No Limits

by Knox, Elizabeth

  We move through security and check in quickly. They call it processing but I prefer to think of it like a hotel, I won't be a guest here for long but needs must for business. We head through yet another metal gate and I get a glimpse into a community work room. A petite woman in uniform with big brown eyes and long dark hair is standing at the front delivering a workshop of some sort. She wears a smudge of blue paint on her cheek and a look of exasperation on her face. She bites her lip nervously when she sees me, and I grin. There’s something about making others uncomfortable that gets me off, just a little. I like to see the fear in their eyes, their mind ticking away trying to find an escape route. I am every inch the predator. And she was all prey.

  “What's that?” I ask nodding at the door as we shuffle past, my feet now shackled too.

  “It's one of the workshops we deliver at Ogmore.” The officer checks his watch. “I think 3pm is art with Officer Bishop.”

  “Art huh,” I drawl, a plan already forming in my head. Officer Bishop could be useful, especially if I was going to be stuck in here for the foreseeable future. It looked like my Little Rabbit wasn’t safe yet. I say nothing else as I’m stripped, searched, stamp my fingerprints on a piece of paper and assigned to a cell. It wouldn’t do to cause trouble just yet, I needed to get my bearings first.

  Chapter Two

  Anna

  Today's class has me frazzled, it's like there's something in the air as the prisoners refused to settle. I try my hardest to keep them in line while also talking about Monet but it's no use.

  “C’mon guys, what do we think of The Water Lilies?” I ask, my voice going a little high pitched at the end as I nervously tried to capture their attention.

  It’s pointless as they continue to talk amongst themselves; hushed whispers, shouts and the occasional yelp have me frowning. ‘Be patient and breathe,’ I tell myself. I do a quick walk round of the room, they were supposed to be painting their favourite landscapes, using Monet’s Impressionist style. Most painted views from back home, their yards, a city park but some painted what looked like drug dens, I could make out blurry broken bottles and run down neighbourhoods. This strange ache settles in my chest as I moved slowly between them. Most of these men had rough starts; they’d undoubtedly go home to the same situation and be stuck in an endless cycle of crime.

  A deeper shout catches my attention as one prisoner, James barges past another, Davidson. The men front up to each other standing toe to toe before Davidson shoves James away, still clutching his paintbrush. A fat dollop of paint goes flying and lands on my cheek, and as it does a strange silence settles over the room.

  “Right, that’s enough,” I shout and everyone steps back.

  Someone to my left hands me some blue paper towel and I wipe at my face, getting the worst of it off.

  “James, swap places with Christopher. Now,” I command with a strength I don’t feel. Miraculously they obey and an odd calm comes over the class before the chattering starts up again.

  I give them a small smile as I head back to my desk. I came here to do good, not to lose my temper every time I was tested. If I did that, I would just be proving my father right... he never wanted me to take this job. He wanted me to stay at home and be a good little girl. Instead, I chose to follow in his footsteps and work within the justice system, where I could possibly be shanked on a daily basis. My father was a Judge. A powerful Judge and nothing I ever did would be good enough, that was unless I decided to stay at home and become a fat little housewife. But that wasn't me no matter how hard he pushed, or told me I was worthless in a prison. I wasn’t obedient enough for that kind of lifestyle. As much as this job scared me, it also thrilled me. Anything could happen. I could change someone’s life with a stupid art class, or I could lose everything. It was a gamble that I was prepared to take. I always was a headstrong fool according to my father but his words sunk into my skin and disappeared once I donned my uniform. I was here because I wanted to be.

  Silence falls over my once again rowdy class and I follow their gazes to the doorway. A new inmate was being escorted in, and judging by some of the glares he was already well known. That explained the restlessness, the unease and the anticipation hanging heavy in the air. His sharp green eyes burn into me with an intensity that I feel all the way down to my toes. His golden brown hair hangs around his shoulders and he smirks as he notices me looking at him. It’s a dangerous smirk, one I feel all in the pit if my stomach as lust shoots through me. Tattoo’s cover both arms, dark designs that I can't make out at this distance. Even in his orange jumpsuit there was no denying that he was handsome. Sex personified. A renegade with dangerous pirate vibes. ‘Stop,’ I chastise myself, biting down on my lip. It had clearly been too long since I’d last been intimate with someone. Stop romanticising a criminal. He’s obviously here for a reason, and that smile tells me that he knows exactly what he’s doing to me. He’s an inmate. I’m a prison officer. All filthy thoughts are banished from my head with a firm shake. It would only ever end in tears. Mine.

  Chapter Three

  Creed

  I slept like shit, my crappy pallet bed felt like it had been stuffed with rocks. Not to mention I didn't trust my cellmate, a small-time drug dealer who went by the name of Beans. I soon learned why, mother fucker wouldn't shut up. Eyes half closed and watched him from beneath my lids. He was small, maybe around five foot eight and on the scrawny side. Sampling your own product often enough would do that to you. His face looked gaunt and sunken, but his eyes were sharp and bright like a rat.

  “You just full of beans this morning ain't you Beans,” I say sarcastically as I pull my jumpsuit on.

  He laughs, “That's what my mama used to say.”

  They always tell you to watch the quiet ones, but I find that the loud ones are more ruthless. They’re the ones who will slit your throat before they've even finished their sentence. No pause. No lull. No warning. That was more lethal, more vicious than the silent ones. At least they thought about you, they planned it out carefully and killed you when the time was right. The talkative ones were rash, could flip the psycho switch with no effort at all and then go back to talking about their kids. You would never see it coming. But they were also fonts of knowledge which was priceless in the right hands.

  “Hey Beans, how do I sign up to the art class?” I ask as we head down to the mess hall for breakfast. I make a note of the security cameras in the hall and where the guards are stationed. I can’t see my pretty little rabbit anywhere this morning.

  “You mean Officer Bishop’s art class, right?” His mouth twists into this sinister grin and both his eyebrows shoot up. He knows he’s onto something with me, I can see him trying to work out how it will benefit him.

  “Yeah.” I raise an eyebrow at the face he's pulling.

  He hands me a tray and we get in line for what looks like a choice of lukewarm porridge, toast or fruit. Great. Not only was my bed shit but the food was dire too. Fucking prison.

  “Dude, that class is full. There won't be an opening for months... Well, unless someone drops out and even then there is a waiting list.” He explains this as he places an orange juice down on my tray.

  Frowning I look at my hands, which hold my tray steadily, giving nothing away as I try to play down my interest. “Uh, why is that?”

  We move over to a table in the corner of the hall, several sets off eyes following us as we do. I hadn’t been approached yet, but it was only a matter of time. I needed to strike first. I couldn't leave myself vulnerable in here.

  “Several reasons,” Beans chuckles as he sits opposite me. “Number one: Officer Bishop is hot. Like hot hot. Number two: it's an easy pass class that looks good on your record…”

  He shovels a spoonful of the porridge in his mouth, rat eyes glinting.

  “And three?” I ask, nonchalantly as I take a bite out of my toast.

  He holds up three fingers and waves them in my face. “Three is that she is Judge Williamson's daughter. That
's just a rumour though.”

  Judge Joseph Williamson was the fucker who put me in here. He was a crooked mother fucker at that. I knew that for a fact―he’d been on our payroll more than once. I cross my arms, my brain ticking over the information I’ve just learned. I needed a plan to get into that class. I needed to know who ratted me out. And that meant Bishop was going to be mine. I was going to own her body and soul but first, I needed to break her.

  Chapter Four

  Anna

  “How was work?” My father asked, hissing the word ‘work’ as he handed over a plate of roast potatoes. The judgement in his voice makes the hair on my arms rise. Thursday night dinners at my parents’ house were a tradition, even after my mother had passed. My brother, Andrew, and I always made the time to come no matter how busy life got. It was just one of those things that held us together after the funeral and then we just never stopped even though my father could be difficult. And by difficult, I meant awful.

  My brother Andrew comes back into the room with a bottle of wine, he looks pale and there’s sweat beading on his forehead. He was pretty busy these days working for a family run business in Newtown so these dinners were the only time we were all together, thank God. Every time I saw him I saw my baby brother less and less, instead he was becoming a man I didn't recognise. I suspected he was using drugs, the way his hands would tremble ever so slightly, his pallor, the twitchiness, but my father assured me that he was keeping a close eye on Andrew and that it was only stress. His eyes avoid mine as he pulls out the cork and lets the wine breathe. I worked in a prison, I wasn’t a fool no matter what they thought. If they wanted to make this a secret then that was up to them, let them imagine I’m an ignorant fool. That suited me just fine.

  “It was okay. The inmates were a little riled up but it was just due to a new edition,” I say as I pour gravy over my food. My father’s gravy was the best, thick and full of the meat juices from cooking. This was the reason I came home weekly, real food. My job wasn’t the best for a social or a home life, I worked shifts and I could never be bothered to cook properly for just one. Microwave meals and takeout were my saviours. Cheese and crackers came in at a close third. I dig in, cutting the pork and swirling it in the gravy to smother the meat. I shovel the mouthful in quickly as not to make a mess, and saviour the taste.

  “Anyone we know?” Andrew asks as he pours me a glass of red wine.

  “Hmm. Doubt it... Elijah Creed,” I reply with a small smile. Something about the way his name rolls of my mouth sends my body into overdrive as I’m consumed by thought of him. I don't remember seeing his name anywhere in the news lately, his incarceration was being kept under wraps which wasn’t strange but it did have my interest piqued. What had he done? Who was he?

  Andrew pales and his hand slips, the bottle knocking my glass over and pouring wine into my lap. Luckily I’d been wearing black as the red liquid soaked into to my clothes and skin.

  “Shit. Sorry Anna,” he apologises as he hands me a napkin.

  I glance up at him as he and my father share a look. It’s strange, I can’t decipher it and once again I’m on the outside of their little secrets. I carefully dab the wine stain as I reign my annoyance in.

  “Is everything okay?” I say tentatively as I put the sodden napkin by the side of my plate. The table cloth is stained crimson and it reminds me of puddle of blood.

  Andrew sits silently; he looks like he's seen a ghost. Not a sound passes his lips as he stares ahead like all the life has been sucked out of him with those two tiny words: Elijah Creed. I’d never seen him react like this before, what kind of trouble was he in?

  “You need to stay away from Creed,” my father warns, his blue eyes shining coldly as he watches me intently over the rim of his glasses.

  I frown, “What's going on?”

  “Creed is The Left-Hand.” My brother whispers with a little bit of a whimper. The Left-Hand? Yet more cryptic and vague answers. Not helpful.

  “The man is dangerous,” my father growls as he starts cutting into his food with a strange focus and dedication. What has gotten under his skin so badly? He was unfazed by everything normally, his position as a Judge meaning he’d seen and heard it all.

  “Left-hand?” I push, trying my luck.

  “Anna, I refuse to talk any more about it. Just stay away from him.” He shuts me down, I recognize the tone from my childhood and it sends a chill down my spine. I wasn’t going to move him on this topic.

  I nod, not saying a word. Hadn't my father learned yet that the more he warned me away from something the more drawn to it I was? I was like a moth to a flame and Elijah Creed was burning ever so brightly.

  Chapter Five

  Creed

  Settling into prison was easier than I thought; it was just like juvy only the inmates were older and more vicious. I’m not saying young offenders weren’t, because I had seen some terrifying things in Correctional, but adults have this lifetime of rage built up. All the disappointments that led them here, every betrayal, every act of violence and every slight was catalogued away until something on the inside tipped them over the edge and then it was like a berserker was being unleashed. Prison was dangerous, everyone knew it. The system treated us like animals as we were tagged and caged, the monsters of society and they were right. We were the things of nightmares, the creatures that went bump in the night.

  Beans is my new sidekick as he’s only too happy to share the details of gangs, contraband and prison terms. He was like a hierarchy encyclopaedia, and I intend to use him to navigate my way back to the top. I was back at the bottom rung of the ladder, a feeling I wasn’t used to and I need to work my way up fast or I'd just be a sitting duck. I may as well paint a target on my back that read member of Julian's Mob and let all the haters take a crack at me. Not that I’d crack. I’d been through worse shit than this and come out the other side stronger. No one gets raised inside the Mafia and comes out still intact. Especially since my father was an Underboss for Julian’s father, Felix, and he was known for his ruthless, cold manner, not even his wife or child were spared. He was Mafia through and through.

  I was still angry at how the whole situation had been played out, I had been deliberately put in Ogmore Prison while Jon and Antonio, the other two members arrested with me, had been kept in Newtown. We had been divided in an attempt to conquer but it wouldn’t work. Once the appeal was filed and I had caught my little rodent friend, they would see that there was more to the Mafia than fat Italian men with tommy guns. I was The Left-Hand. A fixer of sorts. Not an Underboss or a Consigliere, but something much more. I wasn’t in the typical chain of command, I operated outside it, free of the same constraints, which is what made men fear me. Julian needed shit done and I made sure it was. No matter what the cost. I kept his name out of it and his nose clean. As a result I had a reputation, something I’d worked hard to cultivate and on the outside it brought me fear and respect, but in here it was something that would only cause a problem.

  “Beans, how many of the Lopez gang are in Officer Bishop's art class?” I ask as we mop the corridor outside the mess hall. The Lopez cartel were a Mexican drug gang constantly trying to push against our borders and claim more territory, rumour had it that they were trying to set up money laundering dens in our domain. I’d never let that happen. Not without bloodshed. We’d kept them at bay so far but the rivalry was strong.

  Beans peers inside, his scrunched up face thoughtful for a moment, little eyes glancing everywhere as he took it all in.

  “The three to the left: Sanchez, Louis and Tiny,” he whispers as he focuses intently on filling his bucket. He never looked too long or lingered in the wrong places, always blending into the background which is why he was a great spy.

  “Stay away Eli, it’s not worth it. They like to scrap.”

  I glance over to the table where the Mexicans were vacating. A reputation? That just made it easier. Tiny is clearly an inside joke is that fucker is huge. He stands inch or
two above me at six foot four and is as wide as a doorway. His broad muscular figure is only going to be a small problem. Larger men rely on their size to scare away predators because they overestimate their ability and underestimate their opponents. It won’t be hard to tire him out or catch him unawares but it's the other two, Sanchez and Louis, that worry me as their eyes dart around the room watching everything. They are alert and given their smaller, wiry frames are probably quick on their feet. Fuck, I'd have to waste more time planning my attack. Not a big deal, just an inconvenience. The mop slops about on the tile floor as I clean chuckling to myself. Why was I worrying about time? I had nothing but time in here.

  Chapter Six

  Anna

  Elijah Creed, aged 32,

  Caucasian male, six foot three.

  Convicted for murder and weapons dealing.

  Also known as ‘The Left-Hand’.

  Associated with a Mafia group reportedly running from Newtown.

  Boss unknown.

  Son of Augustine Creed, reported for domestic abuse, suspected murderer, human trafficker and also associated with the Mob.

  So the apple didn’t fall too far from the tree then, I think as I lean back into my sofa. I read over his file carefully as I sip my coffee, the words not giving me anything I didn't already know. He was a very, very bad man and yet, I was intrigued. More than intrigued actually, I was enraptured almost. I had done some digging on my own and Creed’s name had been mentioned several times in association with various murders, gang-related incidents and drug cartels but who was he? What made him tick? How did a man like him get caught? I don't know why but I needed to know more.