to my leaving, and it tugs on my heart significantly. It weights me to the seat. But I push past it, like I always do, and stand up anyway.

“Nice… meeting you,” he turns away in something like boredom, which kicks me in the chest. His eyes slide to mine briefly. “Maybe I’ll see you around sometime.”

I nod, unable to say anything else, wandering out of the bar, all the while mentally scolding myself for acting like an asshole to someone who doesn’t deserve it. How many times have I done that?

Treated a guy poorly because of my own buried desires…

It’s not right, but I can’t think about any of that right now. It’s really bad timing. I just need to get back…

I walk the paths of the resort, from the bar to the bungalows. Ours is right in the middle. It’s a good location if you want to be near everything, short distance to all the restaurants and most of the activities. Not that we’ve taken advantage of any of that.

Using my key to get inside, I wander through the living room area, noting how quiet it is. For a moment, relief floods my body at the idea that Nikki might have gone out. But then I find her sitting on the bed reading. And I fucking despise the sense of disappointment that fills me when I see her.

I don’t want to feel like that. I’d give anything to be struck with positive emotions when I lay eyes on my wife… But it doesn’t happen. I’m not even sure if it’s ever happened, even when we first met.

Back then, it was more of a new prospect. An unknown world of possibilities she held, which excited me to no end. I thought maybe she would settle me. Maybe she would bring ease to my chaotic heart.

But it never happened, and now it’s been five years, and here we are. In Tulum, celebrating our anniversary, and one last vacation before I start a new career path, and… we start a family.

My stomach twists painfully at the thought, just like it always does, but I try to push past it and give my wife a smile.

“Did you have fun?” She asks, lifting her eyes to mine for only a second, before going right back to her book.

“I didn’t really do much,” I shrug, getting undressed. I figure if I hop right into the shower it’s less time we need to spend either making awkward conversation or inevitably fighting.

The en suite is right off the bedroom, and I close the door most of the way while I strip, turning the water on. The shower is massive and obviously designed for multiple parties at once… But that’s not what’s happening in here.

The entire place is set up for sex. The bedroom is the largest room in the condo, and it has these giant doors you can open up that face out onto a private beach, for residents only. These cabins are a bit more secluded than the resort rooms, clearly meant for people on their honeymoons, or those who wish to take advantage of the tropical beauty more than a couple who haven’t touched each other in months.

We tried, when we first got here, but like so many other times with Nikki and me, it was over before it could even get started.

I step inside the shower stall surrounded by frosted glass and move under the cascading waterfall, dropping my head in my usual silent torment. I let the water wash over me, squeezing my eyes shut tight, fighting against the thoughts that are becoming more pungent; more powerful.

It’s not working.

I don’t want her.

I don’t… think I want any woman.

Covering my face with my hands, I lean against the glass. My heart is aching to burst out of me into someone else, but the only people I’ve ever given a chance to are not the right ones.

Not the right… type.

I think tears fall, but I don’t acknowledge them. The water washes them away while I force myself to get it together. I need to think rationally here. I can’t let seeing that guy… that man with the perfect features and the strange hair, and the eyes that look like a bright morning in the middle of the wilderness, distract me from the facts.

Nikki is my wife. And we’re going to start a family together.

I’m just scared, that’s all. I’m afraid to bring a child into this crazy, messed up world, so I’m inventing obsessions and weird kinks to distract myself.

I’m not attracted to Dascha Reznikov. He’s a criminal.

A killer.

My dick doesn’t seem to understand conscience anymore, though, because it’s filling up by the second, firming until it throbs as I remember that pouty fucking mouth… Pink tongue touching his teeth, cheeks flushing a bit in such a sweet contrast to his pale white skin, like ivory.

Just like that day, in the dark room, when I touched his neck and felt how fucking soft that skin is, now I’m thinking about it and I can’t stop. I can’t stop picturing what he must look like when he’s driven as mad with lust as I haven’t allowed myself to become with anyone other than myself.

And imagining what he must like… If he would even like what I would love to do to him.

I growl and bang my head on the wall. This is just so frustrating. I don’t know what to do with myself at this point, but I’m so sick of pretending, and hiding and acting like I’m not dying inside every day I spend being someone I know I’m not. Envious to no end of the people I see on social media, flaunting their pride when I can’t seem to locate anything inside myself but guilt, and shame. And fear.

My eyes open slowly, and I peer down at my dick, scolding him silently. You have all the answers, don’t you? You know exactly who you like, and what you want…

Well, it’s not that easy, okay? I can’t just… do. It doesn’t work that way.

Rinsing off, I storm out of the shower, reveling in the fact that the bedroom light is off, meaning Nikki has gone to bed. I breathe slightly easier when I don’t have to deal with the disappointing nighttime routine… Of me acting like I want to have sex, and her acting tired, then me acting disappointed. And her offering, and me acting tired… It’s such a stupid dance, I could retch.

Tugging on some boxers, I tiptoe into the living room, a frisson of mischief trickling through my veins. She is asleep…

Locating my phone, I go to the kitchen area, only because it’s the furthest away from the bedroom. It’s not ideal to do this out in the open, but I’m wound up so tight and I have nowhere else to go. At home I’d go to the office, or to my car. Here I have to work with what’s available to me.

Once all the lights are out, and I’ve stood still for a moment to verify that Nikki’s not coming out here, I pull up the familiar website in a secret browser tab. The page defaults to one category… But I go to the one I want. And I scroll through videos with wide eyes, checking for something that my dick likes. This is the only time I let him guide me.

A lot of the videos are overwhelming. There’s some crazy stuff in here, a lot of which I’ve watched in the past. I mean, I’ve been doing this for over a decade now. I’m familiar with what I like and what I don’t.

But it has to be guys. I can admit that when I’m alone in the dark. I haven’t watched straight porn since I was in my twenties.

A video catches my eye, and I click on it, hypnotized by the look of the guy on the bottom. He has pale skin, like Dash. And tattoos, too, like Dash’s. Scattered, not all over and connected like mine.

The one guy kisses the other guy, and already my heart is racing. I barely even need to touch myself… Closing my eyes and picturing doing it for real will drive me fucking crazy.

When it doesn’t make me insufferably angry.

The bigger guy pushes in between the Dash-looking guy’s legs and I hum, biting my lip to keep myself quiet. My hand comes around my erection and my eyes roll back in my skull, stroking slowly while I imagine what it would be like…

To be happy. To fully immerse myself in sex and feel good. To enjoy it, as much as I want to.

And soon enough, I’m not even looking at my phone anymore, volume turned down just enough so that I can hear some grunts and harsh breaths while I imagine my hands doing what their hands are doing.

Touching, sliding across his creamy flesh, teasing him with my fingertips while our lips swallow one another up. I lean against the wall and jerk my cock harder, squeezing tighter, imagining his body gripping me like he doesn’t want to let me go. I picture my tongue tasting him and making him cry my name while he comes, and I get to watch.

To watch him come while I come inside him… Like the brightest, most crippling pleasure I can never have for real.

Because when I breathe out hard and wake from my trance, I’m still standing in the kitchen of the resort condo where I am with my wife. My ready-made life, like a prison I can’t escape from…

Dascha Reznikov is free, and I’m not.

And I have to live with that.

17 days out

Waking up on the floor with my head pounding confirms that I shouldn’t have killed that bottle of vodka last night.

But it was inevitable. Especially after I followed Kellan to his place, to spy on him.

Seeing him, talking to him, threw me for the biggest loop of my life. I went from thinking I’d made him up in a state of psychosis to encountering him at a goddamn bar in Tulum. Of all the places in the entire fucking world, he shows up here. What does that mean??

Something isn’t clicking in my mind. He’s a real person, clearly. And his name is still Kemper, though his first name is Kellan, not Callum. Not sure what the hell that means either. Where would I have gotten Callum?

Regardless, it’s him. My Kemper. He has the same voice, the same bottomless ocean eyes, the same silky hair, colored like honey straight from the comb.

Even his tattoos are exactly the same as I remember them, minus the one of my name on his clavicle. That one’s gone… I looked for it, in the spot where I remember it being the last time I saw him. It’s not there.

And one other big difference I noticed was a certain piece of jewelry, on his left hand.

A fucking ring.

Kemper never wore a ring before. I never even would’ve thought to look, but just as he was leaving the bar, he ran his fingers through his hair and the stupid thing flashed in my face, like a goddamn neon sign.

HE’S MARRIED.

The one thing I never thought to ask my Kemper was if he was married to a woman. It just didn’t come up. Honestly, I don’t think any of the Alabaster guards are married. I mean, how could you be? Working such long hours and living in the Warden’s mansion with a bunch of other people… It’s a job for a single person.

But sure enough, when I followed him to his condo last night, I saw a woman inside. I snuck around to the beach side of their place, knowing that’s where the bedrooms are, peering in through their partially drawn curtains. And there was a girl in his bed, reading a book.

A brunette. Slender, gorgeous.

She watched him undress to go into the shower and I fucking hated her instantly. It was such a confusing emotion; I felt sick. I couldn’t stick around to see what would happen when he got out. I couldn’t torture myself like that.

Instead, I went back to my room and drank a pint of vodka while pacing, wrapping duct tape around my wrists to cover up my tattoos so I wouldn’t feel compelled to scratch them out of my skin.

Kemper is a real human. I didn’t fabricate him in my mind, but now I almost wish I had. It would’ve been easier to swallow than encountering this strange, bizarro version of him, only days after we were supposed to escape Alabaster together.

He’s him, and yet he’s not. He looks and sounds exactly the same, his mannerisms identical to those of the guard from solitary who took in ways that awoke something inside me.

But his name’s not Callum, or Cal. It’s Kellan, and he has a fucking wife.

He’s not mine. He’s hers…

Maybe I am fucking crazy after all.

Lifting myself up, temples throbbing, I glance around my room through eyes that refuse to peel open all the way. They land on the clock, and I see that it’s almost one in the afternoon. Grumbling under my breath, I force myself to stand up and go to the bathroom, brushing my teeth extra hard and taking a nice long shower.

After that, some Gatorade and Advil, I feel a bit more like a person and less like a monster who lives in a swamp made of liquor. When my loud stomach grumbling interrupts reruns of The Office in Spanish for the third time, I decide to go get some food. I leave the room and walk toward the beach, to the place with the best food I’ve come across so far here at Abre, which will definitely help my hangover.

The taco truck.

It’s called Tacos Hermanos, and I know I already said this, but their al pastor is a religious experience. Plus, I like that it reminds me of a taco version of Pollos Hermanos from Breaking Bad.

I can see that there’s a line from up the lane, but I don’t mind waiting. There are a hundred places to get tacos near here, but people will stand in this line for over an hour. I think that speaks for itself as to how incredible the food is.

Making my way to the line, though, I stop for a second in shock and pure panic. Kemper’s there, right at the end. Fuck!

Looking around, I check to see if anyone else is coming over, to let them go ahead of me, but there’s no one in sight. So I buck the fuck up, swallow down my feelings and wander into the line, right behind the guy who I thought was someone special to me, but it turns out he’s just a guy.

Standing anywhere near him is confusing as fuck. He even smells the way I remember him, which just isn’t possible. How would I remember the smell of a person I’ve never met??

It’s such a mouthwatering scent, too. Like pineapples and a bonfire by the ocean. Masculinity and tropical sweetness together. I’m in fucking agony, leaning closer just to get a whiff…

He turns and I jerk away, pretending I wasn’t just sniffing him like a goddamn creep.

“Hey,” his mouth curves into an unenthusiastic grin, eyes sliding up and down me very briefly. “Dash, right?”

I nod, ignoring the stinging in my chest. “Kellan.” That’ll take some getting used to… “How’s it going?”

“Good,” he shrugs, turning to move up in line a couple steps while I follow behind him. “How’d that soccer game turn out?”

“It was actually pretty boring,” I mutter, and he blinds me with a simply perfect smile over his shoulder. It almost makes me collapse, but I try hard to stay standing, eyes falling to his feet while I smother my own grin. “Um, so are you here on… vacation, or something?”

My gaze lifts back to his and the first thing I notice is some confusing heat in his eyes. It reminds me of him in Alabaster so badly I start coughing like a loon, choking on literally nothing.

Maybe as an instinct, he reaches out and places a firm hand on my back while I catch my breath. And now he’s touching me, and I’m breathless for a whole new reason.

His eyes widen in realization and he yanks his hand away quick, clearing his throat. “Yea, um, I’m here for my… anniversary.”

If I were obsessing, I would fixate on the disinterested tone of voice he dropped on the word anniversary, but I’m not letting myself do that right now. It’s a dead end.

For now, I need to just focus on proving to myself that he’s not a hallucination, because it’s imperative to verify that I haven’t gone completely off the deep end. It’s all I’ve been able to think about lately.

Recalling that he said something, about his anniversary, I reply, “Oh, cool. Congrats.” I couldn’t be saltier if you paid me.

“Yea… thanks, I guess,” he sighs and moves up again as the line progresses.

“You don’t sound too excited,” I have to add because I can’t not.

He glares at me, like it’s not the place of a stranger to weigh in on his relationship, but then his eyes soften, and he exhales. “It’s not going great. I thought coming here would be good for us, but now I’m not so sure… And I have no idea why I’m telling you this.” He huffs a self-deprecating laugh and shakes his head.

“You can tell me whatever you want,” I jump in, and his brows pull together. “I just mean… what else are strangers on vacation for, right?”

I show him a casual smirk, hoping it’ll ease the tension. And it does. His shoulders drop a bit, visibly.

“Are you… here with someone?” He asks, the look on his face so intense it makes my eyelids flutter in rapid blinking.

He’s different from my Kemper, and yet oddly similar, in ways I can’t help but notice.

Example: his question was casual enough, but the way he asked it gave away his hidden possessive layers. The way his eyes darkened and his lips pursed, likely imperceptible to most people… But I noticed it. I remember kissing the scowl off those lips. It tastes delicious; sweet with a hint of tartness, like raspberries.

Great, and now I’m looking at his mouth. And he sees me doing it.

My eyes quickly find their way back to his. Then his drop to my mouth.

Fuck me, Jesus… This is impossible.

I think we’re standing closer than any other strangers are in this line, a fact which seems to dawn on us both at the same time. He shakes it off and turns to stumble forward, crossing his arms over his wide chest, the crisp white t-shirt he’s wearing accentuating all the ink on his bronzed skin. Those arms are just huge, folded over his chest like that… His bicep is almost the size of my head.

Gulping down the distraction once more, I force myself to remember his question. “No. I’m not with anyone. I live here now. I just moved, I mean.”

That gets his face to turn toward me again. “From where?”

A lot of questions from a stranger, no? “New York.”

God dammit, I shouldn’t have said that. I’m not even supposed to be telling people my real name. That’s what aliases are for.

He gapes at me for a second, like he’s trying to read something off my face, before he says, “I’m from New York, too.”

The voice in my head says, I know, before I can even process it. But I have to remind myself that I don’t know him. He’s a stranger to me.

In an effort to seem polite and not stalker crazy, I ask, “Oh yea? What part?”

“Babylon,” he mumbles, fidgeting a bit, eyes darting around as if he’s uncomfortable. It doesn’t make me feel good. “I’m from Kansas City originally, but I’ve lived in Long Island for about thirteen years.”

I nod to his words, thinking that if he’s lived in New York that long, he could recognize me from all those recent articles. Sure, they said I was dead, but still. I look exactly the same now as I did in the pictures.

Eyeing him for a moment, he gives me a look, and we seem to be just staring at one another for a while, feeling each other out. Even if he suspected it, I don’t think he’s going to say anything. It’d make him seem crazy. And he’s already inching away from me, so…

I decide to just throw my cards on the table, because this is driving me nuts. “We should hang out.”

He gapes at me, lips curving for a flash before he purses them. “I can’t. My wife…”

“She’s not here now,” I shrug, and he appears taken aback.

“Yea, but…”

“What’s wrong? You don’t like me?” I show him a teasing grin, to which he scoffs a flustered noise.

“I’m not into guys,” he says with a fiery glare that makes his words seem less sincere.

I roll my eyes. “Aw shucks. How will I go on?”

His jaw ticks, but then a smile creeps over his face and he chuckles. I laugh along awkwardly, because interacting with him is so damn strange.

He opens his mouth like he’s going to say something, but then the taco truck guy calls out Next! And he moves up to the window to place his order. I watch carefully, studying every move of the taco guy, and Kemper, working desperately to determine if this is really happening.

All signs point to yes, but I’m still uneasy. I can see them interacting, and this isn’t even the Kemper I remember, so how could I possibly be hallucinating him? It has to be real…

My stomach is churning over at over at how nervous this entire premise makes me. My anxiety is through the roof right now, and whispers are plaguing my thoughts. I blink hard, again and again, praying for it to stop as Kemper moves to the side, watching me when I step forward.

I order my tacos, head filled with static. But when I go to pay, the guy waves me off and points at Kemper.

I turn toward him a lift a brow. “You’re sending mixed signals, Kellan.”

It’s meant as a joke, but the face he makes is one of the most serious things I’ve ever seen. His eyes are all wide, mouth hanging open in pure speechlessness. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say I struck some kind of nerve with my stupid comment.

He goes quiet, looking everywhere in the world but at me until his order comes up. He grabs his food, still without making eye contact, and mutters a weak, “See ya, Dash,” before storming away.

I’m so thrown off by the whole encounter, I’m barely able to enjoy my tacos. Okay, that’s not entirely true, because I’m starving and they’re fantastic. But still.

I eat my food on a bench facing the ocean, thinking the whole time, about Kellan versus Callum, where I could have possibly come up with this person, and why the real Kemper seems much less confident in himself than the version I made up.

On the phone, Luthor said there was, in fact, an Officer Kemper. But he quit Alabaster Penitentiary right when I got there. So maybe, just maybe, I did meet Kemper. This Kemper. And then somehow my brain got all fuzzed up, like it so often does, and I hallucinated the rest.

It’s a stretch, but it makes more sense than me somehow making up a person who clearly already exists.

But then why doesn’t he remember me? If we met in Alabaster, wouldn’t he have said something? Freaked out, called the cops?

Even if he doesn’t work there anymore, he was an officer. That code doesn’t just go away, or so I’m told.

My thoughts are confusing me more, and by the time I get back to my room, I’m beyond all reasoning. Pacing and push-ups happen, for a long time. It almost feels like a blackout, because when I came in the clock said three-thirty, and the next time I look up it’s almost eleven.

Rushing to the bathroom out of breath, I splash some water on my face, combing fingers through my pink hair. My eyes look black, and I can hear all kinds of noises.

I have to get out of this room.

Without thinking, I leave and head to the bar, the same one from last night, on the off chance that maybe Kemper’s there. I know he’s not my Kemper, but I’m still more comfortable around him than I am by myself. I don’t know what that means, but I’m sick of thinking.

I just want to be for a little while. I came to Tulum to live, not to hide in a room like I used to back home.

When I get to the bar, it’s way more crowded than it was last night. Not packed, but still. All the tables on the deck are filled, and there are only a couple open seats at the bar. I make my way to one of them, but then I see Kemper, in the same seat from last night, a glass of what I’m guessing is Coke sitting in front of him. Again.

I pause for a moment to look at him. He’s alone, not engaging with anyone, just staring into his glass, deep in thought. The way he’s sitting there, the aura of loneliness surrounding him… It makes me think he does this a lot. Maybe not here, but he does it.

My heart splinters and cracks for him. Until I remember I’m just as lonely as he is. And it’s that thought which has me walking over.

There are no free seats around him, so I stop next to where he sits, and he looks up immediately. I’d like to think the first thing I see in his dark eyes is excitement, relief, or some form of joy. But it morphs so quickly into an odd discomfort that I don’t know what to do with myself.

I end up standing there, shifting my weight back and forth while I say, “You never let me say thank you for the tacos…”

“No thanks necessary,” he mumbles, then resumes staring at his drink. “Just trying to be nice.”

“It was nice.” My mind immediately goes to all the things he’s given me before… Or that the imaginary version of him gave me. All the gifts, the clothes, the shower stuff… the ice cream, none of it probably even real. “You’ve always done nice things for me…”

I realize after the words leave my lips what I’ve said, and he peers at me, brows raising while I backtrack.

“I mean, I appreciate that. The lunch,” I stutter as he turns to face me fully on his barstool. My eyes move around. “Where’s your wife? Didn’t feel like a nightcap?” Did I just say nightcap?? What the fuck am I? Fifty??

He doesn’t look pleased as he replies, “She’s… tired.”

“That sucks,” I shrug in an attempt to keep the mood mellow. “You want some company?”

“I told you, I don’t swing that way,” he eyes me cautiously.

I’m not sure if I should be offended that this guy thinks I’m some crazed homosexual who’s going to grab his dick every time he lets his guard down, but the even more interesting fact is that I’m not. It doesn’t hurt me in any way that he thinks I’m gay, because well, I guess it’s a partial truth.

The thing is, I’ve had no one to come out to. I’m not gay, but I’m definitely at the very least bisexual, and I’m so alone, even in my dreamland, that I haven’t had the opportunity to tell anyone about it yet. I’d like to tell Kemper… If he was acting like my Kemper, and not this insecure homophobe.

I’m no therapist, and I’m certainly not an expert on any of this, but just the way he’s been reacting to me, it seems like he’s trying to put up a front. I wish I could help him loosen up a bit. It could be good for him.

Crossing my arms over my chest, I assert, “I’m not hitting on you, Kemper. I’m just trying to be nice, like you with the tacos earlier.” I lift a brow at him, and he appears ruffled. Got ya. “Now,” I go on before he can argue, “What are we drinking? Something stronger than Coca Cola, I hope.” I nod at the bartender who acknowledges me while finishing up the drink he’s making.

“I don’t drink,” Kemper says, catching my attention. “I’m two years sober.”

Blinking at his face, I notice a few lines I’m not sure I ever noticed on my Kemper. Lines that make this one real. It steals my breath for a moment.

The bartender comes up to us and asks what I’d like. It takes effort to tear my gaze off the man in front of me.

“I’ll have what he’s having.”

I’m out of my element.

Not knowing how to act around certain guys is something I’ve been dealing with all my life, but with Dash it’s a whole new premise.

He’s fascinating to me. Everything about him, even the things he hasn’t confessed to me yet, the things I know about him already, because of my job… They make him so damn interesting. Like a meteor shower. I don’t want to take my eyes off for one second.

Unfortunately for me, though, that’s complicated. Because I’m married, to a woman, and the idea of staring at this obviously attractive man makes me itch.

My body wants something my brain refuses to acknowledge. It’s very confusing. And yet I’m still here, talking to the kid with the pink hair.

We’re at the bar where we’ve been sitting together for over an hour, chatting about all kinds of things. He’s easy to talk to, I’ll give him that. He has this derisive sort of humor that brings a twitch to my fingers sometimes. I don’t know what it means, but it’s different. Good different.

So far, we’ve managed to stray from serious topics of conversation, like anything regarding my marriage, what either of us do for work, or why we’ve been drinking nothing but Coke. I told him he doesn’t have to not drink on my behalf, but he just brushed it off.

Nonetheless, I think our lighthearted conversing is about to take a turn when he asks…

“So are you an alcoholic? Or did you do other stuff?” He asks this as if it’s the most normal, non-invasive question in the world. Like he’s asking me my favorite pizza toppings.

And yet I feel inclined to answer him. I’m not sure why.

“Other stuff,” I mumble and he side-eyes me, which cracks a smile on my lips. He obviously wants more. I’m realizing this about him; he’s a demanding thing. “I’m a recovering heroin addict. Five years sober from that, two years for alcohol.”

“Wow,” he breathes, face still. I expect the usual pity, or judgement, although I’m not sure why. Dash clearly isn’t like that at all, which is confirmed when he says, “Congrats on five years. That’s really great.”

My chest tightens. The only place I ever get any kind of recognition for my sobriety is in meetings. Nikki doesn’t like to listen to me talk about my past, or being sober. She always says the past is in the past, and there’s no sense dwelling on it. I agree, to a point. But I also know the past is what makes us who we are.

I wouldn’t be the man I am today if it weren’t for my experiences…

Sitting next to someone I’m not supposed to be gravitating toward, using everything in my power to keep my thoughts under wraps.

Swallowing over my dry throat, I grin. “Thanks.” Then I lift my soda to take a sip.

“Was that the hardest thing you’ve ever been through?” Dash asks, startling me a bit. This took a turn for the deep… But again, I feel compelled to answer him truthfully.

“Sort of. Well, that and this.” I scoot closer and open the collar of my shirt a bit, exposing my full collarbone, and the six-inch scar that runs up to my shoulder.

He observes it for a moment, the closeness between us allowing me to smell him. I’m really not trying to, but he has this irresistible scent, unlike anything I’ve smelled before. It’s intoxicating.

He seems completely captivated by my scar, and before I know what’s happening, he lifts his fingers to touch it. It causes me to jerk, and he tilts his face, hazel eyes finding mine.

“What’s it from?” He asks. I shake my head subtly, so he adds, “Too personal?” I nod and he sighs softly. “Alright, what if I tell you something personal?” I shrug, to which he rolls his eyes, “I’m gonna need some actual words here, Kemp.”

Kemp. I like that. Why would he call me that? Why does it sound so good rolling from his mouth?

“Tell me, then,” I grunt with our eyes stuck together and trying not to think about how much the color of his irises reminds me of the woods back home, in Kansas City.

He sucks in a breath and then says, “The first time I robbed a bank by myself, I was seventeen years old.”

His eyes are round and sparkly while he goes quiet and stares at me, awaiting my reaction. I didn’t know this exact fact, about how young he was the first time he did it. But I definitely know that he’s a bank robber. I’ve known about Dascha Reznikov for a while, following his story in local papers even before he was brought to Alabaster Pen.

My mouth opens, ready to tell him that, but for some reason I don’t. Instead, I smirk at him. “Sure. Whatever you say, kid.”

He gasps, mouth curved in vexed amusement. “Are you saying you don’t believe me?”

“Believe that you’re a bank robber?” I scoff, struggling to keep a straight face while I fuck with him. The outrage he’s wearing is purely adorable.

“That’s beyond rude,” he mutters. “I didn’t question you on your thing.”

“That’s because my thing is believable.” I purse my lips, knowing it’s driving him crazy that I’m doubting his street cred.

“I’d show you the proof, if you weren’t being such a skatina,” he shakes his head.

I laugh, “What did you just call me?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” He leans in a bit, and it takes me a second to notice that his hand is resting on my leg.

It’s not high up, but he’s touching me. And suddenly there isn’t enough air in the room. I can’t breathe and I’m clutching at where the pain is coming from, suffocating because it hurts.

I stand fast, pulling away from him with a tightness in my jaw. He has the nerve to blink at me like he has no idea why I’m pissed.

“I’m gonna hit the head, then I’m leaving,” I growl, and before he can say anything I storm off toward the back of the bar.

Cringing the whole way, I burst into the restroom, but rather than going to the urinal, I make a beeline for the stall on the far end. I hustle inside, barely closing the door before I’m leaning against the wall, squeezing my eyes shut and rubbing them hard with my fingers.

Why am I doing this?? Why am I even hanging out with this kid?

I don’t need this shit. I don’t need some fucked up criminal making me feel inadequate and uncomfortable. I should be back in the condo with my wife. Not here in a bar with this guy… Touching me and fucking my head up.

He’s brainwashing me, with his interesting words and his intriguing past, his attitude… His eyes that look like a forest, and his lips that are probably really soft… And his… his…

My blood is rushing in my ears so loud, I barely hear someone else come into the restroom. And walk directly to the stall I’m in.

The door pushes open and I just stand here like a moron, staring in suspense while Dash wanders inside and closes the door behind him.

I try to back up, but there’s nowhere to go. “What are you doing…?”

“I thought you wanted me to follow you,” he leans up against the wall.

I glare at him, radiating hostility. “Why would I want that?”

“I don’t know, Kemper,” he shrugs. “You tell me.”

“Trick question. I don’t want you in here.” I nod behind him at the door. “Now, please get the fuck out.”

He makes a face, like he doesn’t even understand what’s happening right now; engrossed in… seduction. It really throws me off. There’s awe shining in his hazel eyes.

“Don’t you just want to see, though?” He mumbles and reaches out to touch my shirt. I swallow down more nerves than I can even stomach as he tugs on the fabric, but I don’t move. I can’t.

I’m a fucking statue.

He shifts closer to me and I think I might throw up, my heart is hammering so fast.

“S-see what?” I ask, going against what my brain is telling me needs to stop.

“How it feels?” Dash’s eyes stay on mine, and as much as I want to look anywhere else, I can’t do it. It’s as if he’s holding me hostage. His hand drifts down to the button on my jeans.

“I told you,” I swallow thickly, the lie almost getting caught in my throat before it breaks out, “I’m not into guys.”

“Yea, so you’ve said,” he whispers, popping the button while I stand completely still, letting him. “But we’re different, Kemp.” Then the zipper comes down. He bites his lip and my eyes finally move away from his, to that pouty fucking mouth.

“Who’s we?”

“You and me,” he breathes, and before I can ask what the fuck he’s talking about, he drops to his knees.

I think my life is flashing before my eyes as he tugs my jeans down just enough, with my boxers, to get my dick out. It’s fucking stone.

“Wait…” I croak, but it does nothing to sound, in any way, like a genuine request.

Dash runs a fist up my length, muttering something like I missed this, though I can’t be sure because after that his mouth moves around the head of my cock. My eyes roll back in my skull, and the only sound I can hear is my pulse pumping blood straight below my waist.

His mouth is warm, and wet and fucking perfect while he moves it, sucking gently, allowing me to adjust to the feeling before he takes my cock deeper. It’s unlike anything I’ve experienced before. I know, a mouth is supposedly just a mouth, but this one feels like a Utopia for my dick.

His tongue glides along the underside while he pushes me further until the tip grazes the back of his throat. I whimper… I fucking whimper.

I don’t think I’ve ever made that noise before.

My eyes peel open hesitantly to glance down and see what this looks like. Sure enough, there’s Dash’s pink head of hair, bobbing gradually in front of my crotch, his cheeks hollowing while he sucks.

I reach down to slip my fingers under his chin, and his eyes meet mine. Chomping down on my bottom lip, I watch him sucking my cock, harder, though still steady, taking as many inches as he can, the head pushing deeper into his throat.

I groan, my eyelids drooping. “Jesus, that feels…” Whatever I was going to say is cut off by another strangled moan when his hand moves in between my thighs to massage my balls. “Fuck… Yes.”

He hums around my dick, and the vibration sends chills over every inch of my body. I can’t even act like this isn’t everything I’ve been dreaming of for as long as I can remember. It’s the best feeling on earth and my orgasm is looming already.

Dash keeps watching me, and I watch him, throating my cock until his eyes water. My fingers grip his hair, wishing there was more of it, like the first time I saw him. Before I was forced to shave it off…

It’s growing back, almost there. And it’s so soft.

Fuck, his mouth is like heaven. He looks like a goddamn dream on his knees for me. I never want this to end, but it’s going to. Like, soon.

He keeps sucking and sucking, moving up and down while I hold his head and flick my hips, pushing deeper and deeper, as far as I can fit. He tries to swallow on my cock, his throat tightening on my shaft until my balls draw up.

“Fuck, Dash… You’re gonna make me come,” I pant the words, lost in an erotic haze of things I’ve forever forbidden myself from having. Things I’ve always wanted. Needed, even.

It’s not right that I don’t get them. It’s not right to tell myself I can’t have it, when it’s here and it feels so fucking good.

My eyes fall and I notice Dash rubbing his erection through his pants. I can see the outline of it, and he’s stroking himself with his left hand, while his right tugs my balls, his mouth working me over and over and fucking over.

The climax sneaks up on me, and I let go of his head, mumbling, “Fuck fuck fuck, Jesus… I’m… coming…”

And he stays right the fuck where he is while my seed spills into his mouth, and he drinks every last drop. Sucking me while my dick is pulsing between his plush lips… It’s goddamn marvelous.

This is a whole new level of breathlessness.

Humming out nonsense for what feels like an hour, my fingers trace surfaces of him; his jaw, his neck, his shoulders, his back. His mouth stays on my cock until he’s sure I’m done, and then he sucks his way up, cleaning me off, and even pushing my spent-dick back into my pants.

I watch him stand, my throat hoarse from panting uncontrollably, like I just came up from a thirty-five-year stint underwater.

Everything seems different now.

I barely even recognize that we’re in the stall of a men’s room together. I’m just staring at him, and him back at me, the rest of the world on pause.

He’s beautiful. I want to touch him. I want to…

Until time speeds back up, and I come to terms with what just happened.

I got head from a guy. For the first time.

And it blew my motherfucking mind.

Clearing my throat, I break our staring contest, eyes falling to the tiled floor, hopefully to hide the obvious blush on my face.

“How was it?” His voice rumbles right in front of me, and he’s so close, but I can’t break down that stupid invisible force field I put around myself. I want to so badly, but I can’t.

Fortunately for me, Dash can. I think it might be what he’s here for, because he reaches out and grabs my hand, my eyes flinging to his. His gaze never leaves mine while he takes said hand and places it on his hip. My breathing is out of control again, building in tension, despite the orgasm that loosened me up beyond belief.

Then he presses his palm down over my heart. I have the strongest urge to pull away. I don’t want him feeling how hard it’s beating. But he moves in closer, until we’re practically smooshing our fronts together, leaning his mouth up to my ear.

“Do you think this is bad?” He whispers, and it sounds like he’s honestly asking. He’s asking me if I think me and him being in here together is wrong…

My muscles tense, the shield wanting me to push him away and scream yes. But his warmth is seeping into me where we stand, holding one another like lovers, not strangers.

This doesn’t feel bad, or wrong. My heart knows what it wants… It always has.

My lips part, but it takes me a moment to find my voice, before I finally mutter, “No.”

“Do you like me, Kemper?” His breath on my ear gives me goosebumps, until I’m leaning in closer, my head, my body. He’s not helping me touch him anymore. I’m doing it on my own.

My hand slides possessively from his hip up his back, feeling muscles there I’ve never felt before when embracing someone like this. It’s… exhilarating.

“Yes,” I breathe, then without even thinking I place a small kiss on his neck, making us both hum.

God, his skin is soft. And his smell is like… everything. It’s everything I need.

“Good,” he speaks, the deepness of his voice rumbling into me, awakening my cock from his nap. I love his voice… I want to listen to him talk forever. “Because I like you.”

My heart leaps and I feel an odd surge of power in my limbs. He’s giving me so much strength right now. Strength I’ve always had, I just never let myself use it.

But now I can. We’re still hidden, and I don’t have to worry. It’s okay. It’ll be okay.

I push him up against the wall, maybe a little harder than he was prepared for, but when I pull back enough to see his face, there’s a smirk there that I desperately want to kiss.

I stare at his mouth for a moment in suspense, and anxiety. Could I kiss him? I haven’t kissed a boy since I was in high school, and we all remember how that ended…

But because he’s here to help me, Dash speaks so I don’t have to. “Do you want me to kiss you?”

My lips part and I waver, blinking uncontrollably. “I… I don’t…”

Before I can hesitate any further, he closes the gap between our mouths, and presses those unbearably soft lips to mine. I haven’t moved an inch, but it feels like I’m flying.

Or falling…

Wind whipping at my face while I plummet, my stomach now lodged in my throat.

Dash breathes out a sound of satisfaction while parting his lips to suck my lower between them. “Open up for me. Please, Kemper.”

Something about hearing him beg me awakens my soul. My lips part, and he slides his tongue into my mouth, meeting mine. When they touch, I groan, because Jesus Christ, when has kissing ever felt like this??

I don’t even think I’ve kissed anyone like this in years; longer than I can recall. And even then, it wasn’t like this. This is almost spiritual.

Our tongues mingle together, and I become enamored with Dash’s flavor. He tastes sweet, with the slightest hint of savory, from my cum, I think, which makes my balls throb. And I kiss him back, harder, breathing heavily, pushing him into the wall so firmly I might be hurting him.

But he doesn’t seem to care. He’s just as high, enraptured as I am right now, his hands touching the muscles in my chest, raising to my shoulders and then up into my hair. He fists my locks and sucks my mouth, desperately needing as much as I need.

It’s beyond belief, how good this feels.

“Your mouth is luscious,” I whisper when I come up for a breath.

Dash freezes, pulling away just enough for our eyes to lock. He’s giving me a look that I can’t possibly comprehend, gaze holding a world of emotion I’ve never seen before, on anyone. It’s overwhelmingly beautiful.

In his eyes is a forest where we’re together.

I’d love to see what he sees when he’s looking at me like this.

“God, fucking kiss me,” he purrs and grasps my jaw, pulling my mouth back to his.

My palms go flat against the wall behind him, caging him in while we make the fuck out, licking and sucking so hard I can feel the swell on my lips.

Our hips have melded together, his hard dick rubbing on mine. It’s foreign, and so goddamn sexy I think my own cock is pulsing out precum, which seems impossible. I’m like a fucking teenager again. These are the things I wanted then, but I couldn’t have.

Now I can have them. Dash can give them to me.

“You didn’t get to come,” trepidation lines my tone. I’m nervous, no idea what I’m doing. But I think I want to make him feel as good as he made me feel.

No, I know I do.

“You wanna make me come, Off—Kemper?”

My movements halt. He sounded like he was going to call me something else, and I’m instantly crazy curious.

Was it someone else’s name? Did he almost say someone else’s name just now??

My hands fall down to his waist and I hold him hard, pulling my lips back, ready to force him to tell me what he was going to say, when there’s a noise. It’s someone coming into the restroom. I go completely still, my eyes widening in fear, but Dash doesn’t seem at all bothered by the idea that someone could catch us in here together. In fact, he’s still rubbing his erection on my crotch.

I shoot him a fiery glare, pushing his hips back so he can’t grind on me. He has this needy look on his face, a sweet flush on his cheeks and his eyes lidded with desire. That look will be in my dreams for the foreseeable future, I’m sure of it.

“Behave,” I growl, in the quietest voice I can manage. His eyelids droop shut, and he mewls, biting his lip to keep the sound in.

Lifting my brow at him, I can’t help but piece together something. I think he likes to be dominated a little. When I’m firm with him, his pupils dilate, and I can almost feel his breathing pick up.

He likes to be controlled.

Something about that speaks to a part of me I’ve never ever acknowledged before. I’ve always known it’s there but refused to let it out. Until now…

Because Dash likes it. He likes all the hidden parts of me.

The guy who was using the bathroom leaves, and my hand slides slowly up Dash’s torso, my fingertips pressing into his neck. I can’t stop staring at my hand, and the stark contrast between the dark ink and his pale flesh. It looks positively wicked.

“I can’t do this,” I murmur as my eyes slide down the slope of his neck I’d love to decorate with bite marks, his clavicle exposed by the V-neck of his t-shirt. I’m hypnotized by the definition in his body… All the hard lines, visible even beneath his clothes.

I’m so caught up, I seem to have blurted words out, because Dash is suddenly stiff, and when I look back up at his face, there’s devastation in his eyes.

“I mean here,” I clarify quickly, and he releases a stream of breath, like he’s relieved, bringing a pleasant curve to my lips. It gives me the courage to take a leap, despite all my insecurities over never having asked a man out before, and say, “Can I see you again? Outside of the men’s room…”

His face lights up, glowing like the moon over the clear blue waters as he smiles. “Absolutely.”

20 days out

It’s been two days since my little romp with Kellan in the bathroom. I’m gonna keep putting his name in italics in my mind, because it still seems weird.

I haven’t seen or heard a word from him since, and it’s chipping away at me a little bit each second that ticks by, convincing me he’s had a change of heart.

He doesn’t want me. He loves his wife.

He can’t be with a guy out in the open.

Truth be told, I’m a little nervous about such things myself, but I enjoy feeling uncomfortable. We know this.

I’m so focused on my addiction to the man, I can’t worry about anything else. The idea that people might look at us weird, or we might not get the same rights as others in certain places… It’s all less important than the way I feel about him.

Plus, I think in this day and age, being gay, or bi, is far from scandalous. I just wish I could help Kemper see that. Unless of course his hesitations stem from something else… Like his love for his wife. The other thing keeping us at a distance.

I don’t want to hate the girl. I don’t know her. From what I’ve seen while spying on them for the past two days, she seems nice. She has shiny hair that probably smells good, and a nose piercing.

She wears these little bracelets on her ankles, accentuating how long and smooth her legs are. She has pretty feet.

I don’t even know her name, but what I do know is that her husband likes dudes. Maybe he likes girls, too. I’m pretty sure I still do. But regardless of that, there’s too much in his lingering looks. Too much smolder, too much intensity… Too much heat in his kisses.

I don’t think he’s been with a guy before, at least not for quite some time, and I’d be willing to bet he’s dying for it. Just the way I never knew it was something I wanted until this crazy part of myself discovered it in prison, I think Kemper is beyond eager to explore the feelings he’s been pushing away for so long. He just needs a little nudge; more subtle than what I got in Alabaster, of course.

I want to help him. I need to; help him the way my hallucinatory version of him helped me. I owe it to the fake Kemper, who I’m now accepting in my mind as a sort of Tyler Durden-type imaginary friend. If Edward Norton can pull it off in Fight Club, then it’s a good enough rationalization for me. Plus, his was Brad Pitt, so ya know. Pretty awesome.

But I’d take Officer Kemper over Brad any day. Sorry not sorry.

Anyway, it’s all these whacky thoughts that have me waltzing up to the door of Kemper’s place, ready to knock. I’ve been lingering around this bungalow for the past two days, since I gave him my number and we parted ways. He left the restroom first after telling me he’d call. So imagine my disappointment when that didn’t happen.

Not even a text. Radio silence.

The next evening, I went to his place and peeped through the windows again. I know it’s super weird, but what do you want from me? I’m a weird guy. I can’t help it.

I saw little happening. They were watching TV and eating takeout. The next day, same thing. They each left the house at separate times, I guess to run errands or go out.

It’s mind-boggling that two people could be in such a beautiful place and not want to take advantage of it by having fun together. This just further proves my point about their relationship. And after the unenthusiastic way Kellan mentioned his wife and their anniversary, I’m thinking there’s trouble in paradise.

Which is why I’m justified in dropping by like this. I know they’re home, since I’ve already been standing out here for hours. It’s about two in the afternoon. The perfect time for a lunch date.

I know what you’re thinking, but I’ve never claimed to be a good person. And all things considered, going after a married man is low on the totem pole of my crimes.

Taking in a deep breath, I knock on the door, fidgeting in place while some voices tell me how stupid I am. It’s pretty standard, but my blinking picks up and my jaw strains, trying to get them to shut the fuck up so I can focus.

The door swings open and I’m met by the strikingly handsome face of Kellan Kemper. He looks normal, for all of a half-second before his expression morphs into one of pure shock. And two seconds after that, it shifts to an overwhelming fury.

Overwhelming mainly because, I swear to God, I’ve seen that face before. It’s throwing me for a loop to think that I haven’t.

I swallow as he maims me a look bridled with fire, and not the sexy kind. The kind that says I might just bash your face in.

“What are you doing here?” He hisses, voice low as he peeks quickly over his shoulder.

I do the same and see his wife sitting on the couch, on her phone. She looks really pretty, and it makes my stomach feel gross.

“I wanted to see if you’d like to go to Tacos Hermanos for lunch,” I give him my most polite tone and smile, oozing the aloofness I’ve been practicing in front of the mirror lately.

“Why would I ever want to do that?” He grunts, still glaring at me, jaw visibly tense. “Why would you come here and just—”

“Babe, who’s your friend?” A smooth, angelic voice croons as his wife steps up to him, aiming a perfectly casual smile in my direction.

I keep smiling back, though hearing that babe caves in my chest, and I have to tighten my fist at my side to distract myself from the pain.

Kemper continues to seethe at me through his eyes, while responding, “This is Dash. He’s just… from around.”

Just from around?? Jesus Christ, that’s worse than straight up calling me “no one”.

“Hello there,” I reach past Kemper, extending my hand to his wife. “Dascha. Nice to meet you.”

“Hi, Dascha,” she lights up a bit as we shake hands. Hers are very soft. “Great name. I’m Nikki.” Her eyes flick and she chirps, “I love your hair.”

“Thanks,” I mumble, trying to swallow down my issues before something bad happens.

She’s very nice, which makes it even harder to hate her. And I can smell her from where I’m standing. It’s been a while since I’ve smelled a woman. I almost forgot how delicate they are. She reminds me of a flower.

“Alright, well, thanks for stopping by, Dash, but I can’t go,” Kemper moves between us, forcing an end to our handshake. He’s still holding the door, and he actually starts closing it on me, muttering, “See you around.”

“Honey, you can go to lunch with him,” Nikki says, flashing Kemper a look, cocking her head to the side. Then her eyes come back to me, and she chuckles, “We’re doing literally nothing.”

I grin at her before glancing at Kemper, who appears more uncomfortable than angry now. He looks flustered and completely out of his league with this whole situation. I want to tell him I feel the same way… If he’d just come hang out with me, maybe we could talk a little.

“See? There ya go,” I shrug, keeping the pleasant air about myself. “Best al pastor in Tulum.”

He gulps visibly then mumbles, “I like the carnitas.”

“Oh my God, the carnitas,” Nikki gasps and does that hands over the heart thing.

My grin at her widens. Okay, maybe I like her.

“So? Yes?” I motion behind me.

He sighs and nods, then turns to his wife. “I’ll be back in a bit. You want me to bring you anything?”

“I’m good,” she smiles, patting him on the shoulder. “Have fun.” She faces me once more and does this cute little wave, “Nice to meet you, Dascha!”

“You, too,” I reply quietly, sincerely wondering about their relationship.

Nikki seems like a very cool wife. Maybe that’s why Kemper stays with her despite his differing sexuality… Because she’s clearly an awesome person.

Maybe she knows??

Shaking away these thoughts for now, I walk down the steps ahead of Kemper, and he follows me while we wander silently in the direction of the beach. It’s only a five-minute walk to the strip where all the food trucks park, but we don’t utter a single word the entire time. My limbs are tingling with the need to do something, but I don’t know what. So I just keep quiet while we go to the line, which isn’t as long as it was the other day. Only a few people in front of us.

I can’t help but watch Kemper, trying to be subtle with it, but each time I try to look away my eyes end up sliding back to him, like he’s the most powerful magnet around and I’m just scrap metal. I feel myself gravitating toward him and honestly, it’s not a new sensation.

I remember this well, from the last couple weeks in Alabaster Pen, and sure enough, it’s back with a vengeance. In prison, Kemper had become my own personal form of gravity. Whether he was real or not, it felt like he was the only thing holding me to the planet. And I’m getting those same gut-twisting sensations now, which is a very distracting way to feel about a married guy who won’t even look at me.

His eyes dart all over the place as he pretends to read the menu, though they only have like six things on there, checks his watch, taps his feet. It’s as if he’s using everything at his disposal to seem like we’re just two guys standing next to each other, when in theory that’s exactly what we are.

“So, how many are you getting?” I ask him because, at the very least, the food should be something we can talk about that won’t send him running.

“Uh, dunno,” he shrugs his broad shoulders, drawing my attention to the way he wears his t-shirt like a second skin. Muscles galore. “Maybe like… three?”

“Three?!” I gasp through a laugh and he finally peeks at me. “Amateur. If you’re not getting at least five, we can’t be friends.”

A small smirk tugs at his lips as he turns to face me. “And what makes you think I want to be your friend?”

“Come on, Kemp. I’m probably already the most interesting person you know,” my head cocks at him as I lean in. “And I’m well aware that you like me. You told me so, remember?”

Something serious flashes over his face and he whispers, “Of course I remember.”

“Then why did you make me come to you?” I ask, quietly, since I know he’s probably nervous. And I am, too. Honestly, I’m not sure why I asked him, other than I just really need to know.

I thought we had fun in the bathroom. And then he disappeared.

“I… I’m,” he stutters, shaking his head. “I’m sorry, Dash. I don’t know what I’m doing…”

“What do you want to do?” I’m dying to reach for him, to touch him somewhere, anywhere. But I refrain, because he’s scared, and I don’t want to push. Well, I want to, but I won’t.

Kemper parts his lips, but nothing comes out. He looks completely unsure of what to say, and then it’s our turn to order, so we have to put this conversation on hold until after we get our food.

I go up to the counter and order for both of us, five al pastor and five carnitas. I already decided we’re sharing. I pay and when I’m done Kemper looks at me like he’s displeased.

“What?” I shrug, feigning innocence.

“You should’ve let me pay,” he rumbles as we step off to the side to wait for our food.

“Why? You paid the other day, now I’m paying.”

He looks down at his shoes, petulantly, which has to be one of the most adorable things I’ve ever seen. He wanted to pay… Because he thinks he’s the guy. How sweet.

I have to pinch my lower lip between my fingers to stop myself from laughing out loud at my own thoughts while he peers at me, arching a brow.

“What?” He’s obviously trying not to smile now, too.

“Nothing, you’re just…” I sigh and shake my head. “Such a guy.” I let a chuckle slip, and he looks outraged, though the amusement on his face is unmistakable.

“Excuse me?” He huffs. “What does that even mean?”

“You’re macho,” I laugh. “I remember thinking the same thing before.” I fumble at my own words, realizing I shouldn’t have said that. But he just blinks at me as I clear my throat. “You like to be in charge.”

He hums, mouth curving into a pleasant little grin that just needs to be kissed off. The desire forces me to tug my lip between my teeth, which catches his attention.

“Yea, well… I think you like that,” he murmurs, suddenly closer to me than I remember us being when we first got over here. His eyes stay on my mouth while he speaks. “Don’t you?”

It’s seriously balmy around us, and there’s a thickness in the air that’s stealing my breath.

“Don’t I…?” My brain is fuzzy.

“Don’t you want to be… controlled?” He breathes the words right in front of my face and the scent of wintergreen sets me into a daze.

By you, I almost whisper, but the guy at the window shouts our order number and I flinch. Kemper does too, and he jumps back, putting distance between us as I grab our food and choke down all that tension.

It’s physically impossible to be next to this guy without getting swept up in him; everything about him that’s been taking control of me for a while now, whether it was in my head or in reality.

And I think it’s clear that, regardless of which Kemper he is, he wants to be the one controlling me.

I walk to the bench that overlooks the beach where I like to sit and eat my tacos. And he follows without a word, plopping down next to me. I hand him a Styrofoam container, and we keep them on our laps while I open both, and transfer two of my al pastors onto his, then take two of his carnitas in exchange.

Once that process is done, I immediately grab one of the tacos, don’t care which I’m just starving, and take a huge bite. My eyes almost roll back in my head from how amazing they are, and when I sense that he isn’t moving, I glance up to find Kemper staring at me, with some form of delight on his chiseled face.

I swallow down my food and mumble, “What?”

He releases a smile that could probably cure any ailment. Honestly, I want to stare at it forever in hopes it’ll heal me.

Then his eyes drop to his plate, brow raised. “You just touched my food.”

Blinking, my head tilts. “I’m… sorry?” I can’t help but grin, because I’m not really sorry, and I don’t understand why us sucking face after I swallowed his load would be okay, but me touching his food wouldn’t be.

“No, I liked it,” he hums, picking up a taco. One of the ones I gave him. “I like how you just… take what you want. You were right before, Dash. You are the most interesting person I know.” He pauses for a moment before adding, “And I barely know you.”

I’m surprised. I wasn’t prepared for that sort of compliment, and now I don’t know what to say. But it’s the dynamic I know I want between us… Him, controlling, possessive, alpha. And me, laid back and constantly pissing him off. I’m not sure why it’s appealing, but it is, and it’s that notion that has me subtly scooting closer to him on the bench.

We both go on eating, but his words stick in my mind. I hate that I’m the crazy one here, feeling like I know someone when I really don’t. And I’d love to get to know him better, the real him, but he seems to startle easily; keeping me at arm’s length because it’s easier than going for something he can’t accept that he might want.

It’s exhausting thinking about it, but I finally hit my wit’s end when we’re about done with our food, and I reach out to touch his leg. It’s nothing shocking, just my fingers on his thigh, but the way he’s staring at my hand you’d think it’s some mind of venomous snake, ready to sink its fangs in at the slightest movement.

“Kemper,” I whisper by his face. “I want to get to know you better, and I think you want the same thing. So I guess my question has to be… what are you afraid of?”

His face turns to mine, and he pulls his gaze off my hand, meeting my eyes with those midnight blue irises, deeper than any abyss I could ever fathom. My fingers slink on their own, caressing his muscular thigh through his jeans while he swallows visibly.

“I’m still married, Dash,” he says, regretfully.

I find it interesting that he said he’s still married, not just that he’s married. That word, still, has to mean something, right?

“But you’re not happy…” I eye him, cautiously while silently urging him to buck up just a little.

His lips part like he wants to argue, but before he can, I give him a knowing look, to which he nods. “What am I supposed to do?”

“I can’t answer that,” I lean into his side more. “But I think you should figure out a way to be happy. Happiness is necessary.”

He chuckles. “Are you happy?”

“I’d be happier if you were happy,” I say without even thinking, and he looks blown the fuck away.

“How can you just do this?” He asks after a few moments of silence. “You don’t even know me…” He looks around, as if people are going to jump out of the goddamn bushes with pitchforks, condemning us to Hell for committing a cardinal sin of man shall not lie with man.

“Do you want me to move my hand?” I ask with some clear irritation in my tone. I’m not trying to be short with him, I just think he needs to let me know what to do. I’m already exhausted from forcing myself not to straddle him. This whole thing is difficult.

“What if my wife sees us?” He answers my question with another question, annoying me more. It’s funny though, being annoyed by Kemper isn’t like being annoyed by other people. It’s sort of sexy when he acts ridiculous. I don’t know why…

“Do you see her anywhere?” I glance around for show. I know she’s not here. Even if she was, I’d still do it. I’m not in the business of coddling people.

This is the new Dash, apparently. Out bisexual who does what he wants.

Kemper moves our stuff out of the way and turns to face me fully. “Being near you is really confusing for me, okay? And yes, my marriage sucks and I know I should just… try to figure it out, but it’s not that easy.” He stops and his gaze falls, fingers tracing mine where they lay on his thigh. “I’ve been through things that… really fucked me up. Like, a lot. So it’s hard to just rewire my brain. But I want to, Dash. I want to… fucking kiss you. Now.” His eyes come back to mine and they’re so damn blue, like a lack of oxygen that captures my breath. “I want to kiss you so hard that everyone on this goddamn beach knows you’re mine, and only mine.”

Mine. That word sends me right back to a tiny, dank cell with roaches, where a guy who looks exactly like this one said something similar… I thought it was real, but it wasn’t.

Is this real??

My breath hitches as I stare at him, leaning in closer. He pulls back.

“But I can’t. Not out here. Not yet,” he takes my hand, peering around us once more. “Not until I figure my shit out.”

“What do you want me to do then, Kemper?” I watch his beautiful face for any sign that this is make believe. “Because I can’t back off. It’s not an option with you so close.”

He pauses, giving me a look that slices into me, before he mutters, “We’re only here in Tulum for another three days,” despondence lining his tone.

But it’s nothing compared to the pain I feel at this revelation.

It’s like he just plunged a knife between my ribs, and I can’t breathe. Blood is filling my lungs as I fall back against the bench, looking out at the crystal clear waters.

“Well, that’s great,” I croak. “So what’s the plan? Go back to New York, make some babies… live happily ever after?”

My heart is screaming inside me.

Kemper is quiet for a while, deliberately not answering me, the silence building into something stifling. Until he finally speaks again. “Can I come over tonight?”

This pain isn’t the good kind. And I know I’m a fool, but I can’t help feeling like seeing him tonight will ease it in some way. Like a tourniquet for that stupid organ in my chest.

“It depends,” I grumble, peeking at him. “Are you actually going to show up?”

He blesses me with another one of those smiles and it kick starts me right up again. “So much attitude in such a pretty package. Yes, I will be there. Nothing could stop me.”

A grin wants to pull my lips, but I force it away, pursing them instead. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

He huffs a small laugh that stuffs into my chest, wrapping up that wound just a little tighter. Then he looks around once more before leaning in close to my ear. “Let me make this up to you, okay? I haven’t stopped thinking about that mouth in two days.”

Jesus, this guy. I’m fucking melting.

Making a snap decision, I turn my face, and even though I want to kiss him—he’s so damn close—I don’t. But I keep our mouths hovering, watching his eyelids flutter. It’s such a delicate movement on such a large, domineering man. I love it all too much.

“You have one more chance,” I whisper, curious fingers still touching his leg, purposely brushing closer to where I know he’s becoming harder and harder. “Don’t flake out on me tonight. I have high expectations.”

“No pressure or anything,” he mumbles sarcastically.

“I like the pressure,” I chuckle.

His hand slaps over mine quickly, to stop its wandering, and he growls, “I want to fucking ravage you. I’ve never felt like this before.”

A shiver runs through me, and I have to force myself to blink out of it. Because as much as I’m falling so far into whatever this Kemper obsession is, and I never want to come back, we are still in public. And he’s married, and I don’t really want to get him in trouble.

“I’ll let you,” I go in for one last tease and he groans quietly. “If you show up tonight.”

He pulls back so we can look at each other, the flames in his eyes so different from what I saw earlier. This time it’s a fire of pure hunger. “You bet your sweet ass I’ll be there. Dascha.”

The whole notion of being nervous about potentially sleeping with someone I’ve theoretically already slept with makes my brain hurt.

That’s where all the anxiety is coming from at the moment. I thought I already lost my virginity—my gay virginity, that is—to Kemper in Alabaster Pen. I came to terms with it at the time, but then it turned out it didn’t happen. I think…

And now I have to come to terms with it all over again. It’s like going through the whole life-changing experience twice. This is some serious Groundhog Day, Black Mirror type shit.

The only thing keeping me in line is knowing that Kemper, Kellan Kemper, will go through it with me. If we have sex tonight, it’ll be his first time with a guy, too.

If.

I don’t know who I’m kidding, though. I’m so hard up for this dude, I’m planning to jump him the second he sets foot inside my place. But for all I know, he won’t want to do it…

What if he wants to bottom?? Oh Jesus… I hadn’t even thought of that!

And then I do think about it. And my cock becomes so hard it tries to escape the much less aggressive prison of my pants. If my Kemper is in there somewhere, he’ll want to fuck me. But still… It could be something to experiment with in the future.

I scoff to myself and roll my eyes while I pace, circling the coffee table in my living room area. Listen to my dumb ass… Imagining a future with someone I don’t even know. He’s married, to a woman, and they’re leaving Tulum in three days.

I’m the biggest fuckboy on the planet. There’s no hope for this, a thought which has my lip trembling while I move, unable to stop it. I’m so fucking antsy. I hate feeling like this. I just want him to show up and make me feel normal again.

And yet I also hate relying on someone else, since the last time I relied on him, it turned out he wasn’t even real. I’m so fucking scared it’s going to happen again, and I can’t have the rug ripped out from under me another time… I won’t survive it.

There’s a knock on my door and I practically jump out of my skin, rushing to go answer it. Taking in one more deep breath for good luck, I pull the door open, practically stumbling backward when I see him.

He’s so goddamn good-looking, it truly baffles me that he’s the first guy I’ve ever looked at like this. I can’t even remember what the world was like when I didn’t think a sharp jawline dusted with stubble was the most delicious thing ever. Or when I didn’t crave the feel of giant arms dipped in ink holding me down…

Shaking myself out of it, I step aside and motion for Kemper to come in, which he does, looking only slightly less nervous than I am. He wanders inside my place, looking around, hands stuffed into his pockets.

“Nice place,” he spins until he’s facing me again.

I lock the door, a distinct click that seems to dilate his pupils. Then I lean up against it, unsure of whether standing will be possible right now. “Smaller than yours.”

“Are you going to move?” He asks, making conversation. Trying to make us normal. Unlikely story.

I nod subtly. “I’ll probably get your place after you leave.”

I really didn’t mean to bring it up, but as soon as the words leave my lips I cringe. Kemper sighs, audibly, then stomps up to me, grasping my face in those big, perfectly masculine hands.

“Do you think I want to leave?” His eyes drill into mine and I just know my lip is quivering visibly.

“I don’t know what you want, Kemper,” I croak, unable to look away from blackish-blue. “You’re a goddamn mystery to me.”

“Well, let me clear it up for you then,” he pushes into me until we’re practically melded together, and I can feel the shape of him on me; his minty breath slinking into my senses, reminding me of all those nights that never happened. “I want you, Dash. I want to be here, with you. I don’t understand what this hold is that you have on me, but I’m not interested in breaking it. I want to…” His voice trails, heated gaze zeroed in on my mouth.

“Take,” I breathe the word in a plea, and nothing else happens before his lips assault mine.

His kiss is bold, richly decadent, like a good cup of coffee, and with just as much kick. I’m in a sudden frenzy of sensation, kissing his mouth while his tongue strokes mine and he sucks my lips with bruising force.

I groan, hands fisting his shirt and his hair, nipping his lower lip until he hums, a sound so erotic my dick jumps against his. We kiss furiously for minutes, Kemper grabbing my hands and pinning them to the door at my sides, grinding into me with flicks of his hips that make my cock weep. He moves his mouth to my jaw, then my neck, using leisurely laps to trace my pulse before biting, gently enough, though it still prompts a gasp from between my lips.

“You’re so delicious, baby,” he murmurs.

My head rests back on the door, eyes closed, ready to strip and give this dude every fucking part of me. I can’t help it… We’re mixing the memories with the present in such a way that drives me crazier than I already am.

“Kemp…” Breaths are flying rapidly in and out of my lungs while he sucks the same spot over and over on my throat.

“Mine,” he growls. “You’re mine. Right?” His hand slinks between us and he touches my erection over my pants.

“Yes yes. I’m yours,” I purr, thrusting into his palm.

“This is so new for me, baby,” he says, gripping my dick like it’s something he’s always wanted to do. It makes me wild. “I’ve imagined it for a long time… Dreamt about what it would feel like.”

“Is this how you imagined it?” I ask, and he looks up at me, locking me in place with those captivating eyes.

“It’s so much better,” he whispers, then inches to my mouth once more to kiss me breathless.

Eventually he moves me off the door, spinning us until we kiss our way to the couch. I get the jump on him and push him down, crawling over him while going back to his mouth, warm and silky wet, laced with mint and unexplored desire. Such a terrific flavor.

“Thank you for inviting me over,” he rambles into my lips, prompting a grin as his hands snake beneath my shirt to touch my abs.

I love the hesitation in his movements. I never got that in my fantasies and it’s a massive turn-on for reasons I’m not sure I fully understand.

“Thank you for proving me wrong and actually showing up.” I push my hips down on his, rubbing our stuff together until he grunts.

“I shouldn’t be here… I know that,” his index finger traces the waistband of my boxers.

I stop the kisses long enough to make eye contact. “Do you feel bad… Being here?”

“Not as bad as I should, I’m sure,” he gives me a wicked little smirk, that same finger tugging the material away from my skin an inch.

“Do you want to talk about it?” I can’t help the amusement on my lips as he smiles back.

“No. Talking is the last thing I want right now…”

I hover over his face, teasing, “I thought you weren’t into guys.”

“I think I was lying,” he rumbles, then pulls my mouth down to his so we can make out some more, wiping away all traces of humor.

The kisses are slow, ravenous and sensual, breeding tension between us like a chemical reaction in the air. Vibrant colors shimmer behind my eyes while we pant together, sounds of eager anticipation moving from one to the other.

He’s shivering, likely out of nerves and arousal. It’s the fucking sexiest thing I’ve ever experienced.

“Can I…” he gulps, “Take your clothes off?” A soft mewl escapes me as he adds, “I want to see your body, Dascha. I’ve been dreaming about you…”

“You’re killing me, Kemper.” I lift his shirt up to his chest, tracing the sinews of his abs with my fingertips. “I’ll get naked if you do.”

He grins and tugs my shirt over his my without another word. Then he does his, those powerful hands decorated with black ink returning to skate over my pale flesh. It looks perfect.

“I love how you say my name like that,” his thumb grazes my nipple until it hardens.

“Kemper…” I breathe, kissing down his neck and over to his ear. “K-Kellan.”

He groans, and I do, too. Saying his first name feels like an erotic secret we’re sharing.

He unzips my jeans, then pushes them down, leaving the boxers up, his hands resting on my hips.

“Touch my ass,” I whine, sucking his earlobe until he does what I say.

His hands slide down into my boxers, cupping my ass cheeks hard. He lets out a rough whimper. “Your ass is so fucking nice. I didn’t know guys could have asses like this.”

I have to chuckle at that. Because I guess he has a point. I didn’t really know that either until I started noticing.

“Do you want to see how it feels… inside?” I lick his neck and he trembles.

“Is that what you like?” His voice is hoarse with arousal. “I want to please you. I want to make you feel good.”

“Mmm… how sweet,” a lazy grin tugs at my mouth while I dry fuck him, just a little, because I can’t stop myself. “I’ll do whatever you want, baby.”

He makes a soft noise, fingers slipping between the crack of my ass. “God, call me baby again…”

“Keep touching, baby.” I’m lightheaded from this heat. “If you wet your finger, you can push it in me…”

“Fuck,” he shudders. “I’m not gonna last, Dash. This is so fucking hot.”

I huff a seductive laugh, then take one of his arms and pull it away, holding his hand in mine. I keep my eyes on his while I stuff his index finger into my mouth and suck. His lips part, eyes hooded as he watches me, sucking his finger the way I sucked his big perfect dick the other night.

I want that dick inside me. I don’t know if I imagined it before, but I don’t care because even if it was a fantasy, it was fantastic. The pain of that giant foreign object tearing into me was exactly everything I never knew I was missing. And everything I’ve been missing since Alabaster.

I haven’t so much as jerked off since I escaped, so to say I’m wound up would be a giant understatement. Probably not as much as Kemper, but still. Between the two of us, we’re a match made in precumming heaven.

“Baby, you’re so sexy,” he tells me while I throat his finger, making it as wet as possible. I have stuff to use for lube, but it’s in the bedroom, and I’d rather deal with a few raw fingers than interrupt this delicious moment.

I take another finger into my mouth, leaving both of them dripping with saliva and then kiss his mouth, pushing his hand behind me. He immediately takes over and wastes no time spreading me open with one hand while the other teases my asshole with the wet fingers.

“God… I’ve been thinking about this for so long,” the words flee my lips as a result of my brain fogged up with lust.

“Me too.” His index finger circles my rim methodically for a moment before pressing inside. The initial shock causes me to tighten up on instinct. “Is that alright?”

“It’s more than alright,” I relax a bit, moving my face down to lick his chest. “Don’t feel like you need to take it easy on me, baby. I can handle it, trust me.”

“You like it harder?” He grunts, his tone resembling the old Kemper as he forces his finger deeper into my asshole and I mewl.

“God, yes.” My forehead falls onto his chest, hips pushing back to get him deeper. “More.”

“Like this?” He shoves his finger all the way inside me until it’s knuckle-deep and I’m purring.

I’m at his mercy. Though I’m on top of him, I’m lying in his arms, ass open while he finger-fucks me the way I need him to. Hard and deep and possessive. Like he’s owning me.

“Kemper… fuck…” I writhe on his huge, hard body while he removes the finger then forces it back inside, this time with the other one, showing me no kindness.

No easing into it. He thrusts his fingers in me deep, then pulls them out a bit and pushes them back in, working up some strokes, building a friction that burns, from lack of proper lube and probably lack of penetration for a while.

But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t like it. The pain turns me on more, and my cock is so hard, it’s standing up straight, half poking out of my boxers.

“Your ass is so snug and warm, baby,” he hums, massaging my cheek with the one hand, while the other drives those shapely fingers into my hole over and over. “I bet it would feel divine to put my cock in here.”

“Do it,” I plead, moving my mouth along his pecs, sucking a nipple between my lips to make him groan. “Fuck me.”

“Yea?” He hits my prostate and I whine out a ragged noise, grinding my cock on his pelvis, precum dripping out on him. “You want me to put my big dick in this tiny hole?”

“Yes. Please, Kemp.” I’m burning the fuck up already, squirming my body on him with his two fingers in my ass, controlling me.

“You’re gonna be the death of me, Dascha.” He gives me a few more thrusts of his fingers before he pulls them out and smacks me on the ass. Not too hard, but it’s surprising enough for me to jump, and a serious flush to crawl up my neck and cheeks. He gives me a wicked smirk. “You like that, don’t you?”

I purse my lips, trying to act hard, but he’s obviously not buying it.

He sits up suddenly, forcing me back until we’re nose to nose, while he holds me by the waist and growls, “You’re a dream come true, Dascha. The perfect toy for me, baby.”

My lips part, but I have no voice. I don’t even know what to say. I’m stunned.

“Tell me what you want,” he pleads with his hands all over me.

You, my brain says without a thought. Only you.

“Come to the bedroom,” I stand and take his hand, tugging him up with me. “I want to spend as much time as physically possible with you between my legs.”

He sears me with a look like a blowtorch, though I witness his Adam’s apple bob in his throat, proving that even despite his dominant side, he’s still nervous, which I like.

I love that I still get this first time of his. I never want anyone else touching him.

What about his wife?

Shaking that thought away, I slither out of my pants and boxers, leaving them on the living room floor while I walk ahead of him to the bedroom. I peek at him over my shoulder, catching him drooling over my body. It makes me smirk in satisfaction as I wander into the attached bedroom. The lights are off in here, but there’s a dim glow coming from the other room, which works for some ambience.

Flopping down on the bed, I prop myself up on my elbows as I watch him, sauntering into the room with that confident swagger, something a simple confusion in sexuality couldn’t erase. He’s sure of himself, and comfortable in his own skin, even when he’s uncomfortable with his feelings. I have to appreciate that, because I’ve always felt the same way.

I’m confident in my body, regardless of what goes on around to make me feel uneasy. They’re all external factors, but I have to say, since I got here in Tulum, I’ve felt more like the real Dash than I think I ever have before.

I love it. I want that for Kemper, too.

If he didn’t have to leave…

Swallowing down those feelings, I watch as he takes his pants and boxers off, his sheer size overwhelming the room. He’s just so big, even more is his dominating presence. So much of him is a turn-on, and I can’t believe I get a second chance to experience it.

Biting my lip, I can’t stop staring while he walks to the bed, then crawls, on his hands and knees, over to me. He grabs me by the calf and yanks me closer to him, startling me a bit which I think he can tell from the look on my face because he huffs a laugh.

“Have you done this before?” He mumbles, pushing my legs open while he moves between my parted thighs, eyes stuck on our cocks. Both hard as can be, veins visible, skin stretched almost shiny.

His dick is just as massive as I remember, though I had it in my throat the other night. But I didn’t get to really see it. Now I’m reminded of how good it looks rubbing against mine. And it feels even better, especially when his balls drag over my own as he grates us together. My head to falls back on the bed.

“Um… I…” Considering what to say, I answer in the only way that makes sense. “Yes. I have.”

“Yea, I don’t know why I asked that,” his golden hair hangs in his face while he lowers his lips to mine. “I don’t want to think about anyone else having you. Ever.”

It was you, Officer. I’ve always been yours.

My thoughts can’t manifest into words, though. Because it doesn’t make sense. So I keep quiet and hold his face, pulling his mouth to mine.

“No one else matters, baby,” I kiss his lower lip slowly until he hums. “Only you.”

“This is crazy,” he says while kissing me back. “It’s so… different with you. It’s like we’ve… met before.” My heart skids in my chest, hard enough to hurt. His eyes lock on mine. “When you say my name, it’s familiar.”

“I think… you’re a part of me, Kemper,” my palm slides over his heart. “I’m sorry if that’s intense…”

“I feel the same way,” he breathes, trapping my lips in a kiss that overwhelms my senses.

I have no idea where I am anymore, or what’s happening. All I know is that tonight is about us, finally. The real us. If we only have this secret… If all I have is him in the dark, then I’ll hold on to the moment tightly, for as long as I can.

We kiss leisurely for a while, building friction and burning one another until we’re both panting, cocks stiff and aching into each other.

“I want to explore every inch of your beautiful body, baby,” Kemper holds my face in one hand, while the other takes my wrist and brings it to his lips, kissing the word My tattooed for him, without even knowing it. “But I also can’t fucking wait to be inside you.”

“Do that first,” my voice comes out eager, to which he hums a seductive laugh. “We have all night for the foreplay.”

He chuckles again, moving my wrist above my head and pinning it there. “You wanna get fucked, Dascha?”

A small moan resonates in the back of my throat. “I want you to fuck me.”

He blinks heavy lids at me, taking my other wrist and moving that one above my head, too. Then he leans in, running his soft lips down the hallow of my neck, nipping my clavicle before continuing on to my nipples. He holds me down and licks circles around them, then sucks, forcefully, curling my toes, before biting gently until my cock jumps. He repeats the actions on my chest, right, left, right, left, torturing me with the build until I have no breath and I can barely see straight.

“I like playing with you,” he releases my wrists, hands sliding down my torso, until one reaches my erection. He fists it and jerks, sensually rough. Just like I like it. “You have a body that deserves to be worshipped, Dascha.”

“Kemp… I’m dizzy…” I don’t know what I’m even saying, but my body is spun up, and all I want in the world is for him to shove his giant cock inside me. I’m dying for it.

“Do you have lube?” He murmurs, and those words coming from his wicked mouth, in that deep voice like sex for your ears, ruins me a little more.

“Nightstand,” I breathe, head twirling as he reaches over. I stashed some lube in there today, all too eager for tonight.

He comes back to me with the little bottle, opening it and squeezing some onto his fingers. “Not using a condom. I hope that’s okay…” I part my lips, but he keeps going before I can answer. “I want to feel everything, baby. It’s alright, I promise it is.” He kisses my lips and my brain turns to mush. “As long as you want this, too…”

“I want everything from you,” I tell him, leaning my head back, giving him access to my throat.

He decorates it with kisses and bites, while stroking lube onto his long cock, then swiping his fingers between my cheeks. I whimper at his touch and he sighs.

“God, I’m probably gonna come so fast,” he grabs my hip hard, holding me while I wrap my legs around him a bit.

I grin with my eyes drooping, touching his chest while he takes his cock in his hand and presses the head up to my asshole. I’m so relaxed it’s almost alarming. I’m fucking ready for him to pump the air out of my lungs.

“Push your cock inside me, Kemp,” I plead, tracing all the tattoos on his chest and shoulders. “Give me that big dick.”

He groans and drops his forehead to mine, giving me a nice, hard shove, that smooth, fat head slipping inside my ass. We both groan fuck at the same time, before he thrusts again, feeding me one slow inch at a time, breaking through the rings of my body.

It burns something fierce, but I love it. I fucking love how he possesses me like this, forcing his enormous cock inside me until he’s about halfway, then tugging back just a bit, only to drill in deeper.

“Fuck,” I choke out the word again while Kemper buries his face in the crook of my neck, holding our bodies together while he drives into me further. “You feel better than I remember…”

“What, baby?” He gasps, too busy filling my body with his to notice what I said.

“Nothing. Harder, baby. Fuck me harder.”

I’m all sensation at the moment, his skin grazing underneath my balls while he plunges into me, hitting every single fucking nerve along the way. There are splashes in my vision, a burning sun of pleasure shooting through my loins while he bottoms out and gets in me to the hilt, gasping on my neck as he does.

“Jesus Christ…” he croaks a stream of words, “Jesus fucking Christ, Dash… holy fuck oh my God…”

“I know, right?” I yank at his hair while he fucks me harder, so deep I don’t even know what to do with myself. I think he’s all the way up there… Way up inside my body.

“God, you’re so tight.” He strokes in my ass so good I’m already about to burst. That and the friction of his abs on my cock is almost too much. “Your sweet ass is tight and warm… Like a pussy.”

I swallow, grunting along with his thrusts, remembering…

“Better than a pussy. So much better… Baby, you’re the best I’ve ever had,” he keeps rambling to me, hands lying flat on my chest while he fucks me, harder and rougher. One hand comes up to my throat and I almost come on the spot.

“Fuck me, Kemp.” A sheen of sweat glistens on his chest, and mine, while we grind together, and he pounds me into oblivion. “Fuck me in the ass.”

“You like how I fuck your little ass, baby?” Slap slap slap.

God, this is intense. So motherfucking good… I missed this.

“Jesus, Dash, you’re so tight,” he drops his head on my chest. “So… tight… I can’t…”

His breathing is becoming unsteady, his deep growls uneven. I recognize the sound.

He’s gonna come…

“Baby, I can’t hold on,” he whimpers, biting my pectoral. “I’m… fuck…”

And then I feel his cock swell up inside me and pulse. I can feel him blowing his load inside me, and it’s fucking incredible. I’m so close to coming, I slap my hands on his ass, forcing him to keep moving in me.

“I’m coming… I’m coming… yessss, Dash!” He cries, licking and biting me everywhere he can reach.

My heart expands in my chest, wide enough that it might break my ribs. Kemper drops his body weight on me, almost crushing me beneath him, though I like it. I love how heavy he is. My heart is rocking into him, and his into me, our sweaty bodies sliding together while he comes down from his ecstasy.

He groans and covers his face, and I can’t help but chuckle, running my fingers through his hair.

“That was so embarrassing,” he mumbles behind his hands. “I’m such a loser.”

I snicker some more, finding it odd that I’m so warm and fuzzy even though I didn’t come. “Trust me, it’s not the most embarrassing thing ever.”

Memories of me wearing a cock cage come to mind…

He moves his hands away and I get to peep his gorgeous, flushed post-orgasm face. I can’t stop staring. Turns out the colors are just as bright if I don’t come. It has nothing to do with my orgasms.

It’s him.

“I’m so sorry, baby.” He looks really upset, and I don’t want him to be. It was his first time. I want him to be happy, not sad. “I’ll make it up to—”

I stop him with my fingers on his lips. “That was amazing. Do you know how good you feel? Even now…”

I shift, because he’s still inside me, and although he’s not fully hard, I could definitely come if he keeps moving.

“You feel like a goddamn dream, Dascha Reznikov.” He drops a kiss on my lips, and it erases all my thoughts, my fingers lacing in his hair to kiss him deeper.

When we come up for air, Kemper keeps his eyes locked below my waist while he pulls out of me. I’m not sure what he’s doing, but I think he’s watching his cum drip out of me, and it turns up the heat on my face a couple hundred notches. He seems mesmerized though, and I’m soaring.

This was what he needed. It was his first time having gay sex and honestly, he seems like a new man already. I hope it was me… I hope I did this to him. Made him happy.

He circles my waist with his arms and nuzzles my neck with his lips. “I love your smell. And your taste…”

“You’re pretty sweet on me already for someone who just lost his dude virginity,” I smile calmly, eyes closed, enjoying the rough feel of his stubble on my skin.

“Dude virginity? Is that a thing?” He runs his nose along my jaw, and I nod.

“Yea. It’s when you have sex with a man for the first time. It’s totally a thing.”

Kemper is quiet for a moment, just tracing one of my tattoos on my chest. I wish I could read his mind. I want to know what he’s thinking…

And then, somehow reading my mind, he tells me. “I wish I wasn’t married.”

Without even thinking, I say, “Leave her.”

I feel his muscles tense for a moment, but then he sighs. “I know. I have to.”

“Do you love her?” My stomach is sliding up my esophagus at the potential ways he could answer this.

“She’s a great girl,” his finger crosses the lines of my abs. “I love her like a friend. But I’ve never been in love with her.” He pauses for a moment before whispering, “I’ve never been in love with any girl.”

I nod, relating to that. I’ve never been in love with anyone before.

Swallowing feels difficult for a moment.

“Have you been in love with a boy?” I ask.

This time he props himself up to look down at me. His eyes are sparkling like sapphires, lips a seductive shade of pink from all the kisses. He picks up my hand and brings my fingertips to the scar on his clavicle.

“I thought I was once,” he murmurs. “I was really young… in high school. My best friend, his name was Jeremy. We used to hang out every day. We were inseparable. I was still figuring things out, and I didn’t understand what I was feeling. Hormones raging, all my friends talking about making out with girls, you know…”

I nod, watching his face as he gazes down at me, alternating between staring at my lips and into my eyes.

“Anyway, I started developing feelings for Jeremy,” he goes on. “I’d tried kissing a couple girls, and it never felt right. But I’d stay up all night every night thinking about kissing my best friend. He was straight, I guess. Always dating girls, and it was killing me. So one night, we came back to my house after a party, and he was going to sleep over, like he’d done a million times. Except that night we got to talking, and the next thing I knew, I was kissing him.”

My gut twists in some bizarre jealousy at hearing this. At picturing my Kemper kissing another guy, even though I know it’s stupid. He was in high school. I didn’t even know him…

Still, I’m uncomfortable. I hate how this makes me feel… Why would I be jealous of his high school boyfriend??

“And to my surprise,” Kemper’s voice interrupts the little green monster inside me, “He kissed me back. It was fucking eye-opening. It felt amazing, and it went on for a lot of minutes…” He grins, lifting his thumb to my lower lip, brushing the curve and giving me chills. “Until my father walked in on us.”

His face changes quickly to one much more solemn, and I gulp. “He beat the shit out of me… Almost killed me. Threw me down the stairs. I broke my collarbone and my shoulder. That’s where I got this scar.”

Blinking up at him, I touch the scar, feeling the pain through his skin, in his voice and in his heart, through my fingertips. I’m finally seeing it much clearer… why he’s been so afraid.

“He really fucked me up, Dash,” he says, settling that deep blue over me. “He made me feel like what I wanted was wrong. He convinced me I couldn’t be a man and like other men. And that’s how I ended up living my life. Until…” He stops abruptly. My head cocks to the side, silently pleading with him to finish. “Until I met you.”

My heart gallops inside me as I lean forward, pressing a kiss on his scar.

“Kemper, I’m no expert on any of this,” I shake my head. “I only recently realized I was bisexual, but as soon as I admitted it to myself, it was like a tremendous weight had been lifted off my shoulders. And it all became so clear. Uncomplicated.” I brush his hair back with my fingers. “I think I lived for a long time with blinders on about my sexuality, but I had to come to terms with it on my own time. You don’t have to tell everyone in the world, because it’s not about anyone but you. Tell yourself, and the rest will work out. I promise.”

Kemper’s eyes burn into me, and he gives me a look so profound, I don’t even know how to process it. I think he wants to say something to me, and it’s taking all the air out of the room.

“Dash… I know it might seem weird, or sudden, but I don’t want to leave you,” he mumbles, then kisses my lips, all these new feelings and revelations tuning out the bullshit of the world. Of my brain.

He makes everything so peaceful. And I love that…

I think I love him.

Our kisses grow heated and his hand finds its way to my cock, still hard and throbbing from the lack of release.

He licks down my chest and stomach, peering up at me, looking like a dream down there. “Teach me how to please you, baby. I want to learn.”

“This is so ass-backwards,” I breathe, bewildered by the way the tables have turned.

“What does that mean?” He asks me as I touch his lips.

“Never mind. Open your mouth.”

He does it. And he uses that mouth to get me off. The mouth that just confessed things to me. The mouth of a man I thought I knew, but it turns out I’m just now knowing. And it really doesn’t matter at all, because he’s here now.

Sucking my dick, practicing on me. Learning how to give blowjobs, on me. It’s fucking perfect, just like he is.

When he makes me come, he swallows it all, so spellbound in this new lust that he’s gripping my waist the whole time, jerking himself off until he comes again.

And we pass out together in my bed, in bliss and a little less confusion than the day before.

I wake up feeling something I’m not sure I’ve ever truly felt…

Happy.

I’m warm, and gloriously serene, even in my state of unconsciousness. I think I had a fantastic dream, but as I awake more, I find it’s a reality.

It takes me a moment to recall where I am until it comes back to me. I’m in Dash’s bed, where we eventually fell asleep after hours of fooling around. We passed out together first, then I woke him up. Then we passed out again, and he woke me up. It was unreal… And yet it really happened.

Things I’ve spent my entire life dreaming about… they happened with Dash last night, into this morning. With the colors of dusk peeking through the curtains, we touched so much I was sure my fingers would fall off. Kissed so much my mouth went numb.

Fucking brilliant.

And now, now, I’m just lying in a daze, eyes closed, remembering the feel of him all over me. He’s ingrained in my flesh like the ink I’ve had for so many years.

I can still feel him…

In fact, there’s some serious heat surrounding me, tingles sheeting my skin.

When my eyes peel open and I glance down, I find the source of my good feelings, beneath the sheets. A grin takes over my lips as my eyelids droop again, head falling back onto the pillow.

“Are you trying to kill me?” I lift the sheet and peek inside to locate the pink-haired culprit.

He tries to smile, even while deep-throating my cock, which is adorably sexy. When he hums on my dick, I shiver.

“Death by orgasm,” my fingers trail his jaw, watching in fascination while he sucks in such a way that has me wanting to do much more than just lie here and watch. My fingers comb through his hair and I use it to force him still, prompting a grunt from the back of his throat.

I know he likes it rough sometimes. We explored it a little last night when he told me to hold his throat while he was coming. I saw a world of dazzling pleasure in his forest eyes, and I knew in that moment I can never let this man go.

There’s no way. He’s exactly everything I’ve ever wanted in another person, and I’d sooner give up my life completely than let that get away. Fate gave me another chance at happiness, with the man I want it with.

Yanking his mouth off me by his hair, I gaze down at him while a gasp flees his moist lips. “I want to taste you, baby. While you suck my cock.”

His cheeks are flushed that sweet pale pink I love seeing so much as he bites his lip, crawling up me slowly, until his mouth hovers over mine.

“Take what you want from me,” he says in a pleading tone that makes my cock pulse.

I hold his face in my hands, kissing him gently for just a moment, before I push on his chest moving him up. I give him a look he understands without me uttering a word, spinning until his ass is laid out before me like a feast, his mouth immediately sinking back down on my dick.

Releasing a groan of pleasure, I spread him open, wasting no time circling his rim with my tongue. My breaths are harsh, unable to believe that I have this. I have something I ran time zones away from, in fear.

But you can’t escape your heart, apparently.

Leaning into Dash, I kiss and lick, worship and cherish, while he does the same to me. In a daze, I move onto his balls, sucking hard because I know he likes a little pain. And when his cock throbs on my chest, I take it in my hand, stroking a few times before aiming it into my mouth.

Dash moans around my length while I hold his hips, angling him so that I can suck him while he sucks me. It’s scorching; we’re burning up the bed, panting and sweating together in desire so strong it’s like its own power source.

We somehow end up on our sides, eating each other alive until I can feel my orgasm building, winding me up tight. Dash is practically crying on my cock, his hips pushing against my face. It sends me right over the edge into an explosive climax that has me gripping his ass so hard he’ll have fingerprint bruises.

I can’t wait to see them. The thought makes me come even harder in his mouth while he drinks me down. And then he comes for me, gracefully writhing into me while streams of cum flow into my mouth. He releases my cock from his lips to sing my name…

Kemper… Kemper Kemper, Jesus, Kellan, I’m coming so hard for you, baby…

It’s like a love song that’ll stick in my head forever.

By the time we’ve both recovered, Dash is right-side up again, his head on my chest while my heart thumps beneath his cheek and his thumps on my stomach. I take his hand in mine, playing with his fingers. I can feel his thoughts; such an overwhelming sensation, something I’ve never even thought I could experience.

His index finger runs over my wedding band, and I swallow hard.

“Where does your wife think you are?” His voice mumbles, quietly curious and so very Dash. There’s something innocently inquisitive about him that brings a closed-book like me out of his shell of loneliness.

“I don’t really know…” I answer him truthfully, and that gets him. His face pivots in my direction. “I told her I was going out for drinks with you last night. I guess she’ll think I crashed here…”

His mouth curves into a little smirk. “Even though your condo is less than a ten-minute walk from here.”

I can’t help but smile. Because it just looks so damn good on him. “Doesn’t make much sense, I suppose.”

“No. It doesn’t.” He stretches his arms out before folding his hands on my chest and resting his chin on them to stare at me. “What are you going to tell her?”

A sigh puffs from between my lips, and I rub my eyes. “I have to tell her the truth, Dash. But it’s hard… We’ve been married for five years. She’s been… expecting things of me that I know I can’t give her.”

“Like babies,” he mutters, his jaw tightening visibly. I don’t want to upset him, but it’s the truth.

Nikki is twenty-eight. She’s still young, but she wants kids. I already know she does, and I can’t put it off any longer. I have to be honest with her, so she’s not wasting her time. But I have no idea how to even go about starting this conversation.

I nod, remorsefully, and Dash’s eyes fall to the scar on my collarbone. “Well, great timing, I guess. Since you’re leaving in a day.”

The sadness around his eyes aches in my chest, and I take his chin between my fingers, forcing him to look at me. “I told you, I don’t want to leave you, Dascha.”

“But you will,” he blinks. “Everyone leaves.”

His tone is making me feel sick. I can’t leave him… I can’t lose him again.

The first time was a fluke. I was scared, and I ran, like cowards do. But I got another chance, and I won’t blow it again.

“Let me figure it out, baby,” I tell him with sincerity. He doesn’t look placated, though. “Will you just give me a chance?” He gazes at me in silence for a moment before nodding, hesitantly. “Will you give me a taste?” My eyes set on his mouth, lusting after those luscious lips like they’re my most favorite snack.

He licks them slowly, for my benefit I’m sure, then leans in and kisses me, sweet and warm and harboring all the potential we have between us. There’s so much we could be, but I need to grow a pair.

It’s time to sack up and do what I want. Stop letting the past impede my future.

We finally peel off each other and take a shower which leads to even more touching, and kissing, then Dash pressed up against the wall while I fuck him hard, with my hand over his mouth.

Each time I come with him now, it gets easier and easier for me to envision a life like this. A life of not giving a fuck what other people think… About my sexuality and my relationship, but also about my partner. Well… potential partner. Let’s not jump the gun just yet.

But the fact is that I’ll have to tell Dash who I am… and where I know him from. And knowing Dash, it might startle him a bit. But I need him to know that I would never care about his crimes. I don’t care what he did… Because no one is innocent, and I think I’m falling in love with him, which is more than enough reason for me to accept him, flaws and all.

I know Dascha isn’t perfect, and not only because of the things he’s done. He’s different. I’m not sure exactly what goes on in that beautifully marred head of his, but I don’t care. Not even one bit.

He’s helped me more in a couple days than I can even tally up. And I know it’s not a contest, but being there for him, for whatever he may need, is the least I can do.

When we get out of the shower, I decide against checking my phone. Mainly since I’m afraid Nikki’s been trying to reach me, but also a part of me dreads that she might not have. Our relationship has worn thin over the years, and this trip was a kind of last-ditched effort to figure our shit out, which we definitely haven’t done here in Tulum.

I don’t really know what to say, but I decide to leave my phone alone for a bit and enjoy just a little more time with Dash. I’ll go back to Nikki for dinner and get everything squared. But right now, there’s a sexy Russian dude wandering around in boxers in front of me and it’s distracting my mind from thinking straight. Literally.

Dash catches me gawking at him and grins. “I’d offer you some clothes, but I doubt we’re the same size. You know, since you’re a giant.”

I laugh out loud and grab him by the waist. “What are you talking about? You’re cut. I bet you weigh almost two-hundred pounds.”

“Yea, sure,” he huffs, pushing his ass against my crotch. “More like one-eighty. And what are you? Two-fifty?”

I kiss the back of his neck. “That’s excessive. Try two-twenty.”

“Jesus Christ,” he chuckles, then spins in my arms. “I was close.”

“Mmm… not really.”

He squeezes my bicep. “I can’t even wrap my hand around this!”

I laugh, going on with more neck kisses, hoping to distract him. “Does that turn you on?”

“Pretty much,” he grins, running his hands down my chest.

Eyes locked on his pretty face of perfectly symmetrical lines, I cock my head and ask, “What made you come to Tulum?”

His face flashes serious before he mumbles, “I’ve always dreamt of coming here. My Dad used to talk about Mexico. Before he left…” He pauses and his gaze falls to his hands. “Anyway, this place seemed like the best part. All the way at the end.” He shrugs. “I’ve had the brochure for this resort since I was sixteen.”

My brow raises at him. “Really? I didn’t know this place was that old.”

His eyes lift back to mine and he squints at me, amusement tracing his mouth. “I’m only twenty-five. So… yes. It’s been around for over nine years.”

A laugh bubbles from my throat. I know this comment will piss him off, but I have to do it. He’s so fun to play with. “Oh, sorry. You seem, like, way older than twenty-five.”

“Oh yea?” He seethes, and I nod. “Is that so? Well, then you must be what? Fifty? I mean, you’re going for the Daddy vibe, aren’t you?”

The smile falls from my lips, and I trap him against the wall. “Watch that fucking mouth, Dascha.” He cackles out loud and I’m not amused. Such a troublemaker. “I have half a mind to push you onto your knees right now and make you suck an apology for that.”

His eyes sparkle as he bites his lip, blushing visibly. “Don’t threaten me with a good time, Off—” He stops himself halfway through the word, again, and now I need to know.

“That’s the second time you’ve almost called me something else,” I growl, hands drifting down to cup his ass possessively, holding him close. “Please tell me it’s not an ex’s name…”

His eyes are wide, uncertainty dancing in them as he gapes at me. “No. It’s not an ex. It’s just…” He stops and takes in a breath. I’m not finding this funny anymore. I’m seriously worried about what he might say. “Remember when I said you reminded me of someone?” I nod slowly as he lifts his wrists, “Well, he was um… an officer. And, I guess it’s a long story, or something, but… I keep almost calling you Officer, because… yea.”

I let out a breath, practically trembling while I take his wrists in my hands and observe the words tattooed on them. My on the left, and Officer on the right. It’s really fucking me up.

There are so many questions I want to ask him, and so many things I want to tell him. Like the fact that I’m an officer. I graduated from the Police Academy in Kansas City, and moved to New York wanting to be a cop in the city, only to blow my reputation and any opportunities I would’ve had partying like a worthless junkie.

If it weren’t for Manuel Blanco, I would’ve pissed away any chances of working in an official capacity again. But the Warden made me a deal, and I took it. I worked at Alabaster for a while, but once I met Nikki and got married, it started to get a bit… exhausting. The whole thing was more than I could handle, and when the hot bank robber from Brooklyn I’d been secretly obsessing over was brought in, I had no choice but to run away. It’s what I’m good at, after all.

But not this time. This time I refuse to let the things that overwhelm me drive me away from what’s standing right in front of me. Staring up at me with eyes the color of the palm trees outside.

I don’t know which Officer prompted him to get these tattoos, but in my obsessive heart, which is already falling so hard for this guy I really don’t know all that well, I want to believe it’s me.

Not Velle, or Rook, or Peters… Me.

I’m his Officer…

Bringing his wrist to my lips, I place a kiss on the word, then do the same to the other, watching him while he gawks at me like he’s unsure of what’s happening.

“Can I be yours?” I whisper.

He takes my jaw in his hands and brings my lips to his, kissing me desperately for a moment, before murmuring, “You have no idea what you’re saying. You shouldn’t want me…”

“But I do,” my fingers slink up into his hair, sucking his lower lip like candy. “You can’t make me stop.”

“I’m not good, Kemper,” he protests, though the kisses don’t slow. Neither do the little breaths he pants, or the drags of his teeth over my lip, or the traces of his fingers along the curves of my muscles. “I’m very fucking bad, actually.”

“Mmm…” My mouth leaves his to nibble his jaw, then his neck, then his earlobe. “Maybe I need to punish you.”

He shivers but shakes his head. “I’m being serious. I’m fucked up. You should be running in the opposite direction.”

Been there, done that, baby. Never again.

“Dascha, I don’t care what you’ve done. You’re teaching me that what other people think shouldn’t matter, remember?”

“Even when it’s like… something bad?”

I leave his neck, decorated in purple love bites from last night, and put my face before his again so I can look into his beautiful, worried eyes. “My feelings for you are too strong to care about your past.”

He lets out a tired huff, dropping his head onto my shoulder. And I hold him close to me, rocking him a bit, feeling purely awful that he’s upset. I wish there was something I could do to help him. And I think the only viable option would be to tell him the truth…

To tell him that I know what he’s done. And as much as I know he’ll be hurt that I lied, or hid this from him, I have to hope it’ll help him understand that I don’t care about any of it. I don’t care what he did before, and I don’t care if society thinks he’s evil.

He’s not. He’s precious.

“Do you wanna get dinner, baby?” I ask him with my fingers combing up the shaved sides of his head, into his mussed-up silky pale pink hair.

He lifts his face, showing some excitement that makes my heart go thump. “We should go for ice cream.”

I can’t help the grin that twists my mouth. “Ice cream? That’s what you want for dinner?”

He nods with zeal. “There’s a truck I’ve been dying to try. I want to see if it’s even remotely close to Mr. Softee.”

Mr. Softee?? The ice cream guy who drives around the city?

Just when I thought the kid couldn’t get any more interesting, he reveals a strange obsession with certain dairy-based treats. I’m at a loss.

But I have no problems with ice cream. I like it, though I don’t indulge often, and when I do, I get plain vanilla and Nikki makes fun of me for being boring. Still, my Dash wants ice cream, so ice cream he’ll get.

“Let’s go get some ice cream then,” I rumble, and he’s visibly excited, practically bouncing around in my arms. My eyes drop to his smooth skin, scattered in the occasional ink, and purple marks from my mouth, and teeth. “Put some clothes on, baby, before we end up camped out in that bed for even more hours.”

“Oh, you mean I can’t go outside like this?” He smirks, leaning against the wall I’ve had him pressed up on this entire time.

“Not unless you want to see me go on a killing spree,” I growl, and he licks his lip.

“That could be entertaining.” His arms fold over his chest.

Shaking my head, a chuckle bursts from my throat and I grab him by the waist, pushing him toward his clothes. I have to give him a nice slap on the ass for good measure, to which he glares at me, trying to act pissed off. But the flush creeping up his neck betrays him.

He likes it.

And I like it even more.

It takes Dash all of five seconds to throw some clothes on, and then we’re out the door, walking to the stretch of beach where the food trucks park. I brought my phone with me, but it’s dead, which is probably for the best. I don’t want to spend my time with Dash obsessing over how many times Nikki may or may not have called me.

Of course it’s in the back of my mind the whole time, knowing I’ll have to go back to our place eventually and explain myself. Especially since we’re supposed to be leaving the day after tomorrow, and the thought of doing so makes me sick to my stomach.

But I push it away for now and focus on Dash. Apparently, the Mexican ice cream truck doesn’t offer his favorite Mr. Softee specialty, the cherry dip, which is a shame because even I like that thing, though I used to get it at Dairy Queen in KC.

I’m not at all surprised when Dash chooses cotton candy ice cream, since you know, he’s a Russian bank robber with pink hair. I opt for the same thing and then grumble to him about how sweet it is. But his little chuckles are well worth the potential diabetes in a cup.

We eat our ice cream walking along the beach, just talking, enjoying one another’s company. And it may not seem like anything groundbreaking to some, but to me it’s sublime. This man is smashing down all my barriers, and I’m so grateful I want to fall to my knees and worship at his feet.

The sun sets while we walk back, past the swirls of color on the horizon, like a painted masterpiece hanging as a backdrop to the picture of this perfect evening. Dash has been pulling me out of my comfort zone more and more each time we’re together, and I have to hope I’m making it up to him in some way.

I’ll do better for him… I promise.

After all this, my unease is excessive as I sigh, “I should head back to the condo. Explain everything to Nikki…”

Dash is quiet at my side, and his fingers abruptly stop brushing mine while we walk, which he’d been doing basically the whole time. I think that means he’s unsettled, and I don’t want him to be. But I also don’t want my wife to worry just because I seem to have found my way out of the closet, so to speak.

I can’t be selfish here. As much as I’ve been fucked up all my life over this shit, it’s not Nikki’s fault. She’s a wonderful woman, and she doesn’t deserve a husband who lies and fucks around on her.

My stomach is twisting up into tighter and tighter knots with every inch we grow closer to my place. I can see it, three houses up on the left, and I make a snap decision to grab Dash’s hand.

I yank him around a corner and before I can grin at how adorable his startled face is, I’m pressing him up against the side of a house. We’re shadowed a bit, but still pretty much out in the open. Anyone walking by could see us. But I can’t find it in myself to care right now.

I just need this… I need him.

“What are you…” His voice trails into a gasp when I trap him between the wall and my hips, gripping the nape of his neck in my hand while my lips fall to his.

My kiss is eager, but gradual, powerful yet savoring; seductively, my lips dance with his, a give and take that sheets me with chills. We kiss like we were made to do it, sucking and biting, our tongues coming together in perfect harmony; a symphony of sounds in the key of breaths bated.

“Dascha…” I purr, dizzy with his cotton candy in my mouth.

“Kellan.” His voice is like an orgasm, I swear. I’ll never get enough of hearing him say my name.

“You can call me it, if you want…” I mumble, barely even aware of what I’m saying.

“Call you what?” His hands go for my ass, feeling me up while we grind into one another.

A few people walk by, and I think they saw us because I hear snickers. But for the first time in my life, I don’t care. I don’t give a flying fuck about anyone or anything happening outside of this gorgeous man and his perfect, broken parts.

Hesitantly, I whisper, “Officer. You can call me… Officer.”

Dash freezes, lips quivering beneath mine, and I’m not sure if I fucked up by saying it. He doesn’t understand the whole situation yet…

But before I can start back-tracking, he kisses me again, forcefully sucking my lips. My cock is throbbing already, and I rub it against his, awaiting that word from his sinful mouth.

Instead, I hear a familiar female voice gasp, “Oh my God.”

Pulling away from Dash, I twist my face just in time to catch the look of shock on Nikki’s face before she turns, muttering, “I’m sorry…” as she stumbles off toward our place.

“Fuck.” Out of breath, I back up a bit with my heart lodged in my throat.

I glance at Dash and he runs his hand through his hair, sighing, “Go.”

I shoot him a look of sincere appreciation I really hope he gets before turning and jogging after my wife. My hands are shaking as I approach the door she just slammed, not quite in my face, but still. And all things considered, I’m not as terrified as I thought I’d be if something like this ever happened.

I’ve spent years being scrupulous with hiding who I really am from everyone, my wife mostly. Yet all it took for me to full-on make out with a guy in public was the right guy, apparently. It’s bizarre, but I can’t even say I’m surprised. Dash is just that special.

Breathing in deep, I let it out as I open the door, wandering inside our place, preparing to be hit by flying dishes or worse. Nikki’s never been that kind of girl, but she did just witness her husband sucking face with another guy, so… who knows.

I don’t see her in the living room, so I wander slowly, and cautiously, toward the bedroom. And sure enough, she’s sitting on the bed, with her face buried in her hands. Swallowing a lump in my throat, I step over, feeling like the biggest pile of scum on earth for making her cry.

“Nik… I’m so sorry,” I take a seat next to her on the bed. “Please, just let me explain.”

Her shoulders move up and down a bit, the sight of which stabs me in the gut.

“Babe, please don’t cry,” I rub her back, and she actually lets me. “I didn’t mean to hurt you… Please don’t hate me.”

But when she moves her hands away from her face, her cheeks are flushed and she’s smiling. My forehead creases as I stare at her in pure perplexity. She turns to face me fully, grabbing my hands in hers.

“Kellan, I don’t hate you,” she huffs, her face illuminated with something I’ve never seen before. “It was a shock to see, sure, but babe…” She places her hand on my face. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but… I’m so happy.”

Huh?

I must be wearing confusion on my face like clown makeup, because she giggles and runs her thumb along my lower lip. “Kel… You’re gay. I mean, I really wanted to wait for you to tell me, but you’re just so damn stubborn. I sorta figure it out a while ago…”

I’m speechless. I physically have no vocal cords available to produce words.

Blinking at my wife a few times, I finally croak, “How do you know when I didn’t even know?”

She rolls her eyes. “Come on, Kel. You knew… you were just afraid. And it’s fine. I just… I don’t know, I didn’t want to push you.”

My head is spinning. I don’t know what to think. My wife of five years is telling me she’s known this whole time that I’m gay?? I’m baffled by this.

“Nikki, we’ve been together for six years,” I shake my head in disbelief. “You want a family… I mean, I’ve been wasting your time.” I drop my face into my hands. “Jesus Christ, I’m so sorry.”

Now she’s rubbing my back, in a turn of events that feels nice, despite how goddamn fucking confused I am. The past couple days have uprooted my entire life. And sure, it’s probably for the better, but still… It’s a lot to take in.

Nikki breathes out slowly. “Okay, so… don’t be mad. But I need to tell you something.” My face springs out of my palms and I gape at her, working to mentally prepare for whatever she’s about to say. “I’ve been seeing someone.”

“What?!” I bark, and she jumps. “Who?”

She gives me a purely guilty expression. “Justin, from work.”

“You’ve been sleeping with that guy?? Behind my back?” Jealous rage wants to take over, but then I remember how I spent the last twenty-four hours. And even before that…

How long I’ve been thinking about Dash; fantasizing about him. About guys, in general…

“Kel,” she brings my attention back to her. “I’m pregnant.”

My chest seizes, and I slap my hand over it. “Jesus fuck… I think I’m having a heart attack.”

Nikki lets out a small chuckle, and I suppose have no choice but to give up my anger. I can’t be mad at her. I have no right. Sure, she cheated on me, but I’ve been lying to her since day one.

We’re just so fucked up… I never should’ve gotten married to begin with, but I guess it was a mistake I needed to make.

It sucks, but… I can’t take it back.

“I’m sorry, Kel,” she whispers. “I should’ve said something. I should’ve tried to help you…”

“No, Nik, it’s not your responsibility,” I squeeze her hand. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have dragged you into my bullshit. I’m sorry it took me so long to figure this shit out.”

She nods, then rests her head on my shoulder. And we sit quietly together for a while, just thinking. Two separate humans who have spent time alone, together. I can’t say I regret marrying this woman, though. She’s a wonderful person.

I reach out and touch her belly. “How far along are you?”

“Fifteen weeks,” she says, and I can hear the excitement in her voice. I’ve gotta say, it makes me feel less guilty.

“And you’re sure it’s not…”

“Yours?” She lifts her face. “Do you even need to ask?”

I huff and shake my head. “You have a point.” We barely ever have sex, and I’ve always used condoms religiously, for this exact reason.

“It happened while you were still at Alabaster,” she mumbles. Now it all makes sense.

That was why she stopped giving me grief about the job and being away from her three to four days a week. There was only one other officer from Alabaster Pen who was married. It’s not a job you take if you have a family. I suppose subconsciously that spoke for itself.

This whole thing is such a trip, but honestly, it’s also a massive weight off my shoulders.

“I’m happy for you, Nik,” I kiss her hair. “Congratulations.”

“You, too,” she chirps, and I chuckle. “You guys look really cute together, Kel.” She’s talking about me and Dash, and it makes my stomach flip. “Do you like him?”

My chest grows tighter. I love him.

“I really do,” I whisper, and she squeals, wiggling my hand around. I have to laugh.

This girl is something else. She’s my best friend.

“We made a lot of mistakes, huh?” I breathe, and she nods.

“Yea, but it’s never too late to fix it,” she straightens up beside me. “Kellan, I want you to stop wasting your time, okay?” My head bobs in acknowledgement. “Go be with Dash. You deserve to be happy.”

This entire conversation feels like a strange dream. I’m barely even certain it’s really happening, but either way, I take Nikki’s face in my hands and kiss her lips quickly.

“Thank you. For being the best wife a closeted gay guy could ask for.” I grin at her and she laughs, smacking me on the arm.

Now that I know Nikki’s pregnant, I really don’t want to leave her alone. But she assures me she’s fine and insists that I spend the night with Dash again. I begrudgingly agree to leave her, but I charge my phone and tell her I’ll leave it on this time, if she needs me for anything.

Then I pack a change of clothes in my gym bag, give my soon-to-be ex-wife a kiss, on the forehead and the belly, and I’m off, practically sprinting back to Dash’s.

My mind is running a mile a minute, and I can’t wait to tell him what happened. I’m sure he’s freaking out a bit, thinking that I’m dealing with something much more complicated. I’ll admit, I’m pretty thrown off by this myself.

I expected coming out to my wife and talking about divorce to be painful. That was barely even unpleasant.

When I get to Dash’s place, I hear him talking, or rather shouting, through the door. It immediately puts me on high alert, and I knock rapidly, ready to kick it down and save him from a potential intruder.

But then he answers it, out of breath and peering through the crack at me for a moment, before opening it all the way.

“Are you alright?” I storm inside, looking around. There’s no sign of anyone else.

“Yea. Fine,” he pushes his hair back with his fingers, seeming a bit fidgety. “How about you? Did she freak?”

I stare at him for a moment, and something inside me snaps. I’m utterly overcome with need for this kid, and all his issues. After everything that just happened with my wife, I’m seeing things so much clearer.

Stepping forward, dropping my bag on the floor and kicking the door shut behind me, I back Dash into a wall, taking hold of his jaw in my hand and angling his face up to mine. I press my lips to his, immediately sucking his bottom lip into my mouth and nibbling it a little. He whines and mollifies, leaning into me while his tongue meets mine and we go right back to the passion we were exploring outside. He still tastes like cotton candy, and I want to spend all night sampling his perfect flavor.

“Dash…” I whisper, resting my forehead on his while I work up to saying two words I’ve never uttered out loud. “I’m gay.”

Dash smiles, potent and palpable like a ray of sunshine, as his hands glide up my hips, inside my shirt. “Are you sure? That doesn’t sound right.”

A growl escapes me, and I wedge my face in the crook of his neck, biting him until he flinches. “You better be careful with the sass, baby, or I’ll fuck it right out of you.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time, Kemper,” his fingers trace the lines of my abs, slinking along the waistband of my boxers beneath my jeans. “So… gay, you say?”

I laugh softly and hum over his throat. “Mhm. Super gay.”

I expect him to keep teasing me, but instead he wraps his arms around my waist, tight, squeezing the air out of me.

“I’m so happy for you, baby,” he whispers in my ear, and I know it seems juvenile, or corny, but pressure builds behind my eyes.

It’s amazing that I’m thousands and thousands of miles away from where I grew up, and where I live, and yet right here in this moment, I feel like I’m home.

And in the interest of being where I’m supposed to be…

“I’m staying in Tulum,” I mumble to him and he pulls back a bit to give me a puzzled look. “With you. I want to stay here with you, Dash. If that’s okay…”

His face lights up, but he covers up his bright smile by pursing his lips. “I’ll have to think about it. You’re kinda bossy…”

I’m sure he can see in my eyes all the ways I’m thinking of punishing him for that smart mouth. And much to my wicked appetite, he looks ready for it.

“Fuck…”

I growl, dropping my forehead to his chest. “That’s it, baby. Take this cock.”

“God, Kemper, your dick is so big,” Dash gasps as I suck his nipple between my lips. “I love how you fuck me…”

“I love you riding my cock, Dascha.” I tilt my face to watch as he moves, sitting astride my lap with my dick reaching deep in his ass.

“Am I doing good for you?” His head falls while I grip his wrists behind his back, holding them tight and keeping him in place while he swivels his hips to work my cock inside him. It’s more than good…

I’m about to erupt.

“Baby, you’re a revelation,” I tell him, watching his sculpted body of curves and lines, muscle definition in such a proportioned display. I physically can’t take my eyes off. “You like riding my dick?”

He whimpers out a hoarse sound, biting his lip while his eyes peel open to connect with mine. “I love it. I love you deep inside me…”

My stomach flops at the first three words of that sentence.

I love you…

Gulping away the crazy, I pull him down harder on me and he whines. Then I lick a line up his neck, tasting the sweetness of his skin and the saltiness of his sweat. God, he’s hot. I’m dying to come inside him, but I want to watch his dick come all over us first.

“Yea?” I croon, biting him once more, hard, until he gasps and his cock flinches visibly. “Deep in your tight ass…”

“So deep,” he purrs, bouncing on me, his cock heavy, skin stretched, veins pushing while it bobs up and down, smacking me in the chest.

It’s goddamn irresistible. The tip is shiny with precum, which usually happens when I hit his prostate. It drives me to thrust up when he moves down until we’re working an immaculate rhythm.

“You’re so tight, Dash…” I mumble on his skin, losing myself in the sensation. “Tight, sweet, warm little pussy riding my cock.”

He lets out a strangled groan, and out of nowhere, slouches forward to bite my shoulder. “Jesus Christ, I’m coming… Fuck…”

He keeps grinding, all my inches inside him while his dick throbs out cum all over my chest and abs. Without even thinking, I let go of his hands with one of mine and it flies to his throat. I squeeze his pulse as he cries, breathless, through his orgasm, our fingers lacing on his other hand, behind his back.

Humming by my ear, he whispers my name, rasped and out of breath, the sound of which, mixed with my dick buried deep in him, sets me off. And I come, shooting my load in his ass while I hold him tight.

Together we sound like there isn’t enough air in the room. Dash is lying propped against my chest for so long, I think maybe he’s fallen asleep. But then he lifts his head and gazes down at me, eyes twinkling, face a rosy blush that reminds me of how perfect his milky complexion is.

I reach up to brush his hair with my fingers, and he kisses my wrist. Such a slight gesture, but from him, it feels weighted with that of the world.

He’s making me fall so deep in love with him… It’s scary.

Before I can blurt out something heavy, Dash mutters, “Getting up,” and pulls himself off me, hobbling the few steps to the en suite in my condo.

Nikki left yesterday. She flew back to New York to be with Justin. Apparently, he was all too eager to pack up her things from our house and move them into his place. I don’t blame him… The mother of his child has been living with someone else and now he finally gets to be with her. It’s exciting, for both of them.

Nikki and I parted on great terms. We agreed to file for divorce, and I even mentioned having her sell the house, since I’m staying in Tulum for the foreseeable future. Because she’s a great friend who cares about me, she urged me not to rush into anything, and to think it over before making any decisions.

I know she’s right. I should give it a little more time with Dash before jumping in with both feet. But I’m just so excited to be with him here, it’s hard to see around these rose-colored glasses.

Getting up in a daze, I wander to the en suite, where Dash is hopping into the shower. He seems a bit detached, which makes me slightly nervous. Usually after we come, we can’t stop touching, but this time he kind of just got up and meandered away.

I don’t want to smother him. He’s allowed alone time, obviously, but I’m just worried. Especially after what I heard the other day… Him yelling at no one.

It’s not the first time I’ve picked up on Dash’s occasional bizarre behaviors. He gets fidgety sometimes, and I’ve seen him do this thing where he blinks his eyes hard and shakes his head, like he’s trying to rattle something away.

My first thought was maybe some form of PTSD, from the day he was arrested, or from Alabaster. It very well could be, but that explanation doesn’t feel like enough. Leaning up against the door in the bathroom, I watch him through the glass shower stall. He doesn’t even seem to notice me, which is strange. He’s just standing there beneath running water, letting it collect in his cupped hands, staring blankly at it.

He stays stock still for more than a minute before I decide to speak up. “Dascha?” He doesn’t respond to my voice at all, frozen where he stands. “Dascha? Baby… are you alright?” Still nothing. Unease is climbing up my spine as I bark, “Dash!”

That snaps him out of it. He flinches and turns his face to meet my eyes. “Hm?”

My brows zip together in confusion while I step up to the shower. “Are you okay?”

“Yea. I’m fine,” he nods, his tone dripping casual nonchalance.

I’m not sure what to say, so I just get into the shower with him, circling his waist with my arms to hold him from behind. He rests his head on me, breathing easy while the water soaks us in silence. We stand like this for a while, until finally I peel off him and go for the soap, washing him first, then myself.

We don’t speak the entire time, just holding our gaze while I touch him all over, and he lets me, appearing profoundly invested in the way my hands look glazing over his creamy flesh; the way the water washes the soap from my ink.

We’re all eyes and hands and breath in this moment, and it’s all too hypnotizing. I soon forget my worries from before and I just take care of him, because I think that’s what he needs, regardless of what’s going on in his head.

Eventually we get out of the shower and dry off, going back to the bedroom. Dash yawns, crawling into the bed completely naked, pulling the covers up to his chin. I can help but grin watching him, and how damn perfect he is. It’s amazing that something with so many problems can be so exquisite.

Getting into the bed with him, I pull his naked body into mine and he sighs, a discernible air of exhaustion about him.

I kiss his head and ask, “You want me to put a movie on or something?”

“I’ll probably fall asleep in two seconds,” he grins, eyelids already drooping where his head rests against my shoulder. “But sure.”

A smile lingers on my lips while I pick up the remote, turning the TV on and scrolling through the channels for something interesting, holding Dash close. Sure enough, not two minutes later I feel his calming little breaths, indicating that he’s asleep before I even settle on what to watch.

I’d love to crash with him right now, but my mind is running wild. I probably won’t be able to sleep for a bit, hence the desire to watch a movie and zone out. After all the whacky shit that’s happened in the last few days, I’m not sure I can just shut my brain off.

My mindless scrolling comes to a halt when I land on Django Unchained. Classic Tarantino, and Jamie Foxx is on point. I fucking love this movie.

It’s only about twenty minutes in, which is fine since I’ve seen it a million times before. And honestly, I could start this movie from anywhere and still be fully invested.

About an hour passes and I’m still watching, no light in the room other than the glow from the TV, volume turned almost all the way down, so as not to disturb my sleeping prince. Dash is out cold, drooling a little on my chest, but I’m fine with it. I mean, he comes on me, so what’s a little spit, right?

Just as we’re getting to the part when Christoph Waltz kills the shit out of Leo DiCaprio’s racist dickhead character, Dash starts shifting, and mumbling, his lips moving on my skin.

Glancing down at him, I assume he’s having some sort of dream, eyelids fluttering about. But then his forehead lines in duress and he smashes his face harder into me, muttering no no no repeatedly.

It’s clearly a nightmare, and I feel awful, bringing my fingers to his hair, stroking softly in hopes it’ll calm him. No such luck.

Abruptly, he begins thrashing around like crazy, arms flailing, legs kicking. He nails me in the shin, and I grunt, trying to back up a bit, eyes wide as I watch him in the throes of whatever horrible shit is happening in his mind.

“No!” He shouts, fisting the sheets while he moves around, a seriously pained look on his pretty face.

I hate this. And I mean hate… Seeing him hurt is more than I can bear. I grab him and hold him still, just trying to make sure he doesn’t somehow hurt himself.

“Dascha,” I pin him down while he struggles beneath my weight. “Baby, it’s me. It’s Kemper. Please wake up, love. You’re alright.”

“Don’t do this… please!” He cries, eyes slammed shut, muscles tensing visibly all over his body.

“Dascha, baby…” I hold him harder. “Calm down. I have you. Everything is alright.”

“Don’t forget me,” he whimpers and my heart cracks in half. “Please… don’t forget. Don’t… forget… me…”

I know it’s not safe to get close to him when he’s panicking like this. He could headbutt me. But I don’t care. I lean in and kiss his lips, gently. They’re somehow even softer when he’s sad. I can taste his pain, and I just want to drink it all up to make him better.

“Kemper… Please,” Dash gasps, his eyes sliding open while he wheezes. “Kemper, don’t forget me.”

“I’ll never forget you, baby,” I tell him while his eyes dart all over the room in confusion, as if he has no idea where he is. “I’m right here.” I take one of his hands and place it up to my chest, covering my heart with his palm. “I’m here, Dascha.”

“You’re Kemper,” he mumbles, a tear sliding from the corner of his eye as he stares up at me, panicked uncertainty mixing into the hazel. “It’s you. My Officer…” He sniffles, and my chest feels like it’s an open wound, gaping and exposed.

I’m hurting him. I’m breaking him… by not telling him what he needs to know.

I don’t know if I am, in fact, his Officer. But he seems to think I am. And I need to tell him the truth…

“Dascha, talk to me, baby,” I whisper, brushing his tears away with my thumb. “I’m here.”

He squirms beneath me, and I scoot off, lying by his side. He turns to face me and breathes, in and out a few times, in a clear attempt to calm himself down.

“Kemp, I’m…” he starts then stops to swallow. “I’m fucked up. I’m so fucking broken…”

My eyes squeeze shut for a moment, reopening to gaze at him while I reach for his face. “Baby, you are not broken.”

“Yes, I am,” he says firmly. “Kemper, I wasn’t lying about robbing banks. That’s why I’m here in Mexico. I was a bank robber in Brooklyn, and I got arrested. I… killed someone.” He blinks hard, doing that little head-shake thing. “Two people. Um… At the bank. I killed the guy who ratted on me, and then I killed an innocent girl. I didn’t remember doing it, but… she was the Governor’s niece. So he had me sent to this awful prison, called Alabaster Penitentiary.”

Guilt traps my gut hearing him tell me all these things I already know. There’s so much pain in his tone, and on his face. I don’t even know what to do. I just keep staring at him in silence as he goes on.

“The public doesn’t know about it. It’s on an island off the coast of New York. And they send people there when they want the world to think they’re dead. Seriously, the papers say I died at the bank that day, but I didn’t. I was in Alabaster Pen, and well, I… I don’t know, I met someone. I thought…” Dash pauses, staring at me, distraught. “I don’t know what I thought, but I managed to escape. I escaped Alabaster Pen, with the help of another inmate. And then I came here.”

He breathes out hard and covers his face with his hands, muttering from behind them, “I’m a killer, Kemper. You shouldn’t want me. You shouldn’t… There’s something wrong with me.”

I can’t take this anymore. My heart feels like shards of broken glass in my chest as I reach out and grab his hands, tugging them away from his face.

“There is nothing wrong with you, Dascha Reznikov,” I lock my eyes on his. “You’re perfect, just the way you are.”

Dash sighs, his eyelids fluttering for a moment as he leans in closer to me. He looks like he wants me to hold him, and I’m about to when his eyes creep open and he backs up.

“How do you know my last name?” His forehead lines. “You’ve said it before… How would you know my last name? I never told you…”

“Dascha, baby,” I use the most soothing tone I can, “Listen to me. I need to explain something to you.”

His eyes are wide in potential terror as he sits up. I do so as well next to him, keeping his hands in mine, even when he feels like he might want to pull away.

“I…” I barely even know how to say the words. “I know about you, baby. I worked at Alabaster Penitentiary. I was a C.O.”

I hear the breath leave his lungs swiftly as he stares at me, pained confusion in his eyes, like I’ve just shot him.

“I worked there for a while… Almost ten years,” I mutter my confession. “I’d been fucking up my life, getting high and wasting away. And when I finally got sober, no one would give me a chance… Until Manuel Blanco. He picked me up and dusted me off and told me I could work for him, at Alabaster Pen. So… I did.”

Dash’s Adam’s apple bobs in his throat while he gapes at me in shocked silence.

“I saw you in the local newspaper one day, almost two years ago,” I continue. “There was some robbery they couldn’t stick to you. I was so fascinated by it, by you, I saved the article. I must have read it a hundred times. And your picture… you were so breathtaking. I suppose I became sort of… enamored with your story, and with you. So I began kind of… following it. Anything that had to do with you, I always read up on. It was my own little secret obsession. And then one day, they told us you were coming to Alabaster Pen. They’d just arrested you, and the Governor was in talks with the Warden. You were coming to my prison…”

I stop to release a breath, shaking my head as I glance down at our joined hands. “I’d already been thinking about quitting for a while. I couldn’t stand being a part of what goes on there. But then you came in… And you were there, in the same room as me. This guy I’d been thinking about, secretly lusting after… It was overwhelming. The Warden made me shave your head, I’m not sure if you remember… and I just couldn’t take it. My attraction to you was so strong, I didn’t know what to do with myself. So I left the room after that, marched into the Warden’s office and quit on the spot.”

Dash has never been so pale. He looks like he’s going to throw up as his voice grates, “Jesus fucking Christ…”

“I spent the last few months unemployed, looking for work,” I go on, guilt rising in my throat like bile. “I finally found some corporate security job, and Nikki and I decided to come here to celebrate. One last vacation before I started a new job, and we started… trying for a family. I was deep in my denial, and I couldn’t see my way out. I was just trying to hide, Dash. In plain sight, like camouflage. So imagine my surprise when I saw you at the bar… It was like kismet. Serendipity. We’re supposed to be together, Dascha. And I’m so sorry I didn’t realize it sooner, and that I didn’t tell you. I just…”

“Kemper,” his voice rumbles, face ashen as he interrupts my apologies. “I need to ask you something, and you need to answer truthfully, okay? I need you to understand how important the truth is here…”

I nod vehemently. “I understand. Yes, ask me anything.”

“The day that you shaved my head,” he looks like he’s shaking from the inside out. “My intake day… Was that the last time you saw me?”

The look is his eyes is so intense, so raw and saturated with emotions. I’m tempted to lie…

“Yes,” I nod sincerely, solemnly, because I think he wanted a different answer. “I wanted to see you so badly, but I couldn’t… So I left, right after that. I packed my things in the Ivory Mansion, and I never looked back.”

Dash lets out a long breath, head hanging forward in what looks like defeat.

My final confession slinks out, because he deserves to know everything. “That said, I did, um… I had Joy…”

His head snaps up, gawking at me in severity. “Had Joy what?”

“Give you things…” I swallow my guilt thickly, like something rotten I’m being force-fed. “Even though I couldn’t stay with you, I wanted you to be comfortable. So I had Joy give you… stuff. Boxers, soap, a toothbrush…”

“Fuck, Kemper…” he sighs, a pained tone to match the hurt on his face.

“I’m sorry—”

“That was it?” His voice whips at me. “You didn’t tell her to… do anything to me?”

I blink at him in confusion. “Do what? No, I wouldn’t… No. I just wanted her to give you gifts. From me… That’s all. Why, what…?” My words dissolve. Even if I could think of what to ask, something tells me I don’t want the answer.

He shakes his head and squeezes his eyes shut, yanking his hands out of mine. “I don’t fucking get it. Why… Why is this happening to me? Why am I like this, I just can’t…”

“Dash, baby, please don’t be upset…” I move closer to him, trying to hold him, but he won’t let me. He crawls away on the bed, putting distance between us.

“Don’t be upset?! You lied to me!” He hisses, resentment and misery gleaming around his eyes. “You made me feel like I’m fucking crazy. Crazier than I am, which is very fucking crazy, in case you haven’t noticed…” He yanks at his hair and mumbles something. “This is fucking bullshit. Who was it then, Kemper?! Who was it? If it wasn’t you, then who was there? Fucking no one??”

My heart is aching like it’s being hacked apart while I watch him helplessly, without the slightest clue what he needs me to do to make this better.

“Dascha, I want to help you,” I whisper, inching closer. “Let me try. Tell me what’s going on, and we can talk it through—”

“No! We can’t! Because it doesn’t make any sense!” He jumps off the bed and starts pacing around the room, whimpering to himself, shaking his head again and again.

He’s having some kind of breakdown and I loathe it. I want to help him. I need to take his pain away, but I don’t know how. I’m at a loss, and I feel like a worthless piece of shit all over again.

“You were there,” he seethes, aiming a wrathful glare at me. “You’re lying. If you could lie about meeting me once, you could lie about being with me for weeks. Admit it.” His eyes are burning a hole in my face and my lips part, but I can’t say anything. I simply shrug, and he barks, “Admit it! You fucked me… You tased me, you… you…” He lets out a devastated sound, his brows stitching together. “You did all kinds of things to me, Kemper, but I fell in love with you, anyway. Just admit it. Admit it was you, please!”

He’s full blown crying now, and I can’t help but let my own tears fall, too. I want so badly to tell him what he wants to hear, but I can’t. He asked me not to lie, and I don’t want to lie to him. Even if it would take away this pain that’s ripping him in two.

“Dascha… please, baby,” I sob, going after him.

But he runs. He fucking runs, away from me. Just like I ran away from him, when I should’ve fucking stayed.

I deserve this.

“Get the fuck away from me!” He roars, grabbing his clothes on the floor and jumping into them. “You’re not real… None of this is. She fucked me up, and that’s why he left. And you left, too. You’re not here…” Tears are pouring from his eyes, he’s shaking and sputtering so hard I’m worried. I think he’s going to pass out.

“Dascha, please come back,” I reach for him again, chasing him around the room. “You need to sit down and relax. I need you to relax for me, baby…”

“Don’t call me that!” He gasps, out of breath, his chest heaving as he darts to the living room and I follow him. “You’re not real, and you can’t make me better. I should’ve killed myself that day not her…”

I don’t know what he’s talking about, my head cloudy and my chest tight, confusion and misery rippling adrenaline through my limbs as I watch him go for the front door.

“Dash, come back,” I shout after him as he whips the door open. “You can’t leave. You need to sit down for a minute. Please.”

“Fuck all of you,” he mumbles and leaves, slamming the door in my face.

I blink at it in shock, opening the door again and peering outside to see which direction he’s going. He’s already gone, which is alarming. I think he must have wandered in between the houses, rather than using the main walkway.

Growling out of frustration, I stalk back to the bedroom to throw some clothes and shoes on. This is a fucking disaster.

The man I love is out there, alone, experiencing something I still don’t fully understand. I need to go get him before he hurts himself. Especially after what he said before he left…

I should’ve killed myself that day, not her…

I’m not sure if he’s talking about Karly Clayton, the Governor’s niece, or someone else. But either way, I don’t like that he’s thinking about harming himself. I need to get to him, and fast.

Leaving the condo, I wander the resort, looking for any sign of my man. I need to help him.

I need to protect him.

I don’t care how broken he is, and I don’t care what he’s done. To me, he’s perfect, and I’ll never make the mistake of letting him go again.

Replaying our fight gets me thinking. While I’m walking, I take out my cell phone, and pull up a Google search…

“Why would you want to go to Mexico?” I ask my father, sitting in the passenger seat of his Cadillac while we scope out our next job. We’re only on day two of observing, but I’m already anxious to get moving.

Dad let me be the getaway driver last time. He said I did a great job.

This time, if I’m good, he might let me come in with him.

“It is far away,” my father says in his usual, grumbly unaffected tone. “Far from everything. The sun always shines, and there is good food. You can hide.”

“Why would you need to hide?” I ask another question, knowing he hates when I ask too much.

Eyes open, mouth shut, syn moy. Focus.

But rather than getting angry, he answers me. “Well, if we get caught, we would need to hide from the police.”

“You said you’d never get caught,” I grin, giving him a side-look.

He scolds me with his eyes for a moment, though his mouth curves into a small smirk. “But it is not always up to us, Dascha. Someone else could fuck us over. It happens.”

“You said trust no one…” I mumble, and he sucks his teeth.

“Dascha. Enough. What have I told you?”

“Eyes open, mouth shut,” I repeat his words to me, what he’s been instilling since I was a small child.

“Exactly.” He puts down his notepad and pen and turns to face me, the familiar scent of wintergreen mints he always sucks on filling the confined space. “Dascha, you will experience much difficulty in your life. It is an unfortunate fact. It will not be your fault, but there is no helping it.”

My stomach tightens and slides up to my throat while I stare at him. “What does that mean?”

“I do not wish to worry you. But you have something in your brain, like a wound that cannot be healed. That is why I tell you how important is your focus. You must always keep your wits about you, moy dorogoy syn. And if you are ever unsure, lean on someone you trust.”

His words crawl up my spine, like a wicked chill that spreads tingles of fear inside me.

“Why can’t I just lean on you?” I ask, sounding more like a child than I want to.

He takes my chin in his fingers and squeezes it a bit, giving me a look of endearment.

But he doesn’t answer me.

The silence stretches for hours, days, weeks, then months. Until he’s gone, and I’m left alone to wonder why I have a wound in my brain, and if there’s anyone out there who could heal it.

I think I passed out on the beach.

I wake up covered in sand, chilled from the ocean breeze and stiff from lying on the ground for a while. Truth be told, I don’t exactly remember how I got here. After my fight with Kemper, I blacked out. My mind was wound up tight, and it spun me and spun me, in every direction until I lost track of where I was, and what I was doing.

This happens to me, when the voices get loud and I can’t concentrate.

That memory of my father is the last thing that sticks in my thoughts. He left us because of my mother… Because she was sick, and he couldn’t deal with it. And I always resented him for that. He should have stayed for me.

Unless he left me for the same reason.

The wound in my brain… It’s real. Just like my mother’s.

I cover my face and sigh, listening to the sounds of the ocean as it rolls in and out. When I reopen them, I look around, not recognizing the part of the beach I’m on. I must have walked further than usual. If I was on my regular beach, I’m sure Kemper would have found me.

Unless he’s not looking. Maybe he doesn’t care what happens to me, because I’m fucking crazy and it’s too much for him.

Or maybe he doesn’t exist.

I huff and roll onto my knees, covering my head with my arms. How is it possible that I met Kemper one time, for five fucking minutes, and my brain flipped that interaction into a person, manifesting him in my mind, creating weeks of interactions and elaborate lies for me to cling to like static electricity?

Tasers and cock cages, ice cream and handcuffs, blowjobs and hoodies and fucking… So much delicious fucking…

How could I make it all up based on seeing him once??

That must be one giant wound in my brain.

My mind flashes back to what Kemper confessed last night… About him seeing me in the paper. He says he thought about me… He had a crush on me? Without even knowing me…

It makes me chuckle to myself, forehead pressed on the sand. Maybe it is possible to make something up… To create a relationship of make believe, to imagine someone so much that they become real. For me I guess the urge is stronger than it is for others… Because of what’s wrong with me. Because of the wound in my brain.

Sighing, I decide to get up and go home. I can wallow in the comfort and safety of my little room. It might not be as big and fancy as Kemper’s condo, but it’s my place and I like it.

I don’t need anyone else. Dad was wrong about that.

I can’t lean on anyone, because people let you down. They betray you. They fuck you over.

They lie and they leave. People are garbage, and I’m better off alone.

Wandering the beach, trying to find my way home with no phone takes longer than I expected. The sun is just setting when I finally recognize the landmarks and see the line of food trucks up ahead. My stomach grumbles at the thought of tacos, but as I pat my pockets, I realize I must’ve left my wallet at Kemper’s.

Fuck…

I’ll have to go back to my place and grab some cash if I want to eat. I walk the long way around the beach, just in case Kemper is over there. I can’t see him right now. It’s too much.

He’s too much. He’s like everything all smooshed into one human being. It’s overwhelming.

Imagine my surprise when I get to my place and stop short, blinking at the giant lump of muscles and tattoos slumped in front of my door. Kemper is leaning against it, curled up on the ground, asleep. Cocking my head, I gaze down at him, the slightest bit of amusement tugging at my lips.

He looks so peaceful when he sleeps. Devoid of all worry, no walls up to protect him, no surly Alpha-shield to keep everyone at bay. He’s just him… Kellan Kemper. The guy who shaved my head at Alabaster Pen then took off because he didn’t know how to deal with his feelings.

And while he was running, I was settling in with an imaginary version of him.

At least he sent me a toothbrush.

I chuckle and shake my head, rubbing my eyes. We’re beyond fucked up. Detrimentally so. We’re two halves of the most messed up whole in the world.

My stomach grumbles again, reminding me of how hungry I am, and I kick Kemper’s shoe, hard enough that he startles awake, glancing around frantically before looking up at me and exhaling out loud.

“Oh, thank God you’re okay,” he picks himself up off the floor, wincing over what I’m assuming are stiff muscles as he stands before me.

He gives me a look like he wants to say so many things I can’t deal with at the moment. Unlocking my door, I brush past him inside.

“I’m starving. I just came to get money for food.”

He follows me through the door. “Dash, I know you’re upset with me, but I need you to hear me out. I didn’t mean to hurt you or hide things from you. It’s a complex situation, and I made the wrong decision. But I’m so sorry, baby. I need you to know how sorry I am—”

“Kemper, please,” I cut him off with an exasperated sigh. “I just want to eat something. Having this conversation hangry won’t go well for either of us, I assure you.”

He pauses and stares at me, the bottomless pools in his irises giving me feelings I don’t want to think about right now.

“Hangry?” He mutters, amusement tracing the lines in his face.

“Yea. I’m two seconds away from drop-kicking you,” I fold my arms over my chest. “If I get some tacos in me, I might not. Might being the keyword.”

He huffs a small laugh and steps closer to me, giving me his I want to kiss the living daylights out of you look. I back up and glance at my shoes, shaking my head. I can’t do this…

“Dascha, we need to talk about this,” he grumbles, so clearly despising not being in control, that stern, domineering tone pushing out and aching me down to my core.

He’s the same person. He’s still My Officer Kemper… He told me so.

Blinking at his face, my mouth hangs open without the slightest clue what to say or do. And because he’s my Kemper, he helps me.

“Okay, fine, baby. If I get you some tacos, can we talk after?” He takes my hand and tugs me a bit. Dazed, I nod slowly in agreement. He sighs and nods along. “Alright, then. Taco time.”

Kemper brings me to Tacos Hermanos, our place, getting us half al pastor and half carnitas again, then he set us up on our usual bench. And the whole time I just stare at him in silence, because he takes such great care of me. Whether it’s real or my imagination makes no difference. This is him…

My Officer Kemper. The guard who held me steady while he shaved my head, his finger grazing my neck to send confusing shivers through my body. His touch settled in my stomach that day and then blossomed into something I never would have known existed if it weren’t for him.

And I suppose I did the same thing to him. Despite how little we truly knew each other until we got here, we were always something.

We were nothing and somehow everything.

Eating our tacos quietly, we sit side by side, watching the ocean illuminated only by the moon; a large glowing ball of ivory hanging in the sky.

And when I’m no longer hangry, I scoot closer to Kemper and take his hand, tugging it onto my lap while I thread our fingers. I feel him staring at me, but I can’t look at his face. Not yet.

I’m still so thrown…

It gets quieter and quieter around us as businesses close and people go home. But Kemper and I stay put, just existing next to one another, feeling the weight of everything we don’t know and everything we do, like a scale constantly trying to keep balanced.

But the more I think about it, the more I realize it doesn’t need to be. Maybe some things in life are meant to forever fluctuate. Like chaos. A perfect imbalance.

And maybe even the distorted can be beautiful, when you really look at it.

At that thought, my voice scrapes, “I killed my mother.”

I feel Kemper still at my side, but he says nothing. He just sits by me and waits.

“My father left us a few months after my fifteenth birthday,” I go on, my tone quietly reminiscent. “He couldn’t handle what she was… What we both were, I think. So he left me alone with her. He left two sick people alone, because he wasn’t man enough to heal us, or even try.” My jaw clenches and I shake away the hurt. “It wasn’t long before my mother started getting… lonely, I guess. She always wanted me to come into her bed with her. Just to cuddle, she’d say. And sure, at first it was just that. But then it stopped being okay… and it started being wrong.”

My throat closes a bit, and I cough. Kemper places a large hand on my back and rubs gently, calming me like he does.

“She made me fuck her,” I growl past the vomit that wants to rise in my throat. “For almost two years. She had the same wound in her mind that I have, and she used that to manipulate me. She was sick, and she wanted me to replace him. And she told me I liked it… but I didn’t. So I stabbed her.”

This time I tilt my face in his direction, and we lock eyes. His are wide, blue like the way the ocean looks now. Waves and everything.

“I stabbed her to death, Kellan. I chopped up her body, and I burned it all. All but the bones, which are still hidden in our house.” My teeth grind together as I stare at him. “Do you understand what I’m saying? I erased her from existence. Because she wasn’t my mother, she was my monster. The people I’ve killed… it wasn’t an accident. I did it on purpose, either because of rage, or a blackout, or a sickness. Whatever it was, I’m not sure. But I did it, I know I did.”

We’re quiet for a moment, just staring at one another, neither moving, until Kemper’s thumb grazes mine. Just like it grazed my neck that day, in front of the Warden. That was real.

That really happened, and it makes me want to cry happy tears, for the mere fact that I know something really happened. The mystery is like a giant ball of stress in my gut. I want to know…

“You’re a cop, Kellan Kemper,” my head sways subtly. “You can’t let me get away with this. I’m a dangerous criminal, and you need to turn me in.”

Kemper breathes out slowly and lifts my hand, flipping it over so my wrist is faced up, the word Officer in bold black ink, staring at us.

“I’m going to say something, and I want you to know that this is real, okay?” He speaks calmly and evenly, his words coming out like a line I can see. “We’re in Tulum, Mexico on July tenth. My name is Kellan Kemper, and your name is Dascha Reznikov. Do you understand?”

Blinking at him, I nod, comforted at knowing this is real, too. He’s doing this for me… Making it real.

“Dascha… I love you,” he says, his thumb brushing the tattoo on my wrist. “I’ve never been in love before and yet I knew I loved you the second I saw you. I want to be here for you, and I don’t give a flying fuck what you’ve done. The world isn’t black and white, especially not with you. You’re a prism of color, reflecting every beautiful thing back, and I never want to let that go. Baby, I think…”

He pauses to clear his throat, “I think you may suffer from Schizophrenia. But I don’t want you to be scared, okay? Because it doesn’t matter, that’s the point. It doesn’t matter what you think is damaged in your brain, Dash, because I want to fix it. Baby, if there’s any sort of wound inside you, then I’ll be your tourniquet.” He breathes out hard and lifts my wrist to place a kiss on the ink. “Let me. Please.”

All of his words flutter through my mind in high definition. He said so much, it’s taking me a moment to process it all.

He loves me. He loved me the second he saw me…

He doesn’t care what I’ve done. He wants to be with me.

I’m… Schizophrenic.

My forehead crinkles and I gasp for air, shaking my head. No… That sounds serious.

I don’t like that. I don’t want to be that.

I start to fidget, uncomfortable with all this new information. All the words, piling up in my skull.

But Kemper takes my face in his hands, tenderly turning me back so I have to look at him. “Baby, stay with me. We’re still here, right?”

I focus on his eyes, the color I used to think was black in my imagination, before I realized it was the darkest blue ever. I nod slowly.

“I’ll bring you to a doctor, Dash,” he tells me, his tone firm yet comforting. “Is that alright? We can work through this. Together. You and me. Only if it’s alright with you…”

Pressure builds up behind my eyes, dense, with nowhere to go. He wants to be my tourniquet. He wants to make me better…

My father’s words echo… Lean on someone you trust.

I nod and lean forward, tucking my face into the crook of his neck so he doesn’t see me cry like a fucking baby. “Yes. It’s alright with me. I love you, Kellan Kemper. Please don’t… forget me.”

“I will never forget you, Dascha Reznikov,” he wraps his giant arms around me and holds me.

In public. Out in the open. He loves me. And I trust him. I trust that he’s really here… and he wants to heal my wounds.

“You’re strangling me,” I mumble into his skin and he laughs out loud.

“I’m sorry, baby.” He pulls my face back and kisses the tears off my cheeks.

Because he’s real. And he loves me.

The next day, Kemper convinces me to move into his condo.

I have to admit, I was wary at first. It felt like he was harping on it so bad because he was afraid of me being alone. To which I reminded him I’ve been on my own since I was seventeen, and I did just fine for myself, murders and getting sent to prison aside, of course.

But he’s Kellan, and his explanation was that he wants to be around me twenty-four-seven, because he’s in love with me and he can’t stand us being apart.

Super crazy, I know. But I’m learning to love the crazy just a little.

So I gave him what he wanted, packed up my shit, a few pairs of clothes and an Amazon Fire Stick, and moved it all into his place. It’s for the best, too, because his place is bigger. He extended the lease, since we’re both staying in Tulum for now. Honestly, I love it here too much. I wouldn’t want to go anywhere else. Not yet, anyway.

I just got settled in the condo, and because of all the stress, I’m feeling extra shaky. It’s weird, I’m so used to being in denial about what makes me like this. But ever since Kellan presented me with his theory—which is strictly born on Googling symptoms so far—the slightest change in my behavior gets overanalyzed in my mind.

It kind of sucks, but I guess this is what self-awareness is. We’ll know more after I see the doctor. If I decide to do that… I’m not really rushing to find out exactly how fucked up I am.

Kemper went out to buy groceries. No, I’m not imagining things. He said he wants to make me dinner for our first official night living together, and he was so excited about it there was no possible way I could say no.

While he’s out, I decide to take a quick shower, then I put some Big Bang Theory on the bedroom TV and lie in bed, spacing out. It works well enough to keep me chill, because the next thing I know, I hear Kemper coming into the living room.

“Honey, I’m home!” He shouts, and I chuckle at how corny he is.

He’s immediately blathering about food he bought and I’m not listening because I just realized I forgot to get dressed after the shower. I’m naked, lying on the bed. And of course my cock is already half-hard, just because I know he’s in the next room and probably about to walk in here at any minute.

Biting my lip, I decide I don’t give two tiny fucks about food right now, and I’d much rather have some fun. And based on something that could give me just the right amount of humiliation which will most definitely result in sexy times, I decide to lie back and wrap my fist around my erection.

Stroking it slowly, I force myself not to watch the door for Kemper. It’ll be hotter this way, if it seems like he’s just walking in on me jerking off.

Jesus, why is that hot?? Who cares. Best not to overthink it.

I tug my cock harder, listening to the sounds of Kemper stomping around the condo, likely bringing groceries to the kitchen. It takes a minute, but I’m guessing he grows impatient waiting for me to respond to all the things he’s shouting at me, since he saunters up to the doorway and then comes to a full stop when his eyes land on the bed.

On me, jerking my hard dick with one hand, and rubbing my balls with the other.

I can’t help it anymore, and I allow my gaze to lift to his, the flush of shame crawling up my neck to my face. The look of surprise on his lasts long enough for the humiliation of being caught to tighten my balls up like crazy before it evaporates into a burning lust. He steps further into the room, eyes stuck on my cock, and my hand moving up and down it at a leisurely pace.

“What are you doing?” He barks and I bite my lip, gazing up at him with hooded eyes. “Did I say you could touch yourself?”

“Luscious…” I whisper, my stomach twisting as he raises a brow at my comment. “Call me Luscious. Please, baby…”

It only takes a second before realization dawns on his face and he moves up to the edge of the bed, then leans over me, placing his hands down on either side of my hips.

His dark eyes slide from my cock up to my mouth, and he licks his lips. “This type of errant behavior will cost you… Luscious.”

A whimper flees my lips as he yanks his shirt over his head then takes his pants down, kicking out of them, with his shoes, until he’s as naked as I am. I can’t stop my eyes from wandering all over his giant, muscular body dripping in ink, landing on his dick, thick and heavy, inching closer to my own while he crawls over me.

“Anything you’d like to say to me, inmate?” He growls over my lips and I’m so goddamn turned on, I can barely move.

My breathing is out of control while I murmur, “I’m sorry, Officer.”

He grabs my wrists quick and lifts them above my head, pinning them there while he grinds his hard cock into mine. “That’s a weak apology. I think you owe me an orgasm, Luscious.”

“Anything you want,” I purr, going out of my mind at the feeling of his firm flesh rubbing against mine, the friction building heat around us.

“Mmm… I like that,” he rumbles into me and drags his lips over every spare surface of my flesh that’s trembling for him.

He moves to my chest to suck my nipples, biting hard like I like it, until I mewl out loud. Then he moves up my neck, sucking more purple marks all over, his own branding.

He loves marking me. Lets everyone know I’m his, I guess. I’m totally down for it.

Then he captures my lips and kisses me, slow yet fierce, humming out sounds that make my cock weep on my abs.

“Dascha…” he brings my own hand up to my mouth and presses my finger up to my lips, signaling that he wants me to suck.

So I do. I give my finger head as if it were his cock, while he watches me with blue fire in his eyes.

“I want you to do something…” He shoves another of my fingers into my mouth, and I wonder why he’s having me do this to my own fingers, though I can barely be bothered to care, because the way he’s looking at me is enough to make me come on command. Well, that and his cock grinding against mine. “I want to try something.” I rumble on my fingers, blinking curiosity at him. “To see if I like it…”

His lifts his brows and it takes me a second before I realize what he’s talking about.

He pulls my fingers out of my mouth, and I breathe, “Ohh. Yea… Baby, I’m down. You want me to f—”

“That’s Officer, Dascha,” he cuts me off, shooting me right in the junk with that dominant tone. “You’re gonna put your big cock in my ass and make me come… But I’m still in charge. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Officer,” I nod, eyes wide as I await further instruction.

And sure enough he presses a delicate kiss on my lips then brings my hand to his ass.

“Just touch first,” he whispers, and I nod again, tracing his rim with my finger while we make out.

Deep, slippery kisses go on for a while, the tip of my finger just barely making it inside him. He’s so tight, I want to tell him to relax a bit for me, but I think the best thing to do is get him on his back first.

“May I use my mouth on you, Officer?” I plead, gripping his full, round ass cheeks in my hands.

“Mmm, yes,” he rasps, lifting his head a bit until a few strands of golden hair fall in his face. “I want that sweet mouth and those luscious lips.”

I waste no time pushing Kemper onto his back and he nestles into the bed, face flushed a bit at what we’re doing. God, hope he’s nervous. That would be insanely hot.

I’m already going out of my mind at the idea of putting my cock inside him. Kemper’s never done any butt stuff before. He’s a bona fide top, so the fact that he’s letting me fuck him is a groundbreaking moment, and a mind-altering orgasm waiting to happen.

Straddling his hips, I kiss his lips a few times, since he’s just so damn delicious. Then I move down his immaculate muscles, licking and lapping the curves of his pecs, sucking his nipples until they pebble, before continuing on my journey down his abs and those sexy fucking cum gutters, like a V pointing to his monster cock.

Keeping my eyes on his, watching him watch me, I close my mouth over the fat head, sucking hard. His hands fly to my head and he holds me in place, pushing me down a bit as I gradually take his inches into my mouth. I suck good for minutes on end, throating him until saliva is dribbling down and my jaw is sore.

“God, you’re so good as sucking cock,” he mumbles, touching me sensually everywhere he can reach.

I pop off his dick and move to his balls, giving them some attention for a few minutes before I get to his ass. Kemper spreads his legs wide, and I use my hands to open his cheeks, lifting him as much as I need to. I can’t stop looking up at him like this, all splayed out for me…

It’s such a different thing to see. I’ve never had his legs spread like this, his delicious ass available for my taking. I can’t wait to have his ankles in the air…

But I want to get him nice and ready, so I press a few slow kisses on his thighs, then his cheeks, kissing my way in between, to his rim. I lick around it, sliding up and down, round and round, going in for some suction. It’s so different from eating a pussy, yet kind of the same. I think he likes everything I’m doing, because he’s gasping out loud and gripping the back of my neck, practically shoving my face deeper into his ass.

I feather my tongue on his asshole, then plunge it inside, getting him relaxed so I can wet it up nice. Then I put my fingers back, licking and fingering him at the same time.

My index finger presses inside and he groans, “Fuck… that’s different…”

I can’t help but grin. “Do you like it?”

Our eyes meet from where I’m buried in his ass and he nods, biting his lip.

That’s all the go I need, and I push my finger in more, using my saliva as lube for now. This is just the intro and clearly he can take it. He’s already pushing against my hand, silently begging for more. I thrust my finger in and out of him, warming him up nice, before I put in a second finger, making him whine.

“Dash… Dash, please…”

I grin, watching my fingers pump into him. “How can I help you?”

“Don’t get cute,” he growls at me.

“Too late,” I smirk, and he huffs a laugh, face all blushed up, desperate with lust.

“Get lube and fucking fuck me,” he grumbles. “Now.”

“Yes, sir, Officer,” I hum, tugging my fingers out.

Reaching for the nightstand, I grab the Astroglide and squeeze out a bunch onto my dick. I stroke with it, loving the feeling already, paired with how goddamn gorgeous he is right now. Huge, badass tattooed Alpha guy with his ass in front of me, waiting to get fucked. I can’t think of anything hotter.

Pushing his legs open wider, I hold his ass with one hand while the other presses my cock up to his hole. “I need you to relax for me, baby, okay?”

“I’m gonna come so fast,” he rambles, gripping his dick while he watches what I’m doing.

I smack his hand away from his erection. “Don’t do that yet, then.” I eye him with desire, sure, but more love than anything else. “Ready?”

“Oh my God, just do it,” he bites his lip. “I’m losing my mind.”

I huff softly and shove the head of my cock inside him. It just slides right in, probably because of the lube. And Kemper grunts.

“Holy fucking motherfuck.” His head drops back on the bed, exposing his sexy throat sheeted in stubble while his Adam’s apple dips.

I don’t wait for any further confirmation. I know he loves it already, so I shove another inch inside, his body gripping me tight. So tight, in fact, that I almost feel like I won’t be able to move.

“Relax your muscles, Officer,” I run my fingers up his hip. “Let me get this big dick inside you.”

“Oh fuck… yes, Luscious,” he sighs and my balls throb. “I am relaxed…. So fucking… relaxed.”

“Then damn, you are fucking tight, baby,” I breathe, forcing into him deeper, breaking through his ridges, more with each inch I give, until I’m about halfway in and I need to move.

Dragging my hips back a bit, I pause, then ease into him once more, deeper this time, while his eyes roll back in his head.

“Dash! Fuck… me…” His voice is hoarse and breathy as fuck. Perfect.

“Yea, sounds familiar,” I let out a devious chuckle, pumping into him, building up a rhythm inside him, until I’m balls deep.

And then I melt over his body.

My hips keep going, keep thrusting, while he lies under me, his big body spread-eagled, letting me plunge my cock into his ass over and over and fucking over. I go harder, and he takes it. He fucking takes it, looking like a goddamn dream, made just for me.

“You feel so good, baby,” I mumble on his lips, kissing him while he’s overcome by the lust I’m giving him. “Tell me it feels good for you…”

“I’m… I… fuck, Dascha, Jesus…” He gasps, not making any sense. “This is intense. Harder, baby.”

“That’s it, love.” I press my hands on his chest and fuck him harder, making sure I get his prostate. I think I can tell when I do because he lets out a strangled noise.

I can’t stop watching his hard cock, twinging on his abs, just waiting to be attended to. I wrap my hand around it and jerk him while I fuck him, matching my strokes.

“I’m gonna fucking come, Dash,” he tells me with his eyes glued below our waists, where I’m slamming into him while jerking his big dick off.

“Come for me… Officer,” I drive in harder and fucking rougher, until he snaps.

His hand flies up to my throat, and he holds it tight while he whimpers out all kinds of nonsense, his cock throbbing out streams of cum on his chest and abs. And I chase his orgasm, tumbling over next while spilling deep in his ass.

“Fuck me, baby, you are everything…” I capture his lower lip and suck, and bite, and moan his goddamn name, repeatedly.

“I love you, Dash,” he’s out of breath, touching every surface of my body. Grabbing my ass and holding me deep in him for an extra second or two.

“I love you, Kemper.” I blink down at his gorgeous face. “Kellan.”

He smiles and lets out a tired laugh. “You blow my mind, baby.”

“Did you like it?” I decorate all over his jaw and throat with kisses.

“It was… fucking overpowering,” his fingers trail up and down my back.

“Are you gonna want to be the bottom now?” I chuckle on his sticky skin.

“Mmm… I don’t think so,” he sighs. “We can take turns.”

“Works for me.” I sit up a bit then pull out of him.

He scolds me with his eyes, but I don’t let him move until I get to watch my cum drip out of his ass. It’s crazy hot. Now I know why he likes it.

We gather ourselves, get our bearings and go into the en suite to get cleaned up so he can make us dinner like he planned. In the bathroom, when we’re done, towels wrapped around our waists, I watch him in the mirror while he runs his fingers along his stubbled jaw.

“Does your butt hurt?” I snicker, and he aims a warning glare at me.

“If you’re fishing for compliments from me, you know you don’t need them. Luscious.” He grins wickedly, and I have to take a breath and hold it.

Because now that he’s calling me that… since I told him about the nickname and how it reminds me of a version of him he doesn’t know, I swear to God, it’s him. Callum was a version of Kellan I made up somehow, but he exists. He’s right fucking here, in Tulum with me.

Loving me, the same way I love him.

I have no idea how it happened, but I’m happy. Beyond happy. I’m ecstatic.

The only problem with real happiness, with being in love, is that there’s always the potential that you could lose it. And I’m terrified of losing Kemper. I wouldn’t survive losing him twice.

“What’s wrong, beautiful?” He turns to face me, giving me sympathetic eyes. “You’re making a face like something’s wrong, and I hate it. Tell me what’s happening in your lovely mind, please.”

His words make me want to burst into tears. He’s so fucking here for me, and I hate the idea that he’s giving things up for me before he even knows if he wants to.

“I don’t want to hold you back, Kellan,” I mumble, and he makes a face like he’s shocked. “I mean, don’t you want to go out and experience all you can as a gay man?”

He shakes his head and lets out a huff. “Dascha, please…”

“From what I understand, it’s a great time to be gay. You get clubs just for you, and parades, and your own month! The world is your oyster. Why would you want to settle down right out the gate? Especially with someone… like me?” My eyes fall to the sink. “Someone with my… issues. It’s like you’re chaining yourself to a fucking train wreck.”

Kemper steps up to me and presses me into the counter, grasping my face. “There’s so much wrong with what you just said. First of all, you get the parade too, baby. It’s not just gay pride. You’re the B in LGBTQ. Or are you the Q?”

I laugh out loud and it makes him beam. “I’m not sure. I haven’t decided which letter I want to be yet.”

“The point is that we’re in this together, baby. Remember?” He lifts his brows at me, and I nod hesitantly. “You helped me discover who I am, Dascha. If it weren’t for you, I’d be forever closeted. And second of all, about your issues… I need you to hear me on this, okay?” He stares at me until I nod again. “I’m in love with you, Dascha Reznikov. I need to be with you. You were the most fascinating person I’d ever met before I even met you.”

I let a smile show through. Because I like that.

I like that we’re so fucking twisted, and we thought we knew each other when we didn’t.

“I love you too, Kemper,” I whisper, blinking at the infinity pools in his eyes.

“Good,” he drops a soft kiss on my mouth. “Me and you, we’re forever, okay?”

I nod, forcing myself not to get choked up. “Forever.”

He taps my chin with his knuckles, and I sigh out the emotions, watching as he wanders out of the room, going to get dressed and start our dinner.

And honestly, I don’t give a fuck if he isn’t real now. I wouldn’t even care. Because all the moments with any version of Officer Kemper are a blessing to me.

Real, fake, hallucination, hologram, fucking monkey in a person suit. It really doesn’t matter.

I love him. He’s the best symptom of whatever crazy lives in my head.

101 days free

“Dascha!”

No answer. Go figure.

Rolling my eyes, I storm through the condo to locate him. I told him repeatedly to be ready to at three, and it’s five-past. Not sure why I’m surprised, though. My boyfriend is allergic to being on time.

“Dascha… Seriously. We have to go. We’re gonna be late!” I shout again in hopes it’ll get his attention. But he still isn’t responding.

Swinging into the bedroom, I’m all ready to yell some more, but I freeze when I finally spot him, on the floor by the closet. He’s got pants on, but no shirt, and one shoe, the other foot bare.

I swallow down my worry and rush to him, dropping to my knees.

“Baby… Are you alright?” I place my hands on his legs. “What’s wrong?”

“Can you go without me?” He peeks up at me while chewing on his lip. “I’m not feeling well.”

“Oh, babe,” I sigh, scooting over to his side and slinking my arms around his waist. I don’t have to do much pulling until he’s in my arms, wrapped around me like a vine. “What happened? You were so excited about this yesterday.”

“I am excited, but… I’m just not feeling well now,” he mutters into my neck while I stroke his hair. It’s a few inches longer now, and it’s purple.

I love it.

Unfortunately right now, the boy with the purple hair is sad, and it’s my job to figure out why, so I can make him happy again.

“Transparency,” I say, firmly. And I feel him stiffen for a moment, before he breathes out a harsh breath.

Then he lies down on his back, resting his head in my lap, gaze going to the ceiling rather than to me. But I’m alright with it. As long as he talks to me.

“Going to look at the new house was… making me think about my house in Brooklyn,” Dash says, the lines on his forehead indicating that he’s still a bit uncomfortable opening up.

But he’s doing it, and I’m so proud of him.

It’s been three months since Dash was officially diagnosed with Schizophrenia, and mild Narcissistic Personality Disorder, which the doctors think contributed a bit to his psychosis in prison. After that first appointment, he was pretty down. He’s had a hard time coping with the knowledge that he has a lifelong mental illness that will never go away. And believe me, he was prepared to live in denial forever, but I’m glad he came around to seeing the doctor.

Dr. Lopez got Dash on some low-dose medication to manage his symptoms, and it seems to help with the hallucinations. He hasn’t experienced psychosis since he started treatment, which is excellent.

But the even more helpful thing, I think, has been the therapy twice a week. Dash goes alone on Tuesdays and on Fridays we go together. At first, I wasn’t really sure about coming with him, since I didn’t want to intrude. It’s not like we’re married or anything… But Dash was so nervous, he was practically in tears, begging me to come with him.

I didn’t have a choice. He’s my everything, and I fully despise seeing him upset. Which is why I pulled the transparency card on him just now. It’s a thing from therapy.

Dr. Lopez says that Dash needs to try to be honest and open with what’s bothering him, since he’s so used to internalizing everything. Apparently, that’s likely what caused him to repress memories in the past, or a part of it, anyway. Dr. Lopez made a rule, any time either of us is keeping something bottled inside, the other can just say transparency, and we have to spill the beans.

I know it’s only been a couple months, but we’re both still sticking to it. Dash takes his therapy seriously, which I have to appreciate. Much more seriously than he takes his medication, but that’s an argument for another time.

My fingers twist a strand of his purple hair. “What about the house in Brooklyn?”

“The bones, Kemper,” his eyes meet mine from where his head lies in my lap. “They’re still there. Still behind that false wall in her closet.”

His mother. That’s one of those intense topics that tends to work us both up.

“What are your feelings about it?” I ask him, running my hands over his chest, knowing my touch helps relax him. I think it’s working, as is the talking because his breathing already seems to have evened out a bit.

“It’s keeping me from moving forward,” he closes his eyes and takes my hand in his. “I think I need, like, closure or something.”

I consider his words for a moment. We’re supposed to be on our way to look at a house we’re thinking of buying. The condo has been good to us, but we need more space. An office and a garage, at least. Dash has been talking about doing custom paint jobs for weeks, going on and on about his old Audi, the one he named, that he misses like crazy.

Theoretically there was no way a twenty-five-year-old could retire and be satisfied spending his days on the beach eating tacos and drinking margaritas. I know it sounds great in theory, but doing nothing gets old really quickly, especially if you’re Dash. The dude doesn’t sit still.

We decided buying our own place was necessary, to give us something to do. Nothing huge or fancy, since funds are limited and neither of us work. Also, it’s Mexico. It’s not like we can just take out a mortgage. Plus, my partner is a fugitive, so there’s that.

We were looking for something specific we could buy with cash, and I think I found the perfect place. I want Dash to see it, but we won’t be going anywhere until we get him feeling better.

And if getting closure on his mother’s death will get him there, then I’m all for it. I’m all for anything that keeps him healthy and smiling.

“Okay,” My mind works up possible ideas. “Well, everyone outside of the Alabaster Pen circle thinks you’re dead, right?” He nods up at me, absentmindedly running his lips over my fingers. “So if I were to place an anonymous call to the police about the bones, it’s not like they’d try to track you down…”

He’s quiet for a moment, staring up at me. I can see his mind filtering through all his thoughts. It’s a fascinating thing to witness, and I have to wonder if there will ever come a time when I don’t think this kid is the most amazing thing that’s ever happened to me.

Doubt it.

“What about the Warden?” He asks. “Does he have enough clout to send anyone looking for me?”

I shake my head with confidence. “If he hasn’t done it yet, he won’t.”

“How do we know he hasn’t?” He blinks his wide eyes at me, swirls of golden brown and emerald green, like dew shimmering on the leaves of trees in spring. “What if he just hasn’t found me yet?”

“Manuel Blanco has connections everywhere south of the border,” I tell him, trying to placate his thoughts, running wild like a stallion. “I’m sure he could’ve found you if he wanted to. But I don’t want you worrying about that, baby. You’re completely safe, as long as I’m breathing. And plus, we know for a fact they’re trying to keep your escape under wraps.”

We do know it. I’ve since spoken with Joy and she confirmed that the Warden has them all on strict lockdown with the details of Dash’s escape. As far as the government is concerned, Dash is still tucked away in Alabaster Pen.

“Okay,” he accepts my answer. “So you could make a call then?” I nod with as much sincerity as I can convey in such a movement. “I just want her out of there… I want her in the ground. Or wherever, I don’t care.”

“I understand, baby. Consider it done.” I lean down and press an upside down kiss on his lips that makes us both hum.

He smiles on my mouth, then sighs. “Okay, then. Let’s go check out this place my man wants me to buy for him.”

I narrow my gaze at him, and he laughs. He’s been making an awful lot of jokes about him being my Baby-Sugar-Daddy lately, since he’s younger than me, but has the money. He thinks it’s funny. Damn smart ass.

I get him up, and he finishes dressing. By the time we get to the house, we’re over a half hour late. But I don’t care. If they want to sell to us, they’ll wait.

Dash grabs my hand and won’t let it go, even when we’re shaking the realtor’s hand. As inconvenient as it is, I have to laugh to myself because it’s adorable. He enjoys letting everyone know that we’re together. Part of me thinks he wants someone to give us a disapproving look so he can’t go off on them in some fashion. He’s such a brazen little thing, I swear.

And I love him with all my motherfuckin heart.

We wander the property, checking out all the specs, and the space. Like I expected, and saw in the pictures, it’s not huge, but definitely larger than the condo. It’s on the water, so we’ll still have the beach for a backyard. I mainly like the fact that there’s an office, and a full garage with room for at least two cars.

“Two cars and a bike,” Dash adds as he tugs me around. “Maybe even two bikes. And a jet ski.”

“You could keep a jet ski in the shed,” the realtor adds, but Dash makes a face at him like he’s weird. It has me chuckling.

He’s so serious about his toys. And I know it’s been killing him not to have a vehicle to work on. That and he wants to drive that Buick off a cliff or burn it or something.

“I could get a Vespa!” He gasps, grinning at me in excitement.

“I take it this means you like it?” I lift my brow at him.

He purses his lips, obviously downplaying his excitement. But I can read him like a book, so he gives up fast and nods. “Yea. I love it. You did good, Officer.” He smiles at me and presses a kiss to my cheek.

“I try, Luscious.” I wink at him, then slap him on the ass before turning back to the realtor. “We’ll take it.”

The next morning, Dash goes for a run after breakfast.

And it’s the perfect opportunity for me to make that phone call.

I have to admit, I’m a little nervous about it. Of course I’ll do anything for him, without a single hesitation. He says jump and I don’t even ask how high? I just fucking jump, because he’s my man; the other half of my person.

That said, there’s something unnerving about calling the police on my boyfriend. Sure, everyone either thinks he’s dead or in Alabaster Pen, so he can’t get in trouble. And there’s no evidence linking him to his mother’s murder anyway, otherwise they would’ve put it in his file. It was in all the papers shortly after he was arrested, or after he died. Weird saying that. It’s like I’m dating a ghost.

This phone call should be exactly what he needs for closure, and that’s it.

Tapping my middle fingertip on my thumb repeatedly, I use Dash’s burner to make the call, so I can throw it away afterward.

The phone rings for the Brooklyn PD sixty-first precinct, and the dispatcher answers, to which I mumble, “I’d like to report a body,” and the woman on the line pauses for a moment before telling me to hold. Then a man comes on the phone.

“I need to report the remains of a body hidden inside a home in Gravesend,” I tell him quickly. “Three-seventy Ave U and East first. Apartment A. There’s a false wall in the master bedroom closet. Behind it you’ll find the bones of Svetlana Reznikov.”

“What’s your name, sir? How do you know—”

I hang up before he can ask any more questions, and take the battery out of the phone, exhaling hard. Blinking at the floor for a moment, I wonder what will happen. I just pray this is helpful for Dash. Outside of that, I don’t care about anything else.

I think it will be, though. Him talking about his mother in therapy opened him up to mentioning her on occasion. He has fond memories of her, but naturally they were all wiped away after what she did to him. It pains my heart to think about what he went through…

Being sexually abused by your own mother is a tough pill to swallow and thank God I can’t exactly empathize. But I know what it’s like to find out your parents are scumbags, and Dash and I seem to have hit the jackpot as far as piece of shit parents go.

Would it have been nice to have a father who didn’t disown me for being gay? Sure. Or to have a mother who stood up for me when her husband tried to kill her son…? Yea, I think it would’ve been cool. But people like Dash and me, who let go of the idea of having parents who loved us at a young age, we learned to take care of ourselves. The walls of protection your parents are supposed to build for you, we made that shit on our own.

And so we fit together, and we make each other better, which is how a relationship should be, I think.

Being with someone like Dash is like being on a roller coaster. Potentially scary, but exciting enough to be more than worth the risk.

We make it work. Dash thinks I’ve taken on too much with him and honestly, I hate when he talks about it. I just wish he’d understand how devoted to him I am…

How even thinking about someone hurting him the way his mother did makes me want to time travel to before he killed her so I can kill her myself. How if I were ever to encounter his father in this life, I’d strangle an apology out of him with my knee on his throat.

Dash is my entire world. The fact that he’s a Schizophrenic criminal has never been an issue for me because in my mind he’s just Dash. The love of my life.

My phone rings, tugging me out of my thoughts. It’s a private number. Not falling for that one. I swipe to ignore, but it calls right back, which is strange. Maybe I should answer… What if it’s Dash, and he’s in trouble?

Swiping, I lift my phone to my ear hesitantly, “Hello?”

“Hello, Kellan.”

My entire body goes stiff.

Manuel Blanco.

Stress and unease tighten my muscles as I consider just hanging up. But I’m not sure that’d be wise.

“Warden…” I croak. “It’s been a while. What can I do for you?”

“Cut the polite act, Kemper,” he speaks in his usual tone, completely devoid of emotion and sounding like he just hopped out of a Dickens book. “This isn’t a social call. I believe you have something that belongs to me.”

Dash. My heart jumps into my throat hard enough that I almost cough, and my hands are suddenly shaking. If I could wish for one thing right now, it’d be for Dash to walk through the door. I want him home, now.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I try to convey aloofness, but I know it’s not working. The Warden has powers, after all. He can always tell when you’re lying. I don’t know how he does it, but he’s incredibly skilled at reading people.

“Listen closely, Officer Kemper. I gave you a pass because I can’t prove you helped Reznikov escape. But I also know you were far too enamored with him to let him be. And because I can’t have anyone finding out he’s free, I will give you the courtesy of two options. Do you follow?”

My jaw clenches, but I stay silent. I’m beyond sick of this asshole’s games. I dealt with this shit for almost ten years. I’m not playing anymore.

“Option number one, you bring my animal back where he belongs,” he rumbles in my ear and my fist squeezes so tight it hurts, blood pumping rage through my veins. “Option number two, you keep Dascha on ice down there, and if and when I decide I need him, I send someone to fetch my property. Full disclosure, that option could get messy… if the time comes.”

He pauses, I’m guessing to let me absorb this information, but all the silence does is boil my blood to the point where steam is almost coming from my ears.

“So? What do you think, Kellan?” He hums, his smugness pushing me right over the edge.

“Alright, your turn to listen closely, Ivory,” I growl. “You want Dash? You’re gonna have to come face me yourself. Because you better believe I will destroy anyone who tries to get next to him. As long as I’m breathing on this earth, no one will lay a fucking hand on Dascha Reznikov, and that’s a goddamn promise. Clear?”

He huffs a laugh into the phone while my teeth grind to dust. “Suit yourself, Officer. Option two it is. Just remember what I said, though. If I need him back, I will get him.”

“Don’t count on it.” I hang up the phone and roar out loud, whipping it against the wall so hard the screen shatters.

My face falls into my hands and I tug my hair hard, trying to calm myself down. My heart is jackhammering inside me as I take in a deep breath, attempting to lower my blood pressure.

The Warden is bluffing. He won’t try to get Dash back. It’s too risky. If anyone finds out that Dash isn’t currently in Alabaster, the Warden’s finished. He’s better off pretending Dash is still there, or even better, lying about him dying or something. After all, it wouldn’t be the first time an inmate died in Alabaster Pen.

The Ivory specializes in manipulation and control. He hates the fact that I quit on him, being that I was one of his senior guards, right below Velle and Joy. And what’s worse, he somehow knows about Dash and me. I’m not exactly sure how, but what I do know is that now, we’re staying down here for good.

I won’t risk Dash’s safety. I’ll do literally everything in my power to make sure he’s alright.

The sound of the front door whipping open startles me, but then relief floods my body when I realize it’s Dash. He somehow slams open doors. I’ve never seen anyone do it before.

Just the thought of it brings a smile to my lips as I rush to him. He’s all sweaty in some white Under Armour running pants which look like a second skin and a sleeveless shirt, hanging open at his sides enough that you can pretty much see his entire torso. The muscle definition alone has me drooling, not to mention his visible tattoos, purple hair tousled about, flushed cheeks… like, Jesus. My man is fucking fine.

He glances up to find me gawking at him and smirks, popping out his earbuds. “Like what you see, Officer?”

My tongue swipes my lower lip, head cocking to the side. “Come here.”

He grins wider and does as I say, though he makes sure to swagger on over so that by the time he gets to me my patience has dissolved and I grab him by the waist. My hands fall to his ass and I grip, hard enough to make him grunt.

He drapes his arms around my shoulders and presses himself into me. “Getting you all sweaty…” He sings, pressing slow kisses along my jaw.

“I love it,” I hold him hard, taking in his scent and just reveling in his perfect.

I don’t know what I would do without this man. I love everything about him. How he smells and how he tastes, and how it feels to be inside him. I love how he laughs at reruns of TV shows he’s seen a zillion times, and I love how he sings when he’s anxious, usually the same song… Crimson and Clover.

And I love his voice. It’s beautiful, just like him. He’s gorgeous, inside and out, and I would sooner end my own life than let anything happen to him.

Because the thing is that he’s not actually perfect, but to me his imperfections make him somehow more than a man. It’s like he’s immortal. He’s a wonder, an enigma.

The other half of me.

And in this moment, with everything swirling between my head and my heart, it’s as clear as day.

I want to spend the rest of my life with him.

We’ve taken the bad and turned it so damn good. I want that forever.

“I want you forever…” He whispers, and my body freezes.

The exact words from the tip of my tongue… he just spoke them.

It’s clear that we’re meant to be together. I know it won’t be easy, loving this man forever despite his damage.

But I’ll fix him, the way he fixed me.

Smiling, I press a kiss on his soft lips.

“What’s on your mind?” He murmurs.

“You already know.”

257 days free

It’s Thursday at six.

I have a standing date, every Thursday at six. Which is why I take the bike to a diner on the outskirts of town.

I don’t use this place often, but I figure since it’s been a while, I can come here this time. Maybe bring a piece of tres leches home for Kellan.

Okay, mostly for me, but he’ll eat a bite or two.

Pulling up outside, I go to the old pay phone in the parking lot and dial the number I have memorized. It rings a couple times before the familiar female voice croons over the line.

“Happy Thursday, 101,” Joy sighs, sounding like her usual hard-ass self.

I roll my eyes. “You can probably stop calling me that. All things considered…”

“You’ll always be 101 to me,” she keeps her voice to a whisper, I’m guessing so that no one overhears. “How’s Kel?”

“Good. He’s almost done with the renovations on the house.”

“Building a nursery for all the babies?” She teases.

I’d love to reach through this phone, all the way to New York, and strangle her.

“Oh yea, that’s who you want raising kids,” I mutter. “A Schizophrenic fugitive.”

“Hey, at least they’d have Kemper,” she giggles.

“True. I mean, we’d all be so lucky to have him as a parent. I know I am,” I chuckle, and she tries, audibly, to smother her laughter.

“Oh man, I knew you guys got up to some Daddy-kink shit!” She laughs more, and then I hear voices bellowing in the background. “Alright, your groupies are getting impatient. I’ll talk to you next week. And tell Kemp I want to hear his voice next time, too.”

“Your wish is my command, Officer Jameson,” I grin as she passes the phone off. I can tell from all the shuffling.

“My bestie Dash!” Luthor cries, quietly, in my ear and my smile almost breaks my face in half. “What’s up, kid? How was your week?”

“Not bad. I finished that El Camino I was telling you about,” I share. “It came out so sick.”

“That’s awesome. Cheech and Chong style? Or more like old school cartel capo?”

I laugh out loud. “You’re a fool. How are things over there? Still on lockdown?”

“Sort of,” Luthor answers. “Ren has his ways, but even so it’s been dry in here, which sucks. This place is like a torture chamber of boredom.”

I cringe hearing this, feeling beyond guilty. After I broke out of Alabaster Pen, the Warden put some crazy gag order on the guards, cracking down on any fraternizing with inmates, exchanging goods… pretty much all the stuff that made the place even mildly tolerable. That’s why I agreed to call the guys through Joy’s phone once a week. Otherwise it’s not the smartest idea, but they really look forward to it now. It’s the highlight of their weeks.

Luthor fills me in on his computer he started building while I was there. Of course it’s been harder for him to get parts with the ban on contraband, but he snagged a few things and apparently got it to turn on. I’m impressed. The dude is a tech genius.

And then I hear another familiar voice. “Let me talk to my friend! You’re hogging him.” I smile as Ren gets on the phone. “Hi, Dascha! How’s it going?”

“Just splendid, Warren. How are you?”

“Bored. I need you to describe what you did with Kemper last night, in as much detail as possible. And yes, I mean the dirty stuff. Don’t leave anything out. Go.”

I have to chuckle at that. “Okay, first of all, you’re a massive pervert.”

“Established. Go on.”

“Second of all, how do you know we even did anything last night? What if we just cuddled?” I smirk, running my thumb over my lower lip at the memory of what we did before we cuddled, with that pair of handcuffs he found somewhere and brought home.

“Okay even you two cuddling together sounds sexy, so if that is all you did, which I’m not buying for one second, then sure. Describe it to me. Let’s start with, who’s the big spoon and who’s the little spoon?”

I burst out laughing.

I love that I still get to talk to the guys. Mostly Luthor and Ren, though sometimes Kang comes on to say hi. And then Joy, of course, since it’s her phone. She keeps our calls a secret as a favor to Kemper. Apparently, they were friends when he worked there. They still talk on the phone regularly, which is how Joy knows anything about our lives. It’s interesting that the only friends we have are back in New York, in a prison.

As far as Tulum goes, it’s still paradise, especially now that we have our own house, and I’m back to doing paint jobs. I’m like a freelancer of sorts, and I don’t take on too much. Just enough to keep myself busy.

Kemper decided after we bought the house that he’d become like a hot carpenter or something, walking around with a tool belt and muscles bursting out of his coveralls. Just kidding. Well, not really. He looks sexy as fuck when he works, but he’s not trying to. It just happens.

And then we go to therapy together. I actually like it, but I hate the meds I take for my Schizophrenia. Okay, so they help me not have hallucinations, but they make me feel like a shell of a human. Sometimes I think they take away my emotions, though the doctor says that’s not the case. And he says the more I take them, the better they’ll work. I try to, but I can’t help it if I forget.

It’s a work in progress. No one said it’d be easy, but I have Kemper and he makes everything awesome. He’s pretty much the best thing that’s ever happened to humanity, let alone me as a person. The past eight months being with him has been the best time of my life.

We talk about everything, and I love it. I love having someone who knows all about me, and someone I know all about. It’s refreshing not to have to hide my fucked-up-ness, or to have to worry about it. Kemper’s seen me at my lowest and he’s still here.

I think he’s down for life. I’ll get him two pieces of cake today.

Kang and Ren are arguing in my ear about what they think was in the mystery meat the other day while Luthor laughs at both of them. Kang says it was a mouse’s tail, but Ren swears it was a child’s BFF bracelet. He insists he got the beads in another piece a few days earlier. I’m shaking my head like it’s my job when something brushes my leg.

Glancing down, I see this mangy mutt all up in my business. I raise my brow at him, and he barks.

“Guys, I gotta go. There’s a dog here,” I tell my friends, watching as the dog wanders back and forth in front of me.

“Lassie?” Ren mutters. “Ask her who fell into the old well!”

“Ren, shut up. Bye, D!” Kang mumbles into the phone.

“Talk to you next week, brother,” Luthor jumps in. “Miss you miss you really wanna kiss you.”

“Aww, that’s so sweet! Did you write that yourself?” I chuckle.

“He does it to make me jealous, we all know!” Ren shouts.

I laugh, “Bye, guys.” Hanging up the phone, I go back to the dog who won’t seem to leave me alone.

“What do you want, you mangy thing?” I scratch his ears for a second then cringe. “You’re dirty A.F., pal. Do you have a home?”

He barks at me. He’s actually pretty cute, and he has one light eye and one dark one, which immediately makes him the most interesting dog ever.

I shrug and leave the dog alone, going into the diner to get my, I mean Kemper’s tres leches. Inside, I ask the ladies at the counter if anyone’s missing a dog. And they tell me there are mutts all over the place outside the resort, which is a bit depressing.

When I come back out, the dog is literally sitting right next to my Ducati. I hop on and start it up, expecting the loud engine to scare him off, but he just sits there staring at me.

“Alright, buddy. I’m out. See ya next time, maybe.” I pull my helmet on and wave at the dog as I drive off, heading back toward our house, which is just up the beach from the diner, and the resort.

We wanted to stay in the same area since it’s obscure and we like that. Plus, I need to always be within walking distance of Tacos Hermanos.

I’m driving along, less than a mile from home, and when I look in my mirror, I see that damn dog, chasing me. He’s running after my street bike. I’m not going crazy fast, since I usually just cruise on these dirt roads, forty miles per hour max. But the dog is running, maybe like twenty feet behind me.

I’m flabbergasted, but I just keep driving. When I get home and pull into the driveway, sure enough the dog runs up behind me, barking at me like it was some kind of game.

“What are you doing here?” I ask the dog, taking off my helmet. “You can’t just—”

Bark!

“Don’t interrupt me,” I scowl at him.

The door to the garage opens and Kemper hops down the steps, distracting me by wearing only his basketball shorts.

“Who are you talking to out here?” He asks, looking around while I slurp my tongue back into my mouth. Kemper wanders over to the dog and bends down to pet him. “Hey! Who’s this guy?”

“I have no idea. He followed me home.”

Kemper raises his brows at me. “He followed you? From the diner?”

I shrug, knowing it seems crazy. I push the kickstand of my bike and set down the helmet, stepping over to join Kemper and the dog. “We should keep him.”

Kemp’s eyes widen. “Are you serious? You want a dog?”

“Not just any dog,” I mumble, petting the pooch’s soft, albeit slightly dirty head. “This dog. He likes me. And he talks to me. See, watch. Hey, dog.” I address the dog and he barks. I lift my hand, “Told ya.”

Kemper laughs, then glances at the dog. “Dog, speak.” The dog stays quiet. He repeats, “Speak.” Still nothing.

“No no,” I shake my head. “You can’t talk to him like he’s a dog. You have to talk to him like a person. Observe.” I look to the dog again. “Dog, what do you think about my boyfriend? He’s pretty hot, huh?”

The dog barks.

Kemper can’t hide his smile.

“Well, he’s straight, but he said objectively, you’re a good-looking dude.” I grin at him.

Kemper bites his lip and pounces on me, pinning me to the floor of our garage while the dog barks over and over.

Kemper kisses me and I chuckle, “The dog thinks you’re attacking me.”

“Well, he’ll have to stay far away when we’re fucking then,” he smirks.

I gasp in excitement. “We can keep him?!”

“Anything to make your face look like that,” he runs his lips over my throat.

My hands travel down to his ass, and I squeeze. “I love you, Officer Kellan.”

“Love you more, Dascha Luscious,” he growls on my neck, grinding his hardening cock into mine through our clothes. “Baby…”

“Baby baby.” My hands roam up his back.

“I wanna marry you,” he kisses the words across my skin, giving me chills all over.

Elation rushes through me, thrilling and warm and fucking colorful; everything that Kemper is.

“Then marry me,” I grin, taking his hands in mine to lace our fingers.

“‘Kay,” he breathes, and I laugh.

“Is that a proposal?? Because it’s a pretty weak one if you ask me,” I bite his collarbone, right where it says Dash in fresh black ink.

“I am asking you… to marry me.” He pushes my hands down, pinning me with his hips while he lifts his face enough to look at me. Then he cocks a brow in that way he does when he’s waiting for me to answer him on something I clearly wasn’t paying attention to.

“Are you being serious?” I ask, suddenly breathless.

He nods. “Fully.”

My stomach is jumping like a tin of Jiffy Pop, the shivers moving through me like the electricity he used to zap me with in my imagination.

I stare at him for a moment before whispering, “Ask me right.”

His smile goes full rainbow. “Dascha Reznikov, I want you to be mine and only mine, for-fucking-ever. Will you please marry me?”

I feel like such a wuss, but there are tears burning behind my eye sockets as I huff, “Yes. I would love to marry you, Kellan Kemper.”

He leans in and kisses me softly. “Good.”

I’m fucking flying, I swear to God. We kiss for many minutes on the floor of the garage, until the dog starts barking again and licking us.

“I think the dog was a bad idea,” Kemper sighs.

“Too late now. Look how demanding he is! He already thinks he’s our kid.” I grin and Kemper looks overjoyed at that.

“I really wanted to fuck you on the floor of the garage again,” he grumbles, sitting up.

“Again is damn right. Last time was delicious.” I scoot myself closer to him subtly. “So… no ring?” I tease.

He laughs. “You want a nice diamond, princess?”

I roll my eyes at him while he appears very pleased with his joke. “I meant a cock ring. I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He bursts out laughing, and I beam with pride at making him look like that. And sound like that.

Until the dog starts barking again.

“Alright! Jesus,” Kemper grunts, getting up and helping me stand while the dog runs in circles around us. “Two demanding animals. How am I ever going to survive in this house?”

I wrap my arms around his waist. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

“So what do you want to name him?”

“I like Dog.” He chuckles, but I’m fully serious.

“You can’t name a dog Dog…” he scolds me, and I shrug. “Fine, what’s dog in Russian?”

“Sobaka.” The dog barks.

“He likes it,” Kemper smiles. “Sobaka it is. Come on, let’s go give him a bath, fiancé. And you can tell me all about this cock engagement ring you want.”

I chuckle and go to walk inside the house, but he stops me, pulling me into his arms to hold me, the way I need him. The way I love him.

The funny thing is that the voices in my head are always much quieter with Kemper around. Sometimes, they go away completely. And I know I’ll always be a bit broken inside, but he said he wanted to bandage up my wounds, and he did just that.

Officer Kemper covers up the voices with his own, and it’s all I could ever ask for. Even back in Alabaster Penitentiary, when a subconscious wish turned into a hallucination of my dream come true… He was real. He’s still real.

And someday he’ll be my husband. Because out of all the distorted images in my head, I see him crystal clear.

The End.

I always like to take a moment, at the end of my books, to check on the mental state of the reader. How are you doing? Feeling okay? It didn’t hurt as bad as it could have, right??!

The first thing I need to say is thank you. For reading this book, for giving it a shot, without looking at spoilers! (Yes, I’m still yelling at you about it, from the Foreword to right now LOL). For opening your mind up to true love bred in very unconventional circumstances.

When I came up with the idea for Alabaster Penitentiary, Dash was the first character who popped into my head. He and Kemper were the beginning, and all the other ideas formed around the two of them (well, the three of them, if you count Dash’s imaginary friend). I think that makes them pretty damn special, don’t you?

I’m not an author who does things for no reason. There’s a purpose to every inch of my books, and this one was no exception. It was very important to me that you feel everything Dash is feeling the whole time. Throughout the abuse and degradation, I wanted you to experience all that hard stuff right by his side. The same goes for his great escape, all the shocking revelations, and even his psychosis flashbacks.

Dascha Reznikov is by far the most complex character I’ve ever written. I did a lot of research to help myself through what he was feeling, and I think that’s why I hold Dash so close to my heart. His brokenness spoke to me. I felt his suffering even though, thank God, Schizophrenia isn’t something I have personally dealt with. Still, my heart and mind raced with his in a mirroring cadence, which has to be the most interesting, and unsettling, part of being an author. Dascha is like my child, and I can only hope I did him justice with that ending, especially after everything I put him through during the story.

The other interesting thing I wanted to mention is the palpable difference between Officer Kemper and Kellan Kemper. There’s such a contrast between them, and I love the initial power flip, when Dash meets the real Kemper in Tulum. I love that after being the prey for most of the book, Dash then turns into the predator, if only for a bit.

You may have also picked up on the occasional Nietzsche references… Chaos plays into the story a lot. Dash jumps rope with the line between denial and true awareness of self, as does Kellan. But ultimately, they both know they’re not normal, and they like that fact.

Personally, I love it myself. What’s fun about normal, anyway?

Most of the Nietzsche stuff was built around the quote from Thus Spoke Zarathustra, which goes: “One must still have chaos in oneself to be able to give birth to a dancing star.” It refers to a form of self-awareness and self-actualization, Nietzsche being the ultimate non-conformist. This idea of good and evil, and imbalance, really plays into the Alabaster Pen world. I digress…

Probably the most complex part of this whole story is understanding Dash’s manifestation of Callum Kemper in his state of psychosis hallucination. If you’ve read my books before (cough, Brutal Rapture, cough) then you know I don’t like over-explaining the shocking parts. I like for you, the reader, to think about the things that happen, and form your own opinions; to keep it raw and sometimes even confusing, to a point. However, I will mention that there are little nuggets squirreled away in Dash’s interactions with Officer Kemper that definitely allude to the fact that he’s not real. They aren’t things you’ll pick up on while you’re reading, but I urge you to go back and read the story again once you’ve finished. It’s like a whole new experience.

One example being, you’ll notice there’s no development to Callum Kemper’s character. That’s obviously done for a reason. Officer didn’t know anything that Dash wouldn’t have been able to find out, from other guards, Luthor, etc.

And Dash didn’t only hallucinate his interactions with Officer Kemper. There’s a specific conversation with Luthor he has while he’s wearing the cock cage, which never actually happened. You can tell because he basically comes clean to Luthor about the guard in solitary he’s been seeing. And yet in future interactions, Luthor never mentions it, nor does he have any idea who Dash has been seeing. Dash found out about Luthor’s reason for being in Alabaster Pen much earlier in the story, but it got buried in all the chaos of his mind.

Dash was always fully cognizant during his bouts of psychosis. He was aware of what happened during the robbery, but it faded in and out in his conscious mind, which is something so interesting about this disease, man. I swear, I could talk about this all day.

Anyway, this is why I write stories like this… Unexpected and unconventional. I like when my words, characters and their actions get stuck in your mind for a while. And I enjoy when the concept of what romantic fiction should look like becomes distorted (See what I did there?)

Like Dash said before, I despise the shoulds of the world, especially when it comes to art. Because art is so subjective, and it needs to be that way. This is why I insist readers go into my books with an open mind. If you went into this book expecting it to work out just like every other story, the same formula for writing romance that’s been around since the days of Fabio on covers and even before, then I’m sure you were sorely disappointed.

I don’t mind if you’re disappointed. You’re entitled to your feelings. I just hope you gave my words a solid shot first. And if you’re not disappointed, which let’s be honest, you shouldn’t be, then that means you got it. And you win the prize.

Dash and Kemper’s love story isn’t ordinary, because Dash’s mind isn’t ordinary. And I love that about him (so does Kemper). That’s how I know that they’re perfect for each other. They fell in love against all rationale, despite what outsiders see when looking at them.

As far as the open-ended questions in the book, like what’s up with the Warden? Is that guy super evil or something?

What happened to O’Malley?

What’s going on with Velle and Rook?

How did a blood-covered Darcey get the keys to help Dash escape?

Will Luthor ever finish his computer?

I assure you, there will be answers! To all of it!

Distorted is only the beginning, my friends. So cuff yourselves to Darcey’s bed and get settled in, because you’re in Alabaster Pen for the foreseeable future >:-D

In case you wanted a quick glimpse into the mind of someone suffering from Schizophrenic Psychosis, here’s a video:

Schizophrenia simulation.

If you or someone you know is struggling, there’s no shame in reaching out.

Mental Health Assistance:

www.noshameonu.org

24/7 Hotline: 1-800-273-(TALK)8255

Or text 741741

LGBTQ Resources:

The Trevor Project: www.thetrevorproject.org

Addiction Support:

groupsrecovery.com

(888) 385-4078

Damn, man. I am so beyond grateful for every person who helped make this book the elaborate work of art it is!

My bitches, Celena, Alex, and Merci, thank you ladies for staying in my corner and listening to my nonsense. I don’t know what I’d do without our group chats.

Frances O’Brien, my bestie, thank you for always being there for me. We’ll get to have a drink in real life someday, but honestly I don’t even need it to happen. Our voice message convos are everything. You’ve helped me more than you could ever know just by being here. I love you, babe!

Peggy Spencer, my critique partner, you keep me on track and teach me so much about staying organized. I mean, it’s a work in progress lol, but I need you! You’re a freaking goddess.

Mackenzie from Nice Girl Naughty Edits, girl, you saved my ASS! Seriously, you’re like the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Thank you so much for making sick graphics for this book, and for letting me scoop you up and keep you. I’m not even kidding. Not giving you back. ;)

Lana from Dirty Girl Romance Book Blog, thank you for beta reading my boys, and making sure Dash’s Russian-ness is accurate. You are such a freaking sweetheart, and I’m so grateful for your help. And it’s a total coincidence that you share a name with Dash’s crazy mom. LOL!

Thank you to Champagne Book Design for the gorgeous interior formatting.

Give Me Books PR for taking me in on short notice like a damn stray!

My editor, Kay-bae, I can’t believe we published our SEVENTH book! Remember when we didn’t even know what dialogue tags were? Lmao! I love you, doll. Thanks for riding shotgun.

Ashlee O’Brien of Ashes & Vellichor… KWEEN! The cover you designed for this book is literally everything. I still can’t stop staring at it. Thank you times a million for taking me on when I was in a jam and rocking the wheels off this bitch. You’re an artist, man. Honestly, I barely understand your wizardry.

Speaking of gorgeous… Joe D. Martinez, my Dash inspiration, thank you for showing up on this cover, and being a generally super sweet person. And Travis Lane for taking the perfect photo and being so cool and helpful.

Sade Zabala for writing such a beautiful quote, and letting me use it. It’s Kemper & Dash, deep.

My lovely PA, Amber Salazar… Did it hurt when you FELL FROM HEAVEN, ANGEL!?!? Bitch, you’re a damn lifesaver. Thank you for making everything so much easier on me, for talking me off a ledge when I’m freaking out… For supporting me and loving my shit. In our next life we’ll be hot muscley gay guys with peachy butts, eating tacos in Tulum ;-D

To the Flipping Hot Street Hoes, I love and I appreciate the damn hell out of each and every one of you. Your support is my bling. I raise my pimp cup to you bitches. Mwah!

All my author friends out there who keep it REAL, thank you for being amazing, down to earth, beautiful humans. You know who you are. Keep on being yourselves, and making magic.

My bookstagrammers & bloggers, who make beautiful edits and pimp my stuff when you don’t have to… I hope you guys know how much your support means to a hard-working underdog author like myself. Every like, every share, every post or video… I couldn’t possibly appreciate it more. You’re all my beautiful little psychos.

And last but never least, my readers. To anyone who takes a chance on my stuff because it’s different, to the book clubs who choose my books, to anyone who recs me in groups, on Facebook, or really anywhere. You can’t put a price on word of mouth, and you guys have made my dreams come true. It’s because of you that I’m even doing this right now, and I need you to know how much I love each and every one of you for it. Your messages, comments, and reviews give me life. I’ve said this before, but whether you’re a silent stalker or a loud-ass superfan, it doesn’t matter. I consider you all friends and I can’t wait for you to see the amazing things Nyla K has in store!

Thank you for reading

The Midnight City Series:

Andrew & Tessa’s Trilogy

(Forbidden/Age Gap, celebrity romance, suspense. Read in order)

Midnight City (TMCS #1)

Never Let Me Go (TMCS #2)

Always Yours (TMCS #3)

Alex & Noah

Seek Me (TMCS #4—Standalone, Friends to lovers/Angst)

Unexpected Forbidden Romance:

PUSH (Standalone, Taboo/MMF)

To Burn In Brutal Rapture (Standalone, Taboo/Age Gap)

Alabaster Penitentiary:

Distorted (Volume 1)

Joyless (Volume 2)—COMING NEXT!

Brainwashed (Volume 3)

Fragments (Volume 4)

Ivory (Volume 5)

Twisted Tales Collection:

Serpent In White (A dark polyamorous cult retelling of The White Snake)

Coming November 19, 2021!

Romance After Dark Taboo Anthology:

Title TBA, Coming 2022!

Don’t forget to share and leave a review! It means the world!

Hi, guys! I’m Nyla K, otherwise known as Nylah Kourieh; an awkward sailor-mouthed lover of all things romance, existing in the Dirty Lew, up in Maine, with my fiancé, who you can call PB, or Patty Banga if you’re nasty. When I’m not writing and reading sexy books, I’m rocking out to Machine Gun Kelly and YUNGBLUD, cooking yummy food and fussing over my kitten (and no, that’s not a euphemism). Did I mention I have a dirtier mind than probably everyone you know?

I like to admire hot guys (don’t we all?) and book boyfriends, cake and ice cream are my kryptonite. I can recite every word that was ever uttered on Friends, Family Guy, and How I Met Your Mother, red Gatorade is my lifeblood, and I love to sing, although I’ve been told I do it in a Cher voice for some reason. I’m very passionate about the things that matter to me, and art is probably the biggest one. If you tell me you like my books, I’ll give you whatever you want. I consider my readers are my friends, and I welcome anyone to find me on social media any time you want to talk books or sexy dudes!

Get at me:

AuthorNylaK@gmail.com, or my PA amberbookobsession@gmail.com

Instagram:@AuthorNylaK

Facebook: AuthorNylaK

Tiktok: @AuthorNylaK

Twitter: @MissNylah

Goodreads: Nyla K

BookBub: @AuthorNylaK