Prisoned Series Box Set

by Marni Mann

  Diego had texted me when we landed, telling me #1504 would be getting cell eight. So, I escorted him through the door, down the hallway, and into the cell block.

  “Where am I?” the inmate cried. “What are you going to do with me?”

  He couldn’t see a thing with the blindfold I’d tied over his eyes.

  Blocking his vision made this part of the process much easier. In the past, when the prisoners could see where they were going, they would get on the ground and not move, and we’d have to carry them to their cells. Some of them would even pee, and that shit would get all over us.

  Fuck that.

  “Keep walking,” I spit.

  “Who are you? What do you want? I have money. Can I give you money to let me go? How about a house in Bali? Would you like a house and—”

  “Keep fucking walking,” I barked.

  When we reached cell eight, I stuck my key into the lock, cranked it around in a full circle, and opened the door. A puddle of puke was in the corner, and it smelled like hell in here. Not death. This was actual feces.

  Normally, we had the sweepers clean up the cell after the inmate was killed, but being that we were so short-staffed, the guards didn’t have anyone to do it. Not that it mattered. Inmate #1504 would just add more puke to the floor. More shit. And probably a whole lot of piss since prisoners, for some reason, didn’t like to use the toilet.

  Dirty fuckers.

  “I have money,” he repeated. “I can give you whatever you want. Just name it, and it’s yours.”

  I took off his blindfold and handcuffs and kicked him into the cell.

  He blinked hard, looking all around the small room, trying to make sense of what he saw. Every prisoner did the same thing. They were so predictable at this point that I knew what they were going to do before they did.

  “My God, what is this place? Where are we? Who the hell are you?”

  I stuck the cuffs in my pocket and backed out, always keeping my eyes on him in case he was fucking stupid and tried to come at me.

  “Answer me, damn it!” He stood in the middle, staring at the tiny window, which he wouldn’t be able to break. Then, he looked at the toilet and sink, his gaze eventually returning to me. “ANSWER ME.”

  Ah, there it was. The sound of desperation had finally set in. It was the same for everyone when they reached the point where they were legitimately scared for their life, when the emotions controlling their body caused them to open their mouths and let out just one noise.

  My noise.

  A perfect scream.

  I held the door between my hands and rubbed my beard into the cold steel. Shit, it felt fucking good to be home. “I’m the guy who’s going to kill you.” Then, I locked him in, pausing outside to listen to a few more screams.

  Inmate #1504 had a good voice. A higher pitch than I’d originally thought, his lungs holding more air than most.

  I’d have to come this way later, so I could listen a little more.

  I moved through the cell block and stopped outside the door of The Eyes. Entering my code, I waited for it to open. As it did, I saw Diego at the desk, turning around in his chair when he heard me come in.

  He got up to hug me, pounding his fist into my shoulder. “Flight okay?”

  “Little bumpy over the Gulf of Mexico. Nothing I couldn’t handle after a few drinks.”

  He pulled away and sat back down. “We’re expecting a storm.”

  I took the seat next to his and crossed my boots over the desk. “I had a feeling.”

  “That means, we’re in for a day of hell.”

  Nah, that meant, we were in for a day of screams.

  Something about stormy weather made the inmates fucking crazy. We never knew why. We just figured it was the noise of the thunder and the flashes of lightning across their cells. But, when the rain got intense, we knew things would get wild around here.

  Diego hated the screams.

  Shank didn’t give a shit about them.

  And then there was me, wishing they’d get so much louder.

  “Where’s Shank at?”

  Diego shrugged. “He said he needed a nap.”

  That was Shank’s way of saying he wanted to fuck. That meant, he was probably in town and wouldn’t be back for a few hours.

  Unless…

  “Which sweeper got his stomach pumped?”

  I checked the video feed to see what #1504 was up to. He was holding on to the ledge of the window, trying to pull himself up. Poor fucker couldn’t even get his feet off the ground.

  “Toy,” he said.

  That figured.

  Toy, who’d earned the nickname because he’d do anything Shank asked, couldn’t be older than twenty-two. He was nothing more than a skinny pill head with no front teeth and a tongue that was split in half like a snake’s. Shank had done both—one with a hammer, one with a saw. He’d said it made Toy give better head.

  “Is he back from the clinic?”

  Diego shook his head. “Never went. Shank did it for him instead. Stuck a long tube down his throat and pumped it full of water.”

  “Jesus.”

  “I know. Dude, I can handle blood and shit, but projectile vomit ain’t my jam. I had to run down here and jump in the fucking pit just to calm down my stomach.”

  I couldn’t help but laugh at the irony.

  “Toy was in pretty rough shape,” he continued. “Blue lips, bubbling with spit, eyes rolling back in his head. It was ugly.”

  “How’s he now?”

  He tapped a few buttons on the keyboard, checking the outside of the building. A cat was roaming around the front steps, sniffing the door, rubbing his back across the concrete. Pussies were fine. But, if it were the kind of animal that dug, it would have been shot by now.

  We couldn’t have anything burrowing around here, not with what we had going on in the basement.

  “He’s upstairs, sleeping it off. And, from what I know, he’s still alive.”

  “I’ll go make the prisoners some chow, and then I’ll check on him.”

  Diego nodded. “Good deal.”

  I left The Eyes and went into the kitchen. Not that I could even call it that. It only had a fridge, a sink, and a few cabinets. There weren’t any appliances to heat up the food.

  Unlike most prisons, we didn’t believe in an inmate having their last meal where they got to put in a special order. Nor did I wear a fucking apron and grill up surf and turf. They ate what we fed them, and we didn’t waste our time warming that shit up.

  Today’s grub was a few cans of Spam that I dumped into a bowl, mixing it with water so that there’d be more to go around. I then added in some dry oatmeal and some leftover noodles I’d found in the fridge. I spooned it all onto trays—cafeteria-style, like the ones we’d eaten on when we were kids. I added small cartons of milk and a few canned peaches. Then, I stuck all the trays on a cart and delivered them.

  Most of the inmates wouldn’t move when I opened their cell. They knew better. I wore a gun on each hip, and I was twice the size of most of them. But they’d look at me, their faces turning red while they held their breath, wondering if I was here to torture them. They wouldn’t start breathing when they saw the tray. I had a feeling that only happened when I shut the door behind me.

  The last cell I went to held a female prisoner. We didn’t get too many women, maybe one a month. This chick was new. She must have come in while I was in Miami. She sat with her back pressed into the center of the wall, arms wrapped around her stomach. Black makeup ran down her cheeks, sobs echoing off the walls.

  I wished she were screaming.

  Crying did nothing for me. Well, maybe something, like pissing me the fuck off.

  “Eat up.” I slid her food toward her. Some of the Spam sloshed over the side and spilled onto the floor.

  “What if I told you I was pregnant? Would that make a difference?” Slobber wet both lips, strings of it stretching every time she opened them.

  She was
going to be a mother?

  I almost laughed.

  That didn’t work on me.

  I didn’t respect mothers. Especially not ones who had done something that landed them in here.

  “I’m four months along. That’s why I’m—”

  “I don’t fucking care,” I hissed, “because nothing you say will get you out of here.”

  “But my unborn child didn’t—”

  “Shut the fuck up!”

  She’d located a trigger. I didn’t have many. But it felt like a thousand mosquitoes were all stinging me at the same time. If I didn’t get out of this cell, she’d be dead within seconds.

  “Please”—she sobbed as I backed out of the room—“just leave the door unlocked, and I’ll disappear in the middle of the night. You’ll never see me again.”

  We were on a goddamn island. She had no identification and no money to get out of the country. She’d have to swim. Within two hundred yards, she’d be swarmed by sharks. The way we’d kill her would hurt less.

  Maybe.

  “I’m not the one who’s going to let you escape.”

  She sat up straighter, looking more excited than she should. “Who should I ask then?”

  I shook my head, almost laughing again, the door in my hand just waiting to be slammed. “Nah, you misunderstood.” I took the key out of my pocket, getting ready to use it. “I’m the one who’s going to kill you.”

  “You motherfucker.” Her cries turned violent, and she started punching the floor. “You’re going to kill—”

  “Shut up!” I shouted, closing the door.

  She didn’t even have the responsibility of a baby yet, and she still hadn’t put it first. And she wanted me to have pity on her?

  Unfortunately for her, I didn’t have an ounce of sympathy in my body.

  She would be a horrible mother.

  Just like mine was.

  But mine had left me when I was twelve. If Bond and Shank hadn’t taken me in, I would have gone to the state. That was probably where her kid would have ended up had she not been sent here.

  “Get out all those tears,” I whispered through the bars, “because, pretty soon, all you’re going to have are screams.”

  She picked up the tray and flung it at my face. I walked away, hearing the plastic hit the cement.

  “Fuck you!” she shouted. Her voice was louder than before. “Fuuuck you.”

  It was close to a scream. Not quite as passionate as I’d wanted. But enough where it calmed me down.

  Mmm, I groaned as I exhaled.

  I loved that sound.

  I looked at the camera in the hallway and stuck up my finger, telling Diego that I was headed to our quarters. Then, I ran out to the boat and grabbed my bag. I went in through the front of the house. The door had a series of locks. I unlatched them all with my keys before I walked in.

  I hadn’t taken more than a few steps when I saw what was happening on our couch. Toy was on all fours in the center while Shank stood behind him, fucking him in the ass.

  “Jesus,” I said, covering my eyes with my forearm. “You have a goddamn bedroom to do that in.”

  “Sorry, Beard,” Toy said. “I puked on his sheets. The couch was our only option.”

  I hadn’t been looking for an apology or even an answer. This was Shank’s place as much as it was mine. But, fuck, every time I sat on that couch now, I’d have to think about Toy’s balls being all over it.

  “I’ll be in my room. Shank, come see me when you’re done.”

  I heard Shank grunt something before I shut the door.

  Dropping my bag onto the floor, I unpacked, tossing the clean clothes into my closet and the dirty ones into a hamper. Then, I fell backward onto my bed, staring through the window across from me.

  The view wasn’t all that different to the one I’d have in my new condo. We’d built the prison right on the water. Ocean access had been one of our requirements when Shank and I came here to scout for land. It made it easier to dump the ashes. The sweepers could load them right onto our boat and haul them overboard. It was also the way we traveled back and forth to the airport. Driving was too risky. But the ocean here wasn’t patrolled like it was in the States.

  As I went to stand to shut the blinds, my phone vibrated in my pocket. I took it out and stared at the screen.

  Layla: He took all day to consider your requests, but he agreed to everything you asked for. When are you coming back to sign? He wants a date.

  Me: Good girl.

  Layla: I figured you’d be happy with my performance.

  My dick started to harden.

  Lefty had given me head just a day ago, but, hell, I needed to get off more often than that. And the whole time her lips had been around my shaft, I had pictured Layla’s mouth.

  This wait was fucking painful.

  Me: Happy. But not satisfied yet.

  Layla: No? Maybe I can help with that, too. You know, ease some of that tension in the meantime.

  Me: What are you thinking?

  Layla: I’d rather speak those thoughts than type them.

  I found her number in my Contacts and listened to two rings before she picked up.

  “That was quick,” she said.

  “I don’t fuck around.”

  “You don’t?”

  There was sarcasm in her voice. I liked it.

  “Not with you. You won’t let me. Unless that’s what this phone call is about?” I could still feel her waist under my fingers. I wanted to dip my head and run my tongue around it. “Let me fuck with your pussy, Layla. I’ll be gentle.”

  She laughed. “No, you won’t. You don’t even know what that word means.”

  “I can try.”

  “No, you can’t do that either. At least I know that much about you.”

  I heard noise in the background, and I checked the time. I wondered if she was at her office or at home, what she was wearing, if the stripper had already been inside Layla’s cunt today.

  “I guess it’s a good thing I can take it hard,” she added, “and rough.”

  “That’s my kinda girl.”

  “If I told you I wanted you to fuck me, would that get you to come home faster?”

  I reached down my jeans and shifted my cock.

  I couldn’t give her an answer without talking to Shank. Since I’d been back, I hadn’t bothered to check out the schedule, and I needed to see if we were going to replace one of the sweepers with a new one.

  “I’ll see what I can do,” I said.

  “Really? That’s the best you can give me?”

  I sat up, willing my dick to calm the hell down. “Layla, you know how badly I want to fuck you. I haven’t made that a secret. So, I can promise you that, as soon as my ass can get to Miami, I will be there. And, when I know that date, you will, too.”

  “That’s a little better.”

  My cock wasn’t listening.

  “Now, what were you saying to me about easing some of that tension?”

  My bedroom door burst open, and Shank leaned his head in, sweat dripping from his goddamn forehead. Demon sat on his shoulder, his tail hitting him right in the ear.

  “Motherfucker, thank God you’re home.”

  I threw my hand over the phone, trying to stop Layla from hearing him. But I knew it was too late. He was loud, and his voice had definitely gotten through.

  Fuck, his timing blew.

  I’m on the phone, I mouthed to him.

  I took my hand off the speaker. “Layla, I’ve got to call you back.” I ended the call without waiting for her response, tossing my cell on the bed. “Jesus, will you make sure I’m not on the phone next time?”

  Shank knew I didn’t care that he had interrupted me. I just didn’t want Layla—or anyone not related to the prison—to know whom I was with or what their voices sounded like. Those kinds of details, even the minor ones, could cause her to ask questions. And that was the type of shit I needed to avoid.

  “I wasn’t ev
en thinking, buddy.”

  I nodded and sat up even more. “I’m glad Toy recovered. Diego said it was real bad.”

  “Too many pills, too much vodka. You know how ugly that can get.”

  Shank and I had seen a whole lot of everything over the years, and working at the mills had shown us exactly what an overdose looked like.

  Shank knew better than to let Toy mix drugs and booze. He didn’t have to tell me that he was bothered by it. I could see it on his face. I also knew he wouldn’t ever let it happen again at the prison.

  “You did the right thing with the tube and the water,” I said. “Not the first time you’ve done that trick, huh?”

  We’d each done it in the past, more than a few times.

  Shank moved inside and stood by the window, his sweatpants barely staying up. He reached for the string and tied it tighter while Demon seemed to hold his balance. The two of them had the weirdest fucking connection. “Diego got everything handled down there?”

  “Yeah. I just fed them. Things seem pretty quiet…for now.”

  He looked between the window and me. “Cell three is on his sixth day. That fucker lost half of his tongue this morning and still hasn’t talked.”

  I pushed myself to the edge of the bed and crossed my feet over the floor. “Maybe you need to try something different. Have you used the chain saw on him?”

  “And the crowbar. That fucker has a seriously high tolerance for pain. I need to fill his cell, so he’s gotta cave soon.”

  “Try the straightener.”

  “Jesus, I forgot all about that.”

  “It’s in my OR. If you like it, we’ll have Toy go into town and get you one tomorrow.”

  I watched him space out, knowing he was picturing the scene that was about to unfold in his OR and getting all amped up about it.

  “Going to go play?” I asked.

  He looked at me, practically bouncing; he was so fucking excited. “You can chill up here for a bit. I’ll go down and take care of things for now.”