Auctioned to the Prisoners (Auctioned #4)

5

ROCK

LIGHT IN THE DARK

Lory stares at me with her too-wide dark eyes, and I don't know what to do with myself. What I said is true. We're not here to hurt her. Well, not on purpose. But what we are here to do is likely to hurt some. She's tiny. A little waif of the thing with a waist I could span with my hands and curvy hips that make my mouth water. Her dress is tight and leaves nothing to the imagination. All it would take is one pull, and it would tear right off her.

I swallow thickly, hating where my mind has gone within a few seconds of laying my eyes on her.

All of us have been so amped about this moment. Now we're here, alone with a woman for the first time in more years than I want to count, I don't know what to do with myself. Kinkaid looks a second away from breaking his cool, and Hyde's practically manic. We need a distraction.

“Where's your stuff?” I ask her.

“I came straight from the auction,” she explains. “The warden took my phone and said I wouldn't need many clothes.” The color that rushes to her face speaks volumes. She's no hardened woman used to these situations. If I had to guess, this girl has had boyfriends, but she's never fucked a stranger. Probably never been with one man like us, let alone three. The warden was keen to repay his debt to us, but maybe he should have taken longer to figure out the right kind of woman. Kinkaid has his wits about him, but Hyde is an unexploded bomb at the best of times and at the worst... Well, little Lory better pray she doesn't experience his worst.

“What's in the bag?” Hyde asks.

Lory adjusts her grip and peers in. “A toothbrush and a towel. And some…” She pauses, biting her lips. “Condoms.”

“Woohoo,” Hyde yells. “Warden sent the rubbers.”

Kinkaid shoots him with a fierce glare when Lory almost jumps out of her skin. He turns to me, and with nothing but a raise of his eyebrows, he tells me to take care of Hyde while he takes care of the girl. I won't object. It's Kinkaid's way. He wants to determine the lay of the land and doesn't trust anyone else to handle it for him. I don't take it personally. Some men are meant to lead, but I did enough of that when I was a kid, trying to keep my family together while my dad snorted what little we had, and my sister wept for her next meal. Getting locked up took me away from all that, for better or worse.

“Come with me.” Kinkaid touches Lory's elbow, and the girl flinches before letting him lead her into one of the rooms.

Hyde moves to follow, but I grab his bag from the floor and toss it at him. “We should find somewhere to put our stuff,” I say in a tone that brooks no argument.

In an adjacent room to Kinkaid and Lory, we find two beds that are bigger than the bunks we usually crowd ourselves into. Next to each is a small locker. I don't have a lot of stuff to unpack, and neither does Hyde, so this distraction lasts all of two minutes and then his eyes are on the door, and his hands are twitching at his sides.

“You think he's fucking her?” he asks, his tongue darting over his bottom lip.

“No,” I say.

“Why not?”

Hyde was incarcerated young, and although he didn't come in a virgin—far from it—his experience with women was limited to drunken fucks with broken girls who were charmed by his pretty face and lean, muscular physique. He's pretty in a way that Hollywood celebrities are, but with the edge of danger that some people get from their unfortunate childhood circumstances.

“Because we need to let her get used to us first. There's no rush, man. Just got to give her time to like us enough.”

“What's not to like?” Hyde looks down at himself like he forgets he's wearing orange regulation overalls and a white shirt that's probably been worn by half the jail before him.

“She doesn't know us,” I explain. “Give her a chance, and it'll be better.”

“Better how?”

Sometimes, it’s like I'm talking to a kid. Hyde went through some seriously fucked up shit on the outside, and some of it has trapped him at an age far younger than his current physical form.

“When a woman wants to fuck, they kiss back, they get wet, they move with you, not against you. You know what I mean.”

I doubt he had to work hard to get women on the outside to want him. When he's high, he's the life and soul, and he has an innocence to his appearance that makes him less threatening. But that was outside, and those women had a choice.

His eyes dart to the door again. “How do we make her want to fuck?”

“We talk to her,” I say. “We give her a little time to get to know us. We make her feel good.” It sounds skeevy, even though I don't mean it to. I want her to want it, but I don't want to manipulate her to get there. I'm not one of those assholes who finds people's weaknesses and exploits them. There are plenty of men like that in here. Men who've killed their girlfriends or wives after love-bombing them into a relationship. I run my hand over my hair, hating this situation and hating how much I want it to be okay.

“I know how to make her feel good.” Hyde grabs his crotch to illustrate the point. The kid is hung. I'll give him that. He's probably a little smaller than me, but on his leaner body, it looks big. Too big for little Lory if she's not into it, that's for sure.

“Dick comes last,” I say, keeping it simple. “Tongue first, then fingers. Kiss first. Then touch. Only fuck when she's moaning.” My dick thickens, and his eyelids droop at the thought. I don't know how much pussy the kid's eaten in his life, but his hunger alone is probably going to be enough to blow Lory's mind.

As hungry as I am to taste her sweet cunt, I don't mind waiting for Hyde to go before me. His handle on his nerves isn't good. I can wait. I've had years of waiting and years of burying hope that anything better will come along in my life. Now that it has, reaching out to take it will take some getting used to. Accepting that it is only short term will be harder. Letting go to enjoy it might be impossible.

How does a man eat ice cream for thirty days, knowing that his diet for the rest of his life will be plain oatmeal? Savoring anything new is a risk to my state of mind. But it's a risk I need to take. I can't live in this place for another day without seizing this chance to feel what it'd be like to be a man on the outside again.

“They're coming out,” Hyde hisses, shifting his feet.

I follow him back into the open area just as Kinkaid leads Lory into the kitchenette.

He opens the refrigerator and pulls something out. It looks a lot like a store-bought ready meal. “There's food,” he says, “and a microwave.” As I get closer, the fixing anchoring the appliance to the wall comes into view. We’re not even trusted to use a microwave without it being bolted to the wall.

“You hungry?” he asks Lory. She shakes her head, and he frowns. “When did you eat?”

“This morning,” she all but whispers.

“So, you need to eat.” He finds a bunch of plastic forks in a drawer and tries to pierce the film. Every restriction carries a price. Every modification in this place is an accusation of what they believe we're capable of. They don't consider the circumstances that got us here. Any man is capable of violence, given the right trigger. Doesn't mean they'd do it again. Doesn’t mean they don’t regret it.

When the food is circling around in its illuminated, whirring chamber, Lory leans against the wall. Well, she kind of sags. I guess the threat of our presence is tiring.

“What else is in there?” Hyde asks, his eyes lit up like Christmas trees.

“You expecting beer?” Kinkaid asks wryly.

“One bottle would be nice.”

It would be. One bottle of beer would be sweet as honey, but it won't happen. Well, maybe it might if we're good boys and the warden's gratitude gets too much for him to contain. It's possible, but I'm not greedy. Little Lory is all our Christmas gifts for the rest of our miserable lives rolled into one sweet package.

The microwave dings and Kinkaid takes the hot tray from inside. He doesn't pass it to Lory, but instead, he carries it to the small table, complete with attached benches, also bolted to the floor, and places it down. “Sit,” he says softly. “Eat.”

She eyes the food, then us, more terrified deer than a human woman, but his tone is firm and seems to motivate her in the right direction. That's Kinkaid all over. Firm. In control. Always trying to keep everything straight.

“You hungry?” he asks me.

“I'm always hungry.”

He snorts and returns to the kitchen, but not before he nods for me to sit next to Lory.

“You making me dinner, too?” Hyde asks. “You playing momma?”

“Shut up and sit your ass down,” Kinkaid says, laughing. He could have added that Hyde's momma was all bruised skin and bone, so nothing like Kinkaid. He could have added that he'd make a better momma than that waste of space ever would. But he's not a mean man, and Hyde doesn't like to remember her that way.

While Kinkaid is busy, I fold myself into the seat across from Lory and make sure Hyde sits next to me. She tentatively peels the film from over the food, keeping her eyes low.

“So, Lory, you from around here?” I ask.

“I'm from Holdridge, two towns over.”

“Yeah? Me, too.”

“Me and Kinkaid are from Blackstone Valley,” Hyde tells her. “Still home, even though we're not.”

“You go to school there?”

Her dark eyes flick up to mine, and they’re wide with fear. I guess that Grady told her not to tell us about herself. He warned her not to give us information we could use against her, although why, I don't know. None of us are up for parole anytime soon.

“I went to Holdridge High School. Horrible place. Food was worse than in here.” She smiles fleetingly, but I continue. “Principle was one of those old dudes with a combover. When the wind blew, it'd end up hanging long on one side.”

“I had a teacher with the biggest tits you've ever seen.” Hyde rubs his fingers across his lips like he's tasting the memory. “Bigger than my head.” He glances at me. “Bigger than yours.”

“That's big,” Lory says, shocking me. I didn't think she'd be ready to talk back yet especially not about Hyde's teacher's tits.

Hyde snickers at the jibe I don't think she intended to make. I'm a big man with big everything. But I'm not the kind of man with an overly inflated ego.

“Was she pretty?” I ask Hyde, wanting to keep things light.

“Nah,” he says. “She was fifty and used to wear these cardigans buttoned up to the neck, except the buttons would open where her boobs were straining their way out.”

Lory glances down at her chest like she's conscious she's lacking in some way. Her tits are mouthwateringly small bumps beneath the too-tight dress. If I was a betting man, I'd guess she's not wearing a bra. Just the thought sends blood surging through my dick and fear pulsing close behind it. She's so unbelievably breakable, and none of our hands are gentle. We could do real damage with our pent-up sexual energy and the rough edge that comes with living in a place like this. You have to toughen up to survive. It's life or death, and for better or worse, I'd choose to live every time.

When Kinkaid drops Hyde's food in front of him first, he shovels it into his mouth like it's his last meal before a famine. All the time, Lory's watching, sensing, working out what we're like, and measuring if she'll survive the thirty days.

Kinkaid brings out some bread. It's white and turns to paste when you chew it, but it's filling, which helps. I'm a big guy, and the rations here aren't designed to maintain a healthy physique. I urge Lory to take a slice, which she does shyly, breaking off a corner and popping it into her mouth. She has sweet, plump lips, still colored with the lipstick she must have put on earlier. Her nose is slightly upturned, giving her the refinement that I like. The glossy healthiness of her hair makes my fingers itch to stroke it. I bet she smells of strawberries or jasmine or some other womanly fragrance I can't remember.

“What do you think of the prison?” Hyde asks.

“It's big,” she says. “Pretty plain. No color except for the uniforms.”

“Helps them see where we are.” Hyde lowers his fork. “The fuckers are always watching.”

“Except in here,” I say. I mean it to sound like a good thing, but as soon as the words are out of my mouth, I realize how they sound. With no cameras or screws, there's no one watching out for Lory's safety. She's truly alone with us.

Her muscles tighten across her shoulders.

Kinkaid returns with my food and then disappears to heat his own. It tastes bland, but without the guards watching or the other inmates around, it's the sweetest meal I’ve had.

“So, you like music?” I ask, trying to think of things to talk about. My flirting game is rusty as fuck.

“Yeah. I like some country, some folksy stuff, a little pop.”

“I like country music,” Hyde says.

“He can sing, too.”

Lory's brows quirk as she looks first at me, checking if I'm serious, and then to Hyde expectantly.

He tips his head back and starts with a song he sings when he wants to wind up me and Kinkaid. It's a Johnny Cash song about being in prison. Not exactly uplifting, but Lory watches Hyde with fascination. I swear, the kid could sing the back of a shampoo bottle and sound like a frigging angel.

From the kitchen, Kinkaid joins in. He has a deeper, harsher voice, but it doesn't matter. There's something gritty in their harmonization that suits the song. I thump my hands on the table in time to their singing, and Lory watches with wide-eyed fascination. This is good. When we're singing and working together, we seem less intimidating.

But just as her posture relaxes, Hyde abruptly stops so he can eat, and the silence descends again.

Usually I’m good with silence but today, it’s thick enough to choke on, and if I feel that way, Lory must be drowning.

“You got a man?” Hyde asks suddenly, pointing his fork at Lory, then waving it in a circle. “You got a man out there, Lory?”

Her shoulders tighten and the straps holding her dress up gape a little. “No. No man.”

“Family?”

“My sister has two kids. She doesn’t live close. My mom, but we don’t speak.”

Jesus. This girl is alone out there. As alone as any of us would be. Hyde’s momma overdosed and he has no idea who his dad is. Kinkaid’s waste of space sperm donor died in a drive-by, and his mom lives somewhere in Idaho, just far enough to never visit. My own family has been condensed to one sister who’s in the military and hasn’t spoken to me since I was convicted. I don’t think it’s possible to convince her I’m a good man. Her memories of our father have laid a tarnish over me that she can’t scrape away.

It doesn’t feel good to be alone in the world, but I have my friends, and they’re the family I’ve chosen. I hope Lory has friends. I don’t want to think of her as lonely, but she’s in this place, in this fucked up situation, so maybe she is. I swallow the bite of food in my mouth but my stomach revolts at the prospect of another. I lower my fork and try to think of something reassuring to say.

“When I first came here, it felt oppressive. But after a while, I got used to the smells and the sounds. Things that used to wake me up faded into the background. My memory of the outside faded, too. It'll be weird the first few days, but you'll get used to it. We'll help you.”

Lory, who has paused with her fork halfway to her mouth, stares at me with an assessing gaze. She’s trying to work out if she should trust me. I don’t know what she sees, but she nods and then carries on eating.

What else is there to do here?

Eat, sleep, shower, exercise, watch TV, jerk off.

And now Lory's here, there's one more option.

Fuck.