Conveniently Convicted

by Ivy Asher

  Ah. That.

  “He’s a cockatrice,” I tell her, like that explains it all. My voice is scratchy, and my throat hurts, and I look around hopefully for a glass of water, but there isn’t one.

  Her scarred eyebrow lifts in question. “You are the same species, and that is what motivated your attack?” she presses, clearly not understanding my explanation.

  I shrug, not willing to get into it with a weird stranger who’s looking at me like a bug she wants to pull the legs off of under a microscope.

  “Well, you seem to be recovered,” she tells me, and I can’t help but notice the tinge of disappointment in her tone. She pulls a light from her pocket and flashes it in my eyes. I blink through the brightness, flinching slightly at the burn as my pupils contract.

  “You had a few bruises on your ribs from where the guards kicked you, but those are all healed up now,” she states in an oddly cheerful tone as she steps away. “Apparently, you slept right through that beating, so we’ll have to make sure you’re awake for the next one.”

  That announcement has my head snapping in her direction, and she gives me a wink as she walks over to the door and opens it. Fluorescent hair, angry turquoise eyes, and plump lips glower at me from the other side.

  Shit.

  “You’ll learn very quickly here at Nightmare Penitentiary that the staff looks out for our own.” She turns to the guard I brained with a cafeteria tray. “If you plan to beat her to the point of unconsciousness, I simply ask that you have her drink what’s in the vial before she passes out. I’m sure she has very filling dreams, and I could always use a good meal.”

  The guard nods, but I’m completely lost as to what she means.

  “Have fun,” she calls over her shoulder as she steps out of the room. The cockatrice guard steps in and closes the door behind him.

  For a moment, the two of us just stare at each other. There isn’t a hint of bruising or a bump from where I smacked him with the tray earlier, so either I didn’t hit him very hard or he’s healed already. I try to stay focused on his eyes so that my gaze doesn’t wander up and down his form, because this male is a very nice looking specimen. He’s hot, plain and simple. My cockatrice wants to get to know his cock...atrice. And that’s just plain dangerous.

  I’ve learned that I can’t really be trusted when it comes to attractive males. Or bright colors. I tend to do really stupid things when I come into contact with either. And this dude is both hot and colorful. He’s like fucking neon kryptonite.

  “Who are you?” I demand, trying to sound as haughty as possible even though I’m strapped down to a bed.

  Instead of answering, he just crosses his arms and props his back against the wall next to the now closed door.

  “Are you going to beat me to a pulp or what?” I ask, hoping that him not moving toward me is a good sign. I really don’t want to be beaten up. Shifter bodies may heal quickly, but it doesn’t mean we don’t feel pain.

  Silence.

  He just stands there, watching me, the expression on his face unreadable. The lack of communication is really scraping my paranoia raw. I just want him to do something.

  “Well, get on with it,” I snap, my anxiety ready to burst out of my chest.

  Still nothing from tall, hot, and colorful. Not even a tail twitch. He just studies me, but I have no idea what the hell he’s thinking. It’s unnerving and makes me feel completely vulnerable.

  “Not interested in talking, huh?” I ask as I fiddle with the metal cuffs on my wrists. If he’s not going to do anything, then I’m not going to waste my time. I won’t just lie here and wait for someone to fuck with me. “Fine. I can talk enough for the both of us.”

  Using a jiggy-hip move that makes the male’s eyes come down to my waist, I shimmy myself down the hospital bed until my feet are hanging off the end and my head is even with my hands. From this vantage point, I’m able to reach my hair, where I have a couple of pins tucked away. “We both know why you deserved to be smacked with a cafeteria tray,” I begin as I dig through my orange and yellow hair, trying to find one of the pins to grab. “You were sent here by my mat and pat, weren’t you?”

  He gives me a blank stare.

  “My matriarch and patriarch sent you here because they found out I got myself arrested and they want you to bust me out, right? Well, bad news for you, I have no intention of going anywhere.” Finally finding one of the pins, I pluck it out, scraping my scalp and yanking out a few hair strands in the process.

  I look over at him as I turn my head and snatch up the pin with my teeth. He does nothing as I lean over and stick the pin into the lock of the cuff on my right hand. I watch him the entire time, like a challenge.

  He’s a guard at Nightmare Penitentiary. Dr. Brina insinuated that he came here to beat me, and I’m giving him a very justified reason to do so. Plus, I started it in the cafeteria.

  I try to read his expression, but there’s nothing. He’s not giving away a single thought or emotion, just continues to watch me as I try to break out of my restraints. And his green and blue hair...dammit, I keep getting distracted by it. It’s very bright.

  I wrench my gaze away and continue to dig the pin in, which would probably take someone else a very long time, but I’ve always had a gift when it comes to picking locks. I’ve also had plenty of opportunities to master my skill. You’d be surprised how many times I’ve been shackled.

  Finally, the telltale click sounds in my ears, and I grin with the pin still between my teeth as the handcuff pops open. Spitting it into my now free hand, I quickly get to work on the left one. “Hmm, if you were from my mat and pat, you’d probably be more verbose. My mat always likes the talkative types.” I shoot a look over at him while I work. “So maybe Alpha Bowen sent you? But really, it doesn’t matter much. Because the answer is the same. I’m staying here.”

  The second cuff pops off, and I sit up victoriously before swinging my legs over the side of the bed and popping the pin back into my hair. I get up and start looking around the room, wondering what exactly the good doctor wanted me to drink so that she could feed off my dreams. Fae are seriously fucked up supernaturals.

  As much as I try to seem aloof about the male’s presence, I’m completely befuddled, and I’m very aware of his presence. What the hell does he want? And more importantly, why the hell isn’t he saying anything?

  I run my hands over the vial that says, “drink me” and wrinkle my nose at it as I uncork it. “How very Lewis Carroll of her,” I mumble before moving over to the sink and dumping the contents out.

  Once the offending liquid is gone, I turn and face the male who still hasn’t moved from his spot. “So? Who sent you?”

  I don’t expect an answer, so I almost flinch when his voice comes out for the first time. “No one sent me.”

  Sweet cockatrice’s feathers, his voice is sexy. “Oh, good. You’re not mute after all,” I snark, though it comes out breathier than I would have liked.

  I palm the now empty vial—this would make an epic shank—and move to the wall opposite the guard, mirroring his posture and his wall-lean. I’m almost certain I see a flicker of amusement in his eyes as I copy him, and his dimple ticks like he’s working to keep it in place instead of allowing it to move and reveal his beautiful smile. But from one blink to another, his features return to unreadable stone.

  “No one, huh? Who exactly is that a code word for?” I ask casually, swallowing down my scoff.

  If he thinks this is my first interrogation rodeo, then he’s in for a surprise. I know all about the half-truth tricks that won’t change your scent or otherwise give you away.

  “Is that what this is all about?” he asks, his head cocking to the side in a way that I find myself mimicking.

  Stop it, Sin. No following the pretty colors and trying to make them do naughty things to you.

  “You think that I’m here for you?” he asks. This time, there’s no mistaking the amusement that lights up his turquoise eyes. He shakes
his head and raises his eyebrows like my presumption is ridiculous. “I’m not sure what you’ve got going on outside, Sunrise, but from the sound of things, it’s a lot of shit I couldn’t give two fucks about.”

  I preen as the nickname Sunrise leaves his full lips. He’s spot on. I pulled inspiration for the colors of my hair from the sunrise that dawned on the morning I crawled out my window and walked away from my lounge’s land. I appreciate his appreciation for my colors. But when the rest of his words fall out of his lips, my appreciation dims dramatically.

  “And I’m just supposed to, what? Take your word for it?” I ask, my hand tightening on the glass vial still in my grasp.

  “As long as it means no more lunch tray attacks, I don’t care what you do. I’ve worked at NP for years. Just know this is your first and last warning. Don’t come for me again. You’re a female cockatrice, and that fact alone has earned you the mercy I’m showing today, but don’t push me to show you what life looks like without that mercy,” he tells me, the warning sending a shiver scurrying up my spine.

  His tone growls don’t fuck with me, but the look in his eyes is almost begging me to. His relaxed posture against the wall and the slight tilt of his head is completely throwing me off. He’s warning me away with his words, and yet also ensuring every color in his hair can be seen while maintaining non-threatening body language. He’s reeling me in and simultaneously pushing me away.

  Desire lights through me and also dims from the mixed messages, like I’m some fucked up strobe light. I’m impressed and irritated at the same time. I’ve never met anyone who made me want to lick every inch of their body until they worshipped me, and then promptly rip their head off. I study him for a beat. He could be telling the truth, or he could be a very skilled plant.

  I tilt my head down and look up at him through my lashes. My bright green eyes are filled with contrition and my posture just a skosh shy of submissive. Two can play this game.

  “Then I’m sorry for hitting you...twice,” I tell him sweetly. I let my gaze rake over him appreciatively and keep my smile from going wider when I notice his pupils dilate. “Mercy looks good on you,” I purr. “But I promise, you don’t want to see me take mine off either.”

  I push off from the wall and move slowly toward him. His kissable lips part slightly, but his relaxed mien doesn’t budge. All I want to do is nibble on him and find out if he tastes as good as he looks. He doesn’t budge as I close the distance between us. There’s no hint of worry. No tensing of his well-developed muscles. He’s confident that between the two of us, he’d win. How cute.

  I stop inches away from him and move my own head so he can get a good look at all the pretty colors in my hair. A smile twitches at the corner of his lips, but he tamps it down. I stand there and just watch him, giving him a little taste of the awkward silence he fed me earlier. I give his bright hair one last glance and then offer him a seductive smile as I lean in.

  “You stay away from me, and I’ll stay away from you,” I declare, and then I crack open the door and purposefully rub against his side as I duck out of the room. The door closes with a click behind me, and I smile, unable to help it. I walk down the gray hallway, with no idea where I am in the prison. I figure someone will stop me at some point and tell me where to go. I hold up the Velcro name tag I just silently ripped off the cockatrice’s uniform as I swing left around a corner.

  I read the name that’s been stitched on it. Well, Officer Rook, I think I’ll ask around about you. I smile at my sleight of hand and picture him noticing the missing name tag later and wondering where it went. I chuckle at the thought and high five myself for my mad skills. Prison is going to be so much fun.

  Now to find Zen and find out about that shank shack customer list I asked for earlier.

  Wait…

  I stop in my tracks. Grinding my jaw, I pull my other hand forward and stare at my empty palm for a blink. That worm! He stole the vial I had in my hand!

  I shake my head, lost between irritation and mirth. What a shit. I chuckle, impressed by the ballsy move, and continue back down the hall in the direction I hope my cell is.

  Touché, Officer Rook. Touché.

  4

  “I’ve seen some shit.”

  I nod in commiseration at the female wolf shifter where she sits against the chain link fence in our recreation yard. Recreation yard is putting it nicely. It’s basically just a huge square of dirt and weeds and the occasional concrete piece broken off from where there used to be a sidewalk.

  “You haven’t seen shit,” the gorgon with the harmless eyes counters. She doesn’t hang out with the other ones or have to wear a blindfold, and they sneer at each other every chance they get. “Until you’ve walked in on someone shoving a sub sandwich up their ass, you’re still a newb.”

  Someone else titters. “That was hilarious.”

  “Oh, go flick your clit. I’ve seen plenty of shit,” the wolf, Sophie, says. “I’ve been in here longer than you have!”

  The red snakes on the female’s head hiss. “We’ve been in here for five years.”

  “So have I!” Sophie growls.

  Zen’s eyes shoot over to the female, and I see her lotus flower tattoo gleam beneath her eye. Just like that, the anger between the two immediately dissipates, and they sigh on a calming breath.

  “Sorry, Sophie,” snake-hair says.

  The wolf shifter is too blissed out on Zen’s zen power to reply. She tips her head back and breathes it in, her whole body relaxing. “I love that shit, Zen.”

  Our leader just smirks and continues to sit with her legs crossed as she retwists some of her dreadlocks. It seems like very meticulous work.

  I wrinkle my brow in concentration as I continue to sharpen the small piece of plastic tray I have in my hand. I’ve become a bit of a shank connoisseur, and business is booming already. I’ve sold ten shanks this week, and it’s only Thursday.

  My first one was from a spork, and I simply sharpened the handle, but I’ve gotten more creative since then. For my second shank masterpiece, I plucked the teeth off a comb and stuck them in some toothpaste. I then let the whole thing harden overnight. I call that bad boy The Minty Hedgehog. I sold it for a hot fifteen bucks, which is basically a grand in here.

  I’ve also used the end of a toothbrush, a piece of concrete, and a really colorful one made out of Jolly Ranchers. I kept that one for myself. I don’t know how useful any of them will be, but no one seems to care. Apparently, just the illusion of protection is worth a pretty penny in here.

  While the others talk, I hum nineties music to myself and sharpen the plastic with a pretty rock I found. I’m sneaking this rock inside with me later. I love rocks just as much as I love colors. I’m thankful for the rec time and being outside, and sigh in relief again at how relaxed I am. This is so much better than being at home, constantly hounded by my mat.

  There are thirty or so inmates in the rec yard right now, all of us getting our allotted sunlight time. A few of them are playing football, but it’s mostly an excuse to throw a ball at the other team member’s faces, tackle them, and then beat the shit out of each other. I didn’t think the contact sport would be allowed in here, but the guards don’t break it up, and the others that aren’t involved just watch because it’s entertaining as hell.

  I’ve been here for a week now, and I’ve got a system down. I know which guards don’t like my particular brand of humor. I know which ones still hold a grudge over my little cafeteria tray incident. I know that this place serves epic Sloppy Joes on Saturdays. I also have a tentative inmate group that I hang out with, courtesy of my good friend Zen. Well, maybe friend is a strong word. It’s more like she tolerates me. But that’s all I needed, because it gave me the perfect in.

  Which is how I find myself in the rec yard every day, hanging out with Zen, the wolf shifter Sophie, a couple of water fae, the Medusa-wannabe with the broken eyes—she can’t turn anyone to stone with her gaze, and yet, she won’t let me pet her re
d snake hair either—and Joe. He’s a troll who doesn’t talk, but even though he’s scary looking and has to go in sideways through every doorway because he’s too big to fit, he’s nothing but a big teddy bear. At least, I think so. He only grunts when I talk to him, but they seem like friendly grunts.

  Zen presides over the whole crew, but she also has people outside of this little circle that she talks to on a daily basis. No one fucks with Zen. Not the other inmates, not the guards, not even the Warden, who I see from time to time. He always has a cigarette hanging from his mouth, and he’s cloaked in shadows and smoke.

  As for the prison guard, Rook, I’ve only seen him a couple of times since our weird ass meeting in the medical ward. I was fully expecting Dr. Brina to come search me out after she realized she wasn’t feeding off my dreams, but luckily, I haven’t seen her again.

  And even though Rook hasn’t bothered me at all, the other guards are a different matter. It’s like they got all pissy just because I hit one of them. So sensitive.

  They like to make their presence known every once in a while, but I take it in stride. The most they’ve done is shove me harder than necessary through doorways or trip me as I walk by. I can handle it.

  With Rook, I’m still on my guard. I don’t trust his presence here. Cockatrice shifters aren’t all that common, but that doesn’t mean it’s not a coincidence. So I watch him carefully, though he doesn’t pay me any attention whatsoever, even though I changed his name tag to read Rookie and put it back on his uniform when he wasn’t looking. When people were snickering at him in the cafeteria, his eyes found me, and he arched his brow like, Really? I thought it was a win.

  But overall, I’m still not sure exactly how I feel about him.

  Movement by the doors that lead us back inside the prison catches my attention. I look over at the waving hand that belongs to a guard who I discovered has a situation I can use to my benefit. He looks nervous. I shake my head to myself as I watch him pace and wipe the sweat from his upper lip. I step away from my crew, tuning out whatever new topic is being discussed, and pocket my shank project as I start to walk over.