by Marni Mann
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 even 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.”
I stood, moving over to the door. “I’ve got to come look at the schedule. I need a date for when I can head back to Miami.”
He walked with me into the hallway, grinning like a clown. “You got it hard for her.”
“For them.” I laughed. “Can’t have one without the other, I guess.”
“Two pussies? Are you fucking kidding me?” He grabbed his nuts. “I’m hard from just thinking about it.”
“Don’t get all crazy yet. There’s gonna
be rules and shit, and I don’t know how it’s going to work out.” I entered my code into the entrance of the prison.
“But, man, that’s still two pussies. Two mouths. Two assholes.”
“And one cock.”
He paused on the first step. “I changed my mind. You go handle shit. I’ll relieve you in a little bit.”
“Round two?”
“You know it.”
As he walked through the door, back into the house, I said, “Can you do me a favor?”
He turned around and stared at me. “Yeah. Anything.”
I had lied to that pregnant bitch when I told her I would be the one to kill her. Shank was the one who always tortured women. It was just his thing, and Diego and I didn’t mind. He didn’t rape them. But their helplessness and cries turned him on, and he liked to beat off and come on their skin.
“You know that cunt down in cell twelve?” I asked. “The pregnant one?”
His smile told me he’d noticed how hot she was and the heavy rack on her chest. “Yep.”
“What’s she in for?”
“Don’t know. We weren’t told. The client just wants her dead.”
That wasn’t out of the ordinary. Half of the time, we weren’t told the reason or given any information to find out during our beatings.
Not sure why, but I wished I knew what she had done to land herself in here.
“Don’t be nice to her,” I said.
The look in his eyes changed.
It was a glare I was familiar with because it was the same expression I wore when I heard the screams. The same one Diego had when he worked with rope.
In this prison, we weren’t just guards.
We were fucking animals.
“I’ll make you real proud,” he said.
And then the door slammed closed.
Tyler
Four Years and Six Months Ago
I needed a break. From work, from school, from the girls. Even from Wynter and Mina. Just a night away from it all where I could soak up a little silence and turn my brain off.
I always had to be on—smiling, acting, planning my next move. There was hardly any downtime, no switch where I could turn it all off.
I missed that.
So, these breaks became my off.
I wouldn’t take them all that often. Every few months or so. But, when the urge hit, I would go to the same dive bar, sit on one of the stools, and drink cheap beer until I hiccuped. Then, I’d take a taxi back to my apartment, pass out, and go to work the next evening. I never told anyone where I went. I certainly never asked anyone to come with me. And I never got in trouble for not checking in.
Mina gave the girls space as long as it wasn’t disrespected.
After Wynter’s warning, I never broke one of the rules, nor had I asked for an exception.
I moved over to my closet and searched for the rattiest pair of jeans I owned. I slipped them on along with a worn sweater and a pair of Chucks. Even with holes, ripped hems, and splatters that looked like paint, the outfit had still cost almost five hundred dollars.
God, life was so different than it had been at the beginning of my freshman year.
Now, I lived in an off-campus two-bedroom apartment, right next door to Wynter. We’d lasted only a year in the dorms, and that was because of the need for more space. And also for privacy. We had worried that getting dropped off in the limo so many nights a week would start raising questions. So, Wynter and I’d found rentals, side by side to each other. It kept us close. And, on nights like tonight, I could slip out without getting asked where I was going.
The bar was about ten blocks away, close enough where I could walk before drinking any beer but definitely not after I’d had a couple. It was a hidden gem in this city, tucked between a dry cleaner and a nail salon. I wasn’t sure if it even had a name. I knew it didn’t have a menu. The first time I’d asked for one, the bartender had laughed at me and told me to order whatever I wanted. If he didn’t have it, he’d substitute. He’d said the same thing when I mentioned I was hungry.
Now, when I went, I would get a cheeseburger and fries and whatever light beer they had on tap.
The same bartender was always working, and for some reason, he remembered me. When I sat down, he said, “Your usual?”
“Please,” I replied, wiggling my butt over the hard wood, trying to find a comfortable spot.
All the stools in front of the bar were different. I was sure that was because they’d been purchased from a secondhand shop. This place wasn’t vintage or even rustic. It was dirty as hell and disheveled.
I loved it.
He set the draft beer in front of me, pulling his hand back to wipe his nose. “Burger will take a few minutes. You want some popcorn in the meantime?”
They weren’t known for their sanitation either.
“Yes, thank you.”
When he handed me the basket, I dived in and filled my mouth with the salty deliciousness. A few pieces fell onto the bar, and I ate them, too, not caring that the surface probably hadn’t ever been washed.
That was the best thing about this place; I didn’t have to care about anything.
I didn’t wipe my mouth when I felt a kernel hanging there or bother to put on lipstick or remember everything I’d said while trying not to actually say too much.
I could just be me.
Even though I wasn’t sure who that person was anymore.
I just knew the lack of makeup and heels and strapless bras and pretending was a really nice change.
“Going down quick tonight, eh?” the bartender said, refilling my empty glass and setting it back in front of me.
“It’s the salt,” I lied. “It makes the beer go down easy.”
The truth was, I just wanted a buzz.
Rather than responding, the bartender slid over to the guy next to me who had just taken a seat.
“What can I getcha?” he asked my neighbor.
The man requested a beer I’d never heard of, which wasn’t a surprise since the only time I drank the stuff was when I was here. I wasn’t allowed to have it when I worked. Mina had said it was tacky to drink beer in front of the marks. The type of men we dealt with preferred women who sipped wine or liquor.
So many rules.
“Popcorn?” the bartender asked my neighbor.
I felt a pair of eyes on me, and it wasn’t the bartender’s. I slowly shifted my gaze to the right, meeting a set so dark, I stared even longer to try and find his pupils.
“Popcorn any good?” my neighbor asked.
Still no pupils. Just darkness.
And his voice. I’d never heard anything like it. Deep, demanding, gritty.
I forced myself to look at the basket in front of me and take another bite. “It’s fine.”
“I’ll skip the popcorn,” Dark Eyes said.
“She’s having a burger,” the bartender said. “Wanna try that instead?”
It took Dark Eyes a few seconds to respond, “Make it rare with sharp cheese and some fries.”
“You got it,” the bartender answered.
He went into the kitchen, so now, the two of us were completely alone.
Mina had downloaded an app on my cell phone that tracked my whereabouts. It was to protect us while we worked. On the nights I came here, I didn’t want to be protected, and I didn’t want her to know where I was. So, I would leave my phone on my nightstand, and if Mina checked my location, it would appear as though I were sleeping. But, with no phone to play with, I had nothing to do besides listen to Dark Eyes breathe.
He wasn’t a loud breather. He wasn’t silent either. He just made enough noise that I knew how close he was. And that closeness came with a feeling. It was like a tug. Something that made me turn my head just slightly and take a peek.
I was surprised to find he wasn’t on his phone, nor was he watching the TV that played above the bar. He had grabbed the newspaper that I was pretty sure the bartender used to swat flies with, and h
e was reading the front page.
With his attention on something other than me, it gave me a second to really check him out. His hair was long and nutty brown, hanging below his shoulders, and he had multiple tattoos. There were letters across his knuckles, but his fingers were bent in a way where I couldn’t tell what they spelled. More ink was on his hands and wrists, but his long sleeves prevented me from seeing if there was more.
“Do you want the Sports section? I’m not going to read it.”
I laughed, mostly out of nerves because he had caught me staring and partly because I wasn’t shocked to hear sports wasn’t his thing. He had a grunge, rock ’n’ roll vibe going on. He definitely didn’t seem the type who would be tossing around the football during a backyard barbeque.
“No, thanks,” I answered. “I’m not interested in that section either.”
I still couldn’t find his pupils. That meant, I still didn’t know exactly what he was looking at even though I could feel it was me.
And the feeling was more intense than it should be.
I liked it. Yet I was equally terrified of it.
“What section do you want then?”
My lips parted, and I had to force the words out, my throat feeling much thicker than normal. “I’m good. I don’t feel like reading tonight.”
I did enough of that for the two classes I took and the files I had to memorize on each of my marks.
He turned his head, his focus now back on the newspaper, mine on the empty basket of popcorn in front of me. There wasn’t anything to shove in my mouth, nothing to play with on the bar top, not a thing to occupy my attention besides Dark Eyes. And, if I stared at him any more, I was afraid it would lead to conversation. And, if that happened, I worried it would be obvious how hot I thought he was.
I could have as many thoughts as I wanted.
I just couldn’t act on them.
Not ever.
“This should fill you up,” the bartender said, placing the burger and fries in front of me.
His timing couldn’t have been more perfect. He also remembered to give me a bottle of ketchup and a small bowl of ranch for my fries.
“Thank you,” I mumbled with half of the pickle in my mouth.