Don’t try to cheat a woman who doesn’t play by the rules.
For her crimes, Jo is sentenced to prison for life. She knew it would be no vacation—but what she encounters there is worse than her wildest imagination. So she should be open to an offer, shouldn’t she? But what if her allies play a wicked game with her?
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Treason
Copyright © 2014 Valerie J. Long
ISBN: 978-1-77111-790-6
Cover art by Carmen Waters
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.
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Treason
Lioness’ Legacy V
Zoe Lionheart 16
By
Valerie J. Long
Dedication
For Jo. Sorry, dear, for what I’ve done to you.
Part One—Sent Down
Chapter One
“Hey you! This way!”
To emphasize his request, the guard pointed his baton at me, and with the other hand he waved at the doorway that I obviously should take.
Obediently, I left the column of prisoners and shuffled past him, looking down. Rule number one—you didn’t look into a uniformed man’s face. That could be taken as pride or defiance, and both weren’t tolerated.
“Forget anything you’ve ever heard about rights,” they had told us upon arrival. “You’re just scum, and we’ll have you sorted out very soon. You’ll do as you’re told and otherwise shut up. Anyone wearing a uniform is God.”
God one-hundred and seventeen—such said his nameplate—let me pass, only giving my buttocks an easy pat with his baton, and then followed me.
I didn’t have to ponder much what he was up to. During the yard round, the prisoners were allowed to talk, and I had attentively listened when they discussed their experiences, even if they didn’t include me.
The guards were God, and they were men in a women’s prison. They took what they wanted, and they got it. Rumor had it, those who didn’t follow and didn’t spread received a special treatment. None of the other prisoners was eager to test it.
Now it was my turn. At least they had given me four weeks, probably so that the other women could prepare me for my role. This way, I had been able to consider how to deal with it.
I was here voluntarily, so to say. That is, I’d serve my sentence so that I could be considered not guilty thereafter—in the eyes of the world, but also in my own. I had simply collected too much blood on my hands, and my conscience yelled at me, murderer!
The same skills I had applied to commit those crimes would easily help me to escape from this prison, and that was why I wouldn’t use them.
So I had to adapt to the situation. I had expected that—but not how bad it truly was. Rape, even by several guards simultaneously, was daily routine, and that’s where I’d draw the line. Not on my watch!
The stay in this facility should break the women, mentally and physically. Sexual humiliation played a major role in it. I could bear it, I had taken worse, but especially after my New York experience, I wasn’t ready for it. Instead, I’d experience the other side of the coin—the application of physical violence.
Three more guards were already waiting for us. Their bulging pants confirmed my suspicions about their plans for me. Their batons told of the alternative.
I could defend myself, could easily crush the four guys down, but what would follow? If I didn’t want to take a French leave from this jail, I’d have to face their revenge thereafter. Defend myself again. Where would that lead? No, the situation couldn’t get out of hand, and that meant that I’d have to learn to take without dealing out.
On the other hand, I wasn’t interested in broken bones and the pain coming with it. The food was neither good nor ample, so my healing powers would come to an end far too soon due to a lack of replenishments. So I had to learn to take without being severely hurt, and my nanos had to help me with that. For this purpose, I had provided myself with the proverbial thick skin, and, as it seemed, I could test it now.
“Now show us,” the guard behind me asked.
I shrugged and dropped my gray, knee-long tunic. No prisoner wore anything else—the offered panties were scratchy and uncomfortable and not even really clean, as I had found out quickly.
“Quite nice, ain’t she?” one of the guards asked.
“Short, but firm. Turn around.”
I turned. They could watch me as much as they liked, anytime. But I avoided any movement that could have appeared teasing. This audience didn’t deserve my art.
Four times I heard a rip, and four zippers released four quickly growing cocks.
“Weeell?” one of them said and stepped closer. He tried to bring my erection into reach of my hands. I managed to avoid that touch by a slight turn. Instead, he pushed his dick into my ass crack, while his hands successfully grabbed for my tits. No matter, grabbing didn’t bother me.
“Bend over,” he barked, and I obeyed again.
His fingers reached into my crotch, searched for a way into my labia, searched for wetness, but failed at both.
“Darn, she’s tight,” he complained and drilled again. But my vagina remained tight, thanks to my years-long-trained and, upon arrival here, once again reinforced vaginal muscles. I wouldn’t be able to withstand a forcefully inserted baton, but no penis would find entrance here.
The same applied for my ass, as my anal sphincter was in good shape, too.
“Open up,” he finally demanded.
I denied this command, but I suppressed a defiant No. What was it called? Civil disobedience? There shouldn’t be a reason for accusations.
His baton firmly hit my buttocks. “Open up!” he repeated aloud.
I remained standing bent over and said nothing. Nevertheless, his fingers still found no opening.
Another guard’s rough hands took my chin and pulled it up, until I stood upright before him and had to look up to him. “This is not the way it works here, dear. You’ll see!”
His cock had already dropped. That’s what I had hoped for—nudity alone didn’t turn these men on anymore. Perhaps the sexual act’s violent execution gave them a kick, perhaps their victims’ cries contributed to it—neither of which I’d give them.
He pushed me away, and right after his baton followed, aimed at my left kidney. My arm got in the way—but only just barely. I didn’t show an open defense move.
More blows from all four guards followed, and I couldn’t always cushion them so well. I’d need luck to find a resting position tonight that wouldn’t hurt too much.
Chapter Two
“Come!”
Buck’s voice didn’t promise any good, nor did his grim features while unlocking the cell door. What were their plans for me? Hadn’t the last beating—for the third time since my arri
val—only been yesterday? I had already repaired the worst hits to some extent, but still it hurt almost everywhere. Almost everywhere, because so far they’d avoided risky blows to my head.
So far, they hadn’t broken any of my bones either, but that wasn’t due to their gentle treatment. If I hadn’t slightly turned away at the very last moment several times, I wouldn’t rise so easily now and scuffle after him.
He patiently led me to the showers. What should I do here? Showers were due once a day, in the morning, before breakfast, and not briefly before dinner.
Without prompting, I took off my tunic and placed it on the first hook in the anteroom, and then followed Buck on into the wet area. Oh dear—the big hose in Roberto’s hands didn’t promise any good.
“You were uncooperative yesterday again,” Aaron declared. “Don’t think you’ll get away with it for long.”
Buck pushed me into the corner and quickly retreated. Then Roberto turned the lever, and the stream of ice-cold water hit me like a club and tore me off my legs. Ouch!
Somehow, I managed to keep the stream away from my most delicate parts and to not suffer injuries, and the cold didn’t matter to me anyway. Finally, the guys gave up.
The testing feel in my crotch again didn’t render the desired success, so they pulled me up on my legs and chased me outside with baton blows. I wasn’t even allowed to fetch my tunic before they stuffed me into that tiny, lightless hole where I should spend the next two days and nights. There was a bucket and a short hose hanging from the wall, from which you could suck stale, fishy, and runs-causing water once you had found it.
This combination—no food, but diarrhea instead—was well suited to weaken any prisoner to an extent that no muscle in the world could keep tight, or at least that seemed to be the plan. Only I spoiled their plan by not becoming sick, and moreover, I saved my reserves by shutting my body mostly down.
In exchange, right after my release they served me another shower massage, and because I still wasn’t open for them, another beating immediately thereafter. In the end, I received my tunic and was allowed to go to lunch.
The food was cheap and bad, and you had to watch out what you were chewing on. Several times before, one or another cockroach had been found in the meal—where other women turned away with disgust, I welcomed the additional if low nutritive value. Not so this time—I had only just taken the next free seat at one of the tables with my tray, when the brawny woman to my right told me, “Get lost, you stink.”
I knew that wasn’t true. My sensory organ was working well, even after the forced break in the Hole, and my sweat bacteria were under control. So I ignored her and turned to my first meal in three days.
“Eh, I said, get lost!” She stressed her request with an elbow blow against my ribs that I couldn’t ignore.
“I will stay seated,” I declared. “The guards have clear rules. Nobody chooses seats, so you take the next free chair.”
“I have clear rules, too, shortie. I decide who may sit next to me, and you’re not on that list.” She looked around. “You’re coming from the Hole. D’you want to go right back? Or d’you feel strong enough to challenge me, my shortie?”
I didn’t even look at her. “I’m not your shortie, and you bore me. Just leave me alone.” If I wanted to work through my plate, I had to hurry, so I quickly took a bite. She didn’t appear to me like someone who would pull back, and she didn’t.
“You haven’t heard of me yet, what? I’m Chainsaw Cassie. I’d butchered five men with the chainsaw before they caught me, and upon my arrest, I smashed three cops’ balls and broke their arms. Nobody here takes me on.”
“I’m not taking you on, and you’d better not take me on.” Another fork.
“You’re threatening me, girly-girl?”
This time, I had to answer her with full mouth. But she seemed to ask for it. “You haven’t heard about me, Cassie.” Finally, I gazed at her. “But you’ve surely heard that the Cartel’s been shattered, and the New York Syndicate as well.”
“I did, shortie. So what?”
“Do you know why I’m here?”
“Nah.”
“Multiple homicide. The Cartel’s top heads and the Syndicate’s executioners.” I wouldn’t have called it murder, but that’s what it was called in my arrest papers—without quoting the victims.
“You’re pulling my leg.”
“Put me to the test, and you’re done before the guards can blink.”
“If you’re so good, why are you here still? Just walk out! The guards can’t stop you,” Cassie scoffed.
“Even if you don’t understand, Chainsaw Cassie—I’m here to serve my sentence. The guards aren’t involved.”
“You like to be abused?”
“It doesn’t matter,” I lied.
“That’s all Dragon poo! You’re shittin’ me and talkin’ me to death. Go, piss off.” Another elbow should hit my face.
My right hand was faster, intercepted her arm and held it in an iron grip. Then I squeezed my fingers around her arm. With admirable self-control, Cassie suppressed a cry of pain.
Calmly, I placed another bite into my mouth while she was writhing in my grip.
“You’re dead!” she uttered. “Dead!”
“The Cartel’s best killers didn’t manage that in ten years,” I calmly returned and ate on. Nevertheless, I knew that Cassie wasn’t the type to let that matter rest. I’d have to keep up my guard, always alert—even if it was my Analogy that would watch over my sleep. Otherwise, one day I’d wake up and find myself dead.
For now, Cassie had another little meanness ready for me—when I finally had finished my meal and rose to return my tray, she gave me a push in the back. I couldn’t dodge because one of her mates blocked my way. That woman then let herself drop theatrically and with loud clatter.
In no time, two guards arrived. Cassie and her aid immediately accused me of trying to start a brawl. I only kept my mouth shut—I had no friends here, and any reply could have appeared defiant.
Consequently, I found myself in the dark cell for another two days.
Chapter Three
Cassie’s threat thus had to wait until I returned to the normal prison routine. However, this took more time than expected. While I only stayed two days in the lightless hole, I wasn’t allowed to return to my cell thereafter. The guards had come up with something new to break my resistance.
First, I didn’t get my tunic back. Then they led me onto the prison block’s flat roof. Here they had prepared shackles for hands and feet with which they spread me out on the rough concrete.
Actually, I’d expected them to start another rape attempt, but they simply left me alone there, exposed to wind and weather.
I guessed it would become quite cold at night. Sadly, I was right there—on top of isolation, sexual humiliation, and the flux drugs that didn’t work, now came cold and wetness and with it the—for ordinary humans—almost expected pneumonia. Moreover, the shackles prevented any movement, so that I’d be sore the next morning, in short—a wreck.
I didn’t agree with that.
My self-commitment prevented me from escaping from this prison, but not from the opposite.
I had to nick one of the wires with a claw and then tear it apart, so then I had one hand free for opening the shackle at the other wrist—the lock was no challenge for me. The same happened to the foot shackles. The rooftop door wasn’t locked, nor was the access to the clothing store, where I retrieved my tunic. Only at the trellised door to the cell corridor did the fun start. This access was guarded by camera, each door operation was recorded electronically, and the lock itself was operated by a touch-less card reader. So I had to deceive the camera with a nano curtain, interrupt the recording, infiltrate the card reader, slip through the door and thereafter reverse all manipulations.
The same actions had to be repeated at three more doors, including my own cell door, before I could recline on
my bunk and sleep.
“Wake up!” a harsh voice commanded, accompanied by the rattle of a baton against the iron bars of my cell. Then the bolt clicked, and the guard entered my cell. I hurried to rise from my bunk.
“What are you doing here?” he barked at me.
“I’m serving my sentence, Sir.”
“You shouldn’t be here!”
“This is my cell, Sir. I’m going nowhere unless ordered so, Sir.”
He bit his tongue. The cell tract was under surveillance, by video and microphone. The prisoners couldn’t exchange any word that wasn’t recorded, and necessarily the same applied for the guards’ orders. They carefully avoided performing their special treatments in rooms with surveillance or during active hours, like in the showers. So he could hardly ask me why I wasn’t lying tied to the roof and dying—that could lead to uncomfortable questions upon a check of the recordings.
I just shouldn’t grin.
Chapter Four
For this coup, I of course received my shower massage and a subsequent warm-up beating instead of breakfast, and this time they mercilessly dealt it out. If my face looked the way it felt, I must have made a scary impression.
With the next fresh air break in the yard, I could read from the other women’s faces how much that applied. They all received their own tender care now and then, so they knew how much the guards tried to avoid hits to the head. Someone receiving strikes like mine had to have crossed them truly badly.
I didn’t complain. With a stone face, I sat down in a lone corner and waited for the call to lunch.
Shortly after, Cassie stood before me, accompanied by nine more women who were shielding us against the guards’ view.
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