by Ivy Asher
I approach the anxious guard, and he waves me around the side of the building where inmates aren’t normally allowed to go. I look around to see if anyone is paying attention, but only find Zen’s eyes tracking my movements. I give her a wave and smile as I disappear around the corner where I’m met by a manila folder practically being shoved in my face.
“Damn, activate your chill, Chuck,” I censure as I step back, checking my face for papercuts.
“I got what you wanted. Just take it. Before someone sees,” he tells me with a distressed catch in his tone.
“Chuck, you seriously need to just take a couple of deep breaths. It’s not like I’m asking you to shove a sub sandwich up your ass for me. It’s just some papers you printed for me to have a look at. No biggie,” I tell him reassuringly.
Chuck opens his mouth to say something, and then his features fold with confusion. “Why would you want me to shove a sandwich up my ass?” he asks, taking a step back and looking me over with renewed concern.
I huff out an exasperated breath. “Apparently it’s a thing, but I wouldn’t ask, that’s my point.”
“But how would that even fit?” he demands, his hands dropping to cover his butt, clearly not focusing on the fact that no one has requested an ass sandwich from him.
Rolling my eyes, I ignore the question and instead open the file and read through what I asked Chuck to get for me. My eyes scan the pages, and then I sigh a little. Officer Rook’s employment file isn’t half as exciting as I hoped it would be. The dates in this file confirm that he’s worked here for four years, and he’s received two promotions. From what I can see, he hasn’t had any complaints filed against him since he started here.
I flip through the copies of the reviews he’s had and read through the lease agreement that Chuck printed off for the condo it seems Officer Rook rents. I glance quickly over the registration in the file for a 1970 Ford Bronco and then close the file, handing it back to Chuck.
It seems Rook checks out.
I look past Chuck in thought, but his nervous rocking makes it hard to focus on other avenues I can discreetly check to be sure I’m not missing anything on the Rook front.
“You did real good, Chuck,” I coo, and the man wipes more sweat off his upper lip and gives me a smile. “I appreciate your help and your discretion,” I add with a hint of warning in my tone that this obviously needs to stay between us.
Chuck nods his head vigorously and shoves the file back up the front of his shirt.
“The next time that harpy gang comes into your wife’s shop, tell her to say shlecom...and that Sinclair said hi. After that, they won’t ask for the protection fee anymore, and they’ll make sure nobody else messes with her. Her new flower business will be blooming in no time,” I tell him, smirking at my pun. Chuck doesn’t appreciate it though, he’s too busy mouthing the code word multiple times to make sure he’s got it right.
I know for a fact it’s right, because I once got into a tussle with some of those harpies, but then we became fast friends once they realized I liked to cause mayhem just as much as they do. His wife will be under their wings of protection in no time.
“And that’s it?” he asks me, his gaze growing a touch leerier.
I offer him a wide smile. “That’s it, Chuck. Just a one-time thing like I promised it would be. I mean, we can still be friends, of course. And if a friend wanted to give another friend some Pop Rocks every once in a while, there’d be no objections, but we’re square.”
Chuck’s Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows down his nerves, and then in a flash, he hurries away from me.
Making friends is so much fun.
I wait a minute or so and then round the corner and head back toward Zen and the others, my mind taking in all the info about Rook. As though my thinking of him suddenly summons him, Rook steps out of a door that leads up to the tower in the corner of the yard where more guards keep an eye on the perimeter. He closes the door behind him and immediately looks up, his stare landing on me. We both watch each other for a second, and I ignore the heat that dips dangerously low in my belly.
Could he really just be a coincidence? Everything I’ve unearthed at this point says that he is, but I’m still skeptical. As much as I’d love to think the universe has finally taken pity on me and offered me this visual gift as an apology for all the years of fuckery, I can’t let go of the feeling that it’s too good to be true.
As he watches me, Rook wiggles his head from side-to-side, and the moment his movement registers, both of our eyes widen in shock.
Did he...Did he just head wobble me?
Rook’s cheeks light up with a bright blush, and he shakes his head like he’s somehow answering my unvoiced question. His hands flap up at his sides, and he looks even more distressed as he slams them back down and speedily starts to walk away. I watch him hurry through the yard and disappear around a corner, a smile creeping slowly over my face.
Oh my sweet color spectrum, he totally wobbled!
I recall the last cockatrice gathering I attended and pull up the memories of the dance that male cockatrices do when they’re trying to intrigue a female. Yep. First comes the head wobble and then the arm or wing flap. Toss in some tail whips, and then the holy grail of color flashing, and you’ve got an interested male cockatrice.
Rook likes me.
My smile spreads even wider. So this attraction isn’t just one-sided! He’s totally been thinking about cocking my trice. Smirk.
After I saunter back to Zen’s group and sit back down on my designated piece of broken concrete, I am looking mighty pleased with myself.
“Hey Lizard-bird, your tail is wagging.”
I look over at Sophie and then down to my scaly tail. The orange and yellow feathers on the end are flicking back and forth like a pleased cat. Flustered, I quickly grab my tail and stuff the end of it into my pocket, inwardly chastising it.
Stop it, tail!
It’s one thing for Rook to wobble, it’s another entirely for my own instincts to start getting jiggy with an answering tail flick. Male cockatrices love a good tail flick. It draws their attention to our feathers. I snagged many a fella in my rebellious teenage years with my super bright orange and yellow feathers. I’ve been told that the plumage on my tail is fantastic.
Zen leans in. “You know, if you’re looking for information, I have a better source than Up-Chuck over there.”
I raise my gaze to her, giving nothing away. I’m really glad I have her as a sort-of-ally right now, but I wasn’t born yesterday. Everyone in here is a criminal, Zen included. And inside prison, everything comes at a price. You can only count on yourself, and trust is just a banking term.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I tell her.
A smirk kicks up at the corner of her lips. “You’ve got more than just a citrus grove sprouting out of that colorful head of yours, I’ll give you that,” she says before unfolding her legs and getting fluidly to her feet. “Walk with me, Sinclair.”
It’s not a question, and Zen isn’t the kind of person you deny. I get to my feet, dusting myself off, and make sure my tail is still tucked securely into my pants pocket. I don’t want to trip over it, and I can’t trust it not to go all flick-happy in case I see Rook again. I’d rather keep the upper hand and make him think I’m not interested. Nothing drives a cockatrice crazy like a one-sided mating wobble.
Oh man, I’m going to have so much fun with that.
“So, Sinclair Denali,” Zen begins as we make our way around the rec yard, keeping to the fence line. “I’ve heard some things about you.”
AKA, she’s been asking around about me just like I’ve been asking around about Rook.
“Yeah?” I say noncommittally. Several of the other inmates and guards watch us as we walk, but I have no idea if me walking alone with Zen around the yard is supposed to be significant or something. I haven’t been here long enough to know all the ins and outs.
“Your lounge of cockatrices is a humble
size but strong. Your matriarch and patriarch have ruled for over fifty years. You were set to be next in line.”
“I was,” I answer with a nod, not really knowing where she’s going with this.
She stuffs her hands into the pockets of her gray uniform pants. “It’s weird that your matriarch would sell you off to a rival pack leader for mating, instead of allowing you to choose your own patriarch to mate with within your own lounge and groom you for leadership.”
Again, not a question, but Zen is careful with her wording. She makes it sound like we’re just having a friendly convo, when really, she’s showing me how much she already knows about me. I’m not sure if it’s a warning, a challenge, or something else.
“Yeah, my mat and pat are a real piece of work.” That’s putting it mildly. I have a very…combustible relationship with my parents—my mat in particular.
Zen gives me a sidelong glance. “I’ve heard rumors that the Denali lounge owes a lot of money. It’s one of the reasons why you were given to Alpha Bowen. Maybe to settle a debt?”
Anger causes my feet to stop in their tracks and spin to face Zen. “Where did you hear that?”
Instead of being affronted by my snippy tone, she just shrugs. “Like I said, there’s better sources to get information from than Up-Chuck.”
I have no idea how she heard something like that, but it pisses me off. “That’s bullshit. My lounge would never borrow money, especially not from Alpha Bowen,” I say, although doubt trickles into the back of my mind.
Is that why my mat and pat drew up a mating contract without even discussing it with me first? But why? We had money of the white and the black variety. At least, I thought we did. Our lounge has always been stable. We have businesses and all sorts of schemes in place. Why in the world would they have been in debt? And why the fuck would they have reached out to Alpha Bowen for help?
The cockatrice alpha is rumored to be a power hungry whoremonger with a thirst for war with other lounges. Every year, he always takes over another cockatrice lounge, forcing them to merge into his own. The moment my mat informed me that I was to mate him, I knew that I was doomed and that I was going to have to be very creative in order to get out of it. That’s why I chose Nightmare Penitentiary; I’m out of reach, but it’s not a situation my lounge would be forced to go to war over.
“Do you have a point to this little share and tell?” I ask Zen, crossing my arms in front of me.
She breathes in deeply, closing her eyes slightly before opening them again. “Your anger is very potent. Tasty, too.”
That catches me off guard. She must be some kind of fae or demon to be able to feed off that. “What do you want, Zen?”
“Nothing,” she says simply. “Yet.”
I narrow my eyes. “Yet?”
“Mm-hmm. You think I took you in because of your bright hair and affinity for cafeteria food?” she asks, shaking her head. “Cockatrices aren’t all that common, but they are wily. You could come in handy,” she answers cryptically. “You also have a price on your head.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “What?”
She nods in affirmation. “Seems Alpha Bowen wants you. Bad. He’s offering a lot of money to the person who can break you out and bring you to him. And word in the prison is...there’s someone on the inside who’s taking up the offer.”
A sick feeling churns through my stomach. I mean, I’m not stupid. I know that all the attempts to break me out were because of him. But I didn’t realize he would get all obsessive about it. I mean, ordering his shifters to fetch me from jail is one thing, but putting up a breakout bounty on my head in Nightmare Pen? That’s just crazy. And someone on the inside…that can only be one person. Rook.
“Thanks for the heads-up,” I say before I start to turn around.
“Sinclair.”
I stop, barely suppressing a sigh. I knew it couldn’t be that easy. Nothing is free in here. Least of all information.
Zen steps forward to be in front of me once again. Her dark eyes hold mine, her lotus flower tattoo glimmering slightly in the sunlight. “The next time someone tries to break you out, we can help each other.”
She holds my gaze meaningfully, and I nod. “Deal.”
I’m not sure if she wants out or if this is an excellent enterprise opportunity, but as long as I get to stay in here, I don’t care.
With a nod, she turns and walks away, and I let out a breath. Feeling my tail flick inside my pocket, I frown as my eyes immediately shift over and up, where I see Rook standing in the guard tower, looking down at me from the window.
I clench my teeth, digging my hands into my pockets so that I can grip my rebellious tail and hold it still.
Even if it is a coincidence that another cockatrice works here, that doesn’t mean he hasn’t heard about Alpha Bowen’s price to get me back. And what better person is there to break out an inmate than a well-trusted guard?
I turn and stalk away, my footsteps angry as I kick up dirt behind me.
I lift my chin with determination. So that colorful hot fucker is going to try to make money by breaking me out? He can fucking try.
5
The lock release on the metal door of my cell buzzes like a hive of pissed off bees. I jerk awake and stare at the door as an over-muscled guard who happens to be on my not a fan of me list leans in. He glares at me, and I glare right back. He just interrupted an epic dream I was having where I rode the face of a mystery man while his tail did all kinds of delicious things with my ass.
I close my eyes, ignoring the expectant look on the guard’s face, and try to invite the dream to come back and ravish me the way a girl deserves to be dream-ravished. Something slams against the metal bed frame that’s attached to the stone wall, and I cover my ears from the ringing noise it creates.
What the hell?
I sit up quickly and eye the asshole guard with the smug look on his face as he reholsters his baton.
Dick.
“You have visitors waiting for you. Hurry up before we send them away,” he snaps, his sand-brown eyes alight with the joy that threats and mistreatment must give him.
Wait. Visitors?
I wrack my brain for all of two seconds before I deduce exactly who might be waiting to speak to me. It’s not like the list is that long.
“Yeah, go ahead and send them away,” I tell him, not at all interested in speaking with anyone who isn’t currently inside this prison.
The torturous light in the guard’s eyes dims slightly and then lights back up like someone just poured gasoline on this fucker’s messed up thoughts.
“On your feet, inmate,” he orders, and I stare at him for beat.
Is he serious? First he threatens to send my visitors away, and now he’s going to force me to talk to them just to fuck with me?
He rests his hand on the baton that’s once again hanging from the utility belt circling his waist, the warning clear. I roll my eyes and stand up, pushing my feet into my prison-issued Crocs. I was up late last night chatting away to my new troll bestie, Joe, in the toilet and changing the black slip-on shoes into a tie-dye rainbow of color. I can’t help but smile with pride as I stare down at my colorful feet. It’s almost enough happiness to help me get through what I know is about to happen.
Almost.
I follow Sandbag—the loving nickname I just gave this sandy-eyed douchebag of a guard—out of my cell. I pass Sophie the wolf and the water fae, and I give them a tough looking chin jerk in greeting. I giggle at the thought of looking like a hard-ass, and Sandbag shoots me a glare over his shoulder.
Jeez. Someone needs to miss a dose of steroids or accept that the stuff is just going to make his shrinky dink even smaller, and then cheer the fuck up, because he is grumpy.
I’m buzzed through doors and led down unfamiliar hallways, and each time I have to stop and wait and get going again, my irritation and anger begin to boil in my chest. By the time I’m stopped just outside a door with Visitor Room marked on it, I have
a solid mask of fuck off in place. Sandbag shoves me inside, and I snarl at him over my shoulder as he slams the metal door shut and leers at me from the peephole hatch.
I turn to find a metal chair, a phone attached to the wall, a thick scratched pane of plexiglass, and two people I have no interest in speaking to...my matriarch and patriarch. I stare at them with dead eyes and fold my arms over my chest, as if somehow the move will offer another layer of much needed protection.
My pat’s ruby red eyes grow soft when he sees me, but my mat’s green eyes do the exact opposite. She looks me over and finds me lacking...just like she always does. I think I’ve only ever witnessed a smile on her face twice in my life. Once was when my pat had announced that he acquired a rival lounge and that the alpha of said lounge—who had slighted my mat in some way—was no longer breathing. The second time I saw her lips tilt up with cruel happiness was right after she told me that I now belong to Alpha Bowen.
A fist slams against the metal door behind me, and I turn around to meet Sandbag’s elated gaze.
“You’ll stay in here until you talk to them,” he declares, and I wonder if he’s a sadist or if he’s being paid off. Probably both.
I release a resigned sigh and then turn and walk to the metal chair. I sit down and pick up the phone receiver and slowly bring it to my ear.
Satisfaction blooms in my mat’s eyes, and she stares at me for a beat before picking up the receiver on her side of the dirty glass barrier.
“Maybe I should kill your little pawn out there when this is done,” I announce casually, hiking my thumb over my shoulder to point to the guard. “I’ve been looking for a way to extend my sentence, so if he doesn’t return your calls after this, you’ll know why.”
My mat just blinks. “Fine. That’ll save us from having to send him any payments for his services,” she tells me just as casually.
Disappointment fills me. I look at my pat, just like I always do, pleading with my eyes for him to deal with her, because I just can’t.
