Caged In (Caged Prison #1)

15

It’s over a week since Reni returned from The Hole and Izz’s no closer to figuring out who’s leaving him gifts. He ruled out Levis as he served Izz every meal and always raised the topic of the extra food from meals. He never fails to offer other items if Izz will come out the back of the kitchen to collect them.

Which always disgusts Izz and leaves a bad taste in his mouth. He remains silent and doesn’t engage Levis, not even looking at him. Ignore the problem, he figures, and eventually it will go away.

Or fester and grow to an even bigger problem. His inner voice points out.

Screw the kitchen boss, and the fake leverage to get into his pants. The freak is trying to manipulate him and give him extra things to push him into owing something.

Izz rolls onto his side, peering out into the dark cell. His bunk’s way more comfortable now that he has two mattresses to lie on. With the ever-present question of who-done-it—

His inner monologue doesn’t contain a whole lot of sense. His mind and body are so exhausted he can’t line up his thoughts. His new laundry job is draining and labour intensive. Muscles he didn’t know he had are aching something fierce.

He does have one upside to his days, kind of. He’s receiving gifts each day, usually in the form of chocolates or beef jerky. He has seen the price tag of the latter in Commissary and it’s not a cheap product. Whoever is leaving him the snacks does not lack funds.

To those on the outside, these gifts would be insignificant and hardly worth mentioning. But when you are on the inside, it is a massive deal. Being able to enjoy chocolate is no longer something you can simply go to the store and buy for a few dollars. It costs three times more to buy it in this cage, and the money you earn in the prison jobs is less than a dollar an hour. There is no cushy thirty dollars an hour job on the inside, no freedom to go to the shop whenever you want. Commissary is open four days a week for a few hours at a time. Usually for the duration between breakfast and lunch, but it’s unpredictable.

Izz digs into the snacks and doesn’t regret it for a second—okay, so maybe there are times he worries over what the gifts mean and what will happen if he keeps accepting them. But then he would spot Reni and remember the fight—he is in over his head in this cage already. He has been targeted and treated like garbage by most inmates—Levis for one. So why not enjoy the gifts in the meantime? If the gift giver wants to hurt him, he’s sure they’d find an excuse to do so either way.

And he is drowning in food. He has his own hoarded collection stashed away in his cupboard. He’s running out of room and will have to figure out where to put it when it reaches overflow levels.

Maybe I can leave a note on my bed to tell whoever is leaving the gifts that I have no more space to keep any more—

“Or maybe I can just eat more,” Izz chuckles to himself in the darkness, a crazy person whispering in the lightless cell.

The prison lights have yet to blast into life for the start of a new day. Izz’s inner alarm clock woke him slightly earlier than the automatic time the cell doors open. His cellmate is still out cold in the other bunk, quietly snoring away.

Another day in Hell.

~~~

He’s tucking into his breakfast when the two side doors clanked open, allowing two inmates to walk in late for the party. He wouldn’t have taken notice if the second inmate hadn’t been one he’s thrilled to see—

Zidie is out of The Hole. Accompanying an inmate Izz does not recognise. They both bypass the food line, gunning straight for The Gang’s table. A massive grin plastered on Zidie’s face.

“We’re back,” Zidie’s sing-a-song tone is music to Izz’s ears.

He’s delighted to see Zidie out—the guilt is still there, but less so with his best friend no longer stuck in The Hole. Which was his fault—

He winces, refocusing on his food. Will Zidie still want to be his friend? Or did that ship sail when Zidie spent all those weeks stuck in a dank cell all alone?

Zidie throws an arm over Izz, planting his ass down beside him. “Hey bestie. How are you?”

Zidie pinches Izz’s face between two fingers to turn his face side to side, looking for any marks?

“You don’t look like you took a beating,” Zidie informs Izz.

Izz takes his head back, sticking his tongue out at the other. “Ha. Ha. Very funny. I was doing just fine in the fight. Definitely winning.”

“Uh huh, right,” Zidie raises an eyebrow at Izz, “so you weren’t on the floor about to become chow.”

Izz snorts dismissively at Zidie, “no. No way. Not at all. That time alone in The Hole has you hallucinating what happened.”

Zidie laughs, “sure I did. You keep telling yourself that if it makes you feel brave.”

“I don’t need an ego boost, I already know I have mad fighting skills—”

A scoffing noise catches Izz’s attention, bringing his face around to the new inmate. “ Mad fighting skills . . . Anyone who has to say that has zero fighting anything .”

For the first time Izz scans the new arrival. The man is handsome, in a savage tough guy kind of way. Hazel eyes, the perfect shade to link nicely with his messy dyed-red hair, ruggedly cut into scruffy layers. Its length disappearing behind his back, peeking out to kiss his elbows. The hair style fits the man’s perfectly symmetrical features. Hands encased in a black splatter ink tattoo design which speckles into sleeves, mixing and mingling with golds and reds. A whole array of different images merged together to make two incredible sleeves.

Unique.

He could study the tattoo designs for hours and still find something new in the network of art. All the details that went into the piece must have taken days.

“Hey, I’m Sinj. And you must be Izz.” Sinj lifts his chin in a half nod of greeting.

Izz blinks at Sinj. How does the man know his name? The man is a walking talking art gallery on a model’s body, and apparently he’s a mind-reader as well?

Goes perfectly with the pale vamp in The Gang. Izz’s inner voice mutters inside his head.

He shakes his head to clear it out. Hopefully, he can rattle the loose wires back into place, get things working properly again. The tactic always worked on the television remote, so why not on his brain wires too.

He can’t help the speechless mute he has become. He’s never met this inmate before and they know things about him. His luck hasn’t been the greatest in here, another inmate knowing his name is worrying. He doesn’t want another Levis sniffing around him.

Izz must have stayed quiet for too long, as Sinj offers up an explanation, “Zid wouldn’t shut up about his new best friend, with a weird name like him, and blah, blah, blah—the entire time we were stuck in The Hole.”

“Oh. . .” Is the only thing Izz can think of. His mind’s racing over mixed feelings with Zidie’s return—unsure if Zidie will be angry at him or forgive him.

Zidie is still calling him ‘his best friend’, so it stands to reason Cupcake isn’t completely filled with hate towards him?

~~~

Sinj is an easy-going guy. Someone Izz could find himself becoming fast friends with. The red-head has a level of high energy and happy vibes to rival Zidie.

Izz joins the rest of The Gang as they wander down the corridors. He’s going back to his cell to use the toilet. Surrounded by The Gang, well protected and at ease. For the first time in a long time, he is at peace. A part of the group. Not a shunned outsider. He hasn’t looked at or spoken to David since the fight and the overheard conversation—but it’s not like they’d ever spoken before that. But now . . . yeah. He’s not doing it. He is not going to pretend that David isn’t an asshole. And he definitely isn’t going to be the guy’s friend.

“. . . you’re a paid companion, it’s not like they actually like you hanging around, they only like what you can do.”

Izz zones back into the conversation, unsure what Erik is talking about . . . Paid companion? Who?

“You’re just jealous I have skills and can walk into whoever’s turf I want to.” Sinj cracks his knuckles, blowing a kiss towards Erik.

The red-heads reply does nothing to fill Izz in, he’s still confused. Who’s paying who? And for what? Is it a drug thing?

He can’t stand it, he has to ask, and Sinj is a stand-up guy—at least in the few hours since they met. He won’t mind Izz nosing into their conversation?

“Paid companion?”

Sinj smirks, bouncing his eyebrows at Izz—

It doesn’t so much dawn on him as slap him in the face with its reality check. He can feel his face literally erupting in heat, his blush hitting him so fast it’s liable to melt his face off. All the blood in his body must be in his face by now.

Sinj is an escort.

Hooker? Whore? He isn’t sure what they like to be called, or what will offend. He doesn’t have a problem with it, to each their own. He’s just never met one, let alone a guy one. In prison . . .

Everyone around Izz burst into hysterical laughter. His blush deepening by the second. How is his body still able to find blood to push into his face, without him having a heart attack, or passing out? He’s sure his neck is flushed right along with the rest of him.

This is so embarrassing. I feel like a blushing virgin.

“ I have wicked mad skills ,” Sinj uses Izz’s words, mocking Izz’s voice from the previous conversation with Zidie.

Glad to see I amuse people . Izz tries to be annoyed about it. But he can’t help but feel joyous that he’s settling in with The Gang. Enough for them to be playfully teasing him—

Sinj destroys Izz’s composure completely—sticking his tongue out, and flicking it between two fingers—

Izz trips on nothing, stumbling a few steps before catching himself. Nearly face planting the prison floor.

Sinj has a split tongue—

It’s literally split down the middle. A snake’s forked tongue. Two separate pink-muscled pieces of flesh where there should only be one.

“How . . .” Izz squeaks, his eyes as wide as saucers.

“What? Never seen body mods’ before,” Sinj grins, enjoying every second of Izz’s shock.

“You did that to yourself?”

He’s going to puke.

How could Sinj—

To slice it—

Okay, yup. He is going to throw up on the prison’s uneven concrete floor—

How much would that have hurt? To do that to your own tongue—

“We’ll, technically, a tattoo artist I know did it. He dabbles in the extreme mod’ stuff. The tongue is numbed and all that jazz, you don’t feel a thing.”

Izz sags in relief—or his body gives out on him. Either way, he leans against the wall like it’s a lifeline.

Now that he’s recovered from his initial shock—and he knows it’s not some in-the-bathroom-over-the-sink-with-a-razor-blade type thing—it’s actually kind of cool.

Different, but not all bad. It matches Sinj’s qualities quite nicely—

Izz gets it—what Sinj meant when he said Erik’s jealous. A split tongue would feel amazing and completely different from anyone else in here, for . . . Umm . . . paid companionship . . .

Wonder how much he charges?—

No you most definitely do not. Come on Izz. Pull yourself together, man—

“Be careful with that one, he’s crazy,” Erik nudges Izz’s ribs with his elbow, “bit a dude’s dick off once.”

“Really,” Izz breathes out, eyes glued on Sinj to wait for his reply.

A confirmation he’s not sure he wants to hear.

Sinj grins wickedly. Causing chills to run up and down Izz’s spine. He wants to check his own parts are intact as a phantom pain invades his own dick at the thought of being the victim of such extreme violence.

“I told the prick ‘no’. He should have listened,” Sinj grins wider, laughing ominously.

The queasiness returns, his throat muscles working overtime to depress his gag reflex. His last meal threatening to make an unwelcome appearance.

Reni shakes his head, mouthing to Izz that it isn’t a true story. Leaning in to whisper for only Izz’s ears to hear, “he might be crazy, but he’s never done that . . .” When Reni leans back, Izz hears him say under his breath, “at least . . . not that we know of.”

Not reassuring in the slightest. In fact it has him thinking, it might just be true—

Izz sighs as they stop near the stairs leading to his and Reni’s shared cell. Breaking away from The Gang to clomp up the metal steps. He’s glad to leave the conversation behind, to pretend it never took place. He doesn’t need more fuel for his nightmares. He’s already struggling to sleep with the creep from the kitchen and the vomit-dragon tattoo creep who lives in the same Wing.

This cage’s filled with too many creeps for his liking.

More chocolates. Izz discovers the sweets on his bunk, half tucked under his pillow. He leaves them where they are, and uses the toilet. He isn’t sure he has room left in his cupboard. Where else can he stash them?

Once he finishes relieving his bladder, he strolls back to his bunk to collect the chocolates to stuff into his overfilled cupboard. A squirrel storing its nuts for the harsh winter months when food is scarce—

Tucked out of the way—under his pillow—is a neat little roll. A thin roll of tiny paper—

Izz scoops up the joint so fast he almost whiplashes himself. Cradling the precious bundle in his palms.

This is the best gift yet .

Izz squeals in his head like a girl, giddy to try it and take his mind far away from this overcrowded cage he’s forced to live in. With people he is forced to live next to.

Reluctantly, he sets the joint to the side, nestled on his pillow. He can’t smoke it now, it isn’t safe, he’d be caught by a guard. Either while smoking it, or because his cell will stink of it.

Choosing one of the chocolate bars, Izz rips into it. Munching on the chocolate to keep his mind off the joint he desperately wants to light up—he has no lighter for one, and two, he needs somewhere private to smoke.

How is he going to find something to light it with? Will he have to rock-and-stick-it like a caveman—

Reni appears in the cell’s entrance, a frown scrunching his normally relaxed features.

Izz breaks off some chocolate to hand over.

“Nah, man, I’m good.”

He shrugs, stuffing the piece into his own mouth. His cellmate is still frowning at him weirdly . . .

“What? You’re killing my chocolate bliss,” Izz grumbles, devouring the last morsel. Ready to find another to eat.

“You might want to stop accepting these . . . gifts . You have no idea who they’re from. And things in here don’t come for free. There are prices attached to everything. Prices you may not want to owe people.”

Reni folds his arms over his chest, the way he does when he’s displeased. Like it’s a protective barrier between him and whatever is threatening him mentally or emotionally. During a physical threat Izz had seen how Reni reacted, and it is in a defensive attack, not a cowardly timid retreat.

He isn’t sure what the big deal is. “It’s only chocolate. Lighten up.”

Izz watches his cellmate’s face change from an annoyed frown to intense rage—

“Where did you get that?” Reni jabs an accusing finger at Izz’s bed, “do not tell me it was left under your pillow.”

Izz doesn’t need to look at where his cellmate’s eyes are glued. He already knows. He’d stupidly left the joint out in the open. Foolish mistake. And after he’d been worrying where to smoke it so no one caught him—he leaves it lying around where anyone walking past could have spotted it.

Reni curses, dropping his arms down by his sides, “seriously, man. You are digging your grave deeper.”

“How? It’s been days and days.” Izz gestures around the room, like that’s supposed to mean something—what?—he has no idea, maybe that he’s still here in one piece and not dead? “Nothing has happened. You’re just jealous I have a secret admirer.”

Yes, he’s aware how stupid he sounds. But it is the only defence he can think of. And it absolutely sucks. He’s hopeless at handling these new situations he keeps finding himself in.

He needs to stop shorting out, like a defective fuse, and start defending himself. Especially if another attack like the one in the kitchen takes place—he can’t avoid Levis forever. And his body would not cooperate, all it did was waste energy being scared and shaking uncontrollably. It doesn’t help him, and he would have been raped if that guard hadn’t stepped in.

“These gifts are getting bigger,” Reni mutters, closing his eyes and rubbing the bridge of his nose in irritation.

Izz picks up the joint, raising a brow at the small roll. It’s tiny compared to the chocolate bars, and other snack items.

“I’m talking about in value,” Reni snaps, as if he too can read minds like Sinj.

It’s freaky the way Sinj reads Izz’s body language and knows what he’s about to say before he says it—and Sinj has only been around him for what? An hour? Two hours?

Why can everyone read him like a book? Are his emotions that obvious?

Shit . . .

Reni has a point. The gifts are going higher in the price range. He’s now receiving—well, according to his cellmate’s claims—drugs.

He curses under his breath. Tucking the joint out of sight into the pocket of his prison-issue pants.

Out-of-sight out-of-mind.

He can live in denial a little longer. No point worrying about make-believe scenarios that have not come to pass. And may never happen.

Over the past weeks, nothing dreadful has happened to him as a result of taking and enjoying the gifts. He should be safe, shouldn’t he?