Caged In (Caged Prison #1)

16

Izz walks to the showers, halfway through breakfast, as today is the day Reni and Zidie have to attend their anger management meeting during the meal. He’s not sure why the group runs at different times on different days. But its schedule is all over the place. Most often it’s held during the work periods, or the break before lunch. Though recently it’s been getting more and more out of whack and starting at very inconvenient times. For instance, halfway through a meal.

He finished his food when they both left and wasn’t interested in staying at the table with only Erik and David. He wasn’t sure where the rest of The Gang were. And he was not going to ask, and risk it sounding like he was talking to David—yes, he knows it sounds petty, as if he still holds a grudge. Which he doesn’t.

. . . Okay, maybe he holds a little bit of a grudge.

But whatever, the other inmate deserves it—

He’s counting down the days until Reni and Zidie don’t have to go to that stupid, pointless meeting. He hates being alone with his thoughts.

A few more weeks and those meetings will be over. Reni and Zidie will be signed off and free to go about their normal prison routines.

He would have stuck with Sinj, but he has no idea where to even begin looking for the red-head. Sinj could be anywhere in this prison. Including H-Wing, and The Gang had specifically told him not to go near H-Wing. He is not about to risk it and go investigating anywhere close by there. Knowing his luck he’d end up pissing off some mob boss and getting shivved.

He strips down in the shower room, leaving his clothes out on the benches. It’s bizarre, coming here alone. He’s only ever been here with someone else from The Gang. Never alone like this. He’d washed in his cell for the few days Reni had been absent.

Izz picked this time specifically, because he knows he won’t have to worry about the showers being overcrowded with other inmates. Practically everyone is in the cafeteria. He’d also chosen this time as Levis will be in the kitchen and he won’t have to worry about running into the creep in here.

He selects a shower head out of the way, close to the back corner to avoid the couple of men who were under their own sprays throughout the room. They are loners, minding their own business like he’s doing—

Speak of the devil—isn’t that the saying? Speak of the devil and the devil will appear?—he never should have thought the name. It’s almost as if he summoned the other man.

Levis.

It has to be Levis. While he’s vulnerable, standing naked and alone in the shower room. The beefy server has to choose now to come to the showers—

Wait. Why is Levis here and not serving breakfast?

Izz swallows involuntarily, the lump in his throat growing and threatening to cut off his air supply. Why does his luck always have to be bad. Ever since he landed in this prison everything has been against him. Anything he thinks might be sweet, twists into a sour mess before he has the chance to savour the sweetness.

Levis saunters in, like he owns the whole room. Just like he does patrolling the kitchen—immensely up himself with an over-inflated ego. An ego that Izz’s dying to knock down a few pegs—

Perhaps dying isn’t the best term to use . . .

The beefy creep marches forward, a gloating grin plastered on his face. Gross naked body on full display—

Something to haunt Izz’s nightmares. If he makes it out of this encounter alive—

The creep’s smile vanishes, his mouth twisting, eyes narrowing as he comes to an abrupt stop. He stares at Izz, his expression twisting into one of extreme annoyance and frustration.

Surprisingly, Levis turns sharply on his heels and storms off to the other side of the shower room. As far away from Izz as physically possible while still able to use one of the showers.

Strange—

The shower next to Izz flares to life with a swirling rush of water. His heart rate sky-rocketing an electric charge through his body—swivelling, he faces off at the newcomer, his stomach dropping out into an empty pit—

Losing his footing Izz slaps his palm on the tiled wall to catch himself, so he doesn’t face plant the tiled floor—so many tiles in this room—

This shower alone idea is the stupidest thing he’s done since he’s been in prison. Why did he choose to come here alone again?

‘Cause I’m an idiot.

The red and black mohawked male—basking in the warm water cascading down his broad shoulder blades and over his thickly muscled back—is the serial killer Izz has been telling himself to stay away from.

And here he is, showering right next to the killer—and for the longest few seconds he’s transfixed on the male’s naked body—

Izz clears his throat, abruptly swivelling away to face the shower wall. His peripheral vision doesn’t help him, he can still see the details he’s trying desperately to avoid . . .

The killer doesn’t speak, or do anything threatening. No shivs are uncovered from hidey-holes. He doesn’t attempt to look at or interact with Izz. He utterly ignores Izz—who’s surreptitiously trying not to peek at him. He goes about washing his own body, scrubbing the soap down coiled muscles—

Muscles that helped in killing people—

Izz rushes his rinse job, trying to slosh the soap off as quickly as possible. To leave, to get out and away from the dangerous male beside him.

Why is the killer here? Why is he insisting on standing right next to Izz. Is this the killer’s usual place?

Does that mean Izz’s in the wrong? Is he going to be killed for showering in the killer’s space?

He hopes it’s not what his family finds on his death record. Killed for using a serial killer’s spot in the showers. Is not what he wants his life to come down to.

The killer is always in the cafeteria during the breakfast meal. So why is he here now? Is breakfast over? Or did Levis and the killer both skip it to come here?

Is it a coincidence?

This day has only just begun and his mind is already filled with far too many questions, and far too few answers. He feels as if he’s going to self-combust due to the amount of pressure building in his head.

The killer shifts, and Izz dies—

Maybe he’s a tad dramatic, but it sure feels like his heart gives out. Its beating is so fast it’s one long thud with no ending in sight.

He can see the killer’s gaze lock on him. His skin pricking with awareness at the killer’s sharp eyes running up and down his form—

The intensity of the killer’s inspection is constricting Izz’s throat. His nervous system firing up and running rampant to such a degree it manifests into a physical reaction in his body. A sheen of sweat trickling over every orifice, noticeable even under the shower’s warm spray. The water stinging his sensitive skin, almost as if the killer’s eyes are tenderising his flesh and making it hypersensitive. Increasing his awareness to how utterly naked he is. He’d be self-conscious if he wasn’t so terrified.

Izz can’t hold his tongue a second longer. Letting his unease escape in a torrent of scrambled words, “I’m n-not interested in d-doing anything with y-you.”

The killer’s fixation remains on Izz. No apology for the obvious ogling he’s doing. No explanation. Nothing but silence.

Izz tacks on nervously, “I don’t w-want it, I don’t want you to t-touch m-me,” he stutters, showing this dangerous male how panicked he is. His inner prey animal screaming at him for revealing his weak and helpless state.

The killer smiles softly—a soft, warm, friendly, smile. Stunning Izz in its unexpectedness. He was fully prepared to have the killer let out a mocking laugh and smirk at him before slitting his throat. He did not expect a warm smile. This soft expression, the closest Izz has seen the male come to a smile—not that he has been constantly studying the other. Nope. Of course not. All those times he sat in the cafeteria facing the corner where the killer sat, they were all coincidences—

You lie to yourself too much.

“Relax,” the killer’s deeply resonant voice rumbles over the sounds of the shower’s spray, echoing off the surfaces around them, “I’ve done a lot of . . . questionable things . . . but I’ve never raped anyone, and I don’t intend to change.”

Izz’s, in equal parts, shocked the killer respects his wishes and astounded the killers being genuinely nice.

No one else in this cage has done so, not without underlying intentions. And he isn’t including Reni or Zidie. He is thinking of the other inmates in this Hell-hole. They have demanded and taken even when Izz says no—

Is the killer being truthful? Or is it all lies, to lull him into a false sense of security, before striking? Would he find himself bleeding out in some forgotten back room of the prison?

Izz’s aware he’s staring at the killer, with round wide eyes. But he can’t stop himself. He’s too stunned to move. To react. To think of anything to say . . .

His mind searching desperately for something to snap him out of his frozen state. He finds himself drawn to how the killer washes, like a normal person. But what did he expect? For a serial killer to wash themselves the serial killer way ?

Several more moments of Izz frozen under the water’s embrace pass, his flesh starting to prune. He’s been under the water for far too long.

The killer breaks the silence, without looking over at Izz. “You can enjoy your gifts. You don’t have to keep hoarding them. No strings attached.”

Wait? What? —

The killer hums softly, rotating to face Izz, giving him a full view of his front, “I find you . . . intriguing. I enjoy giving you things even if I get nothing in return.”

Izz has to force his eyes away from the killer’s body and look the male in the eyes—those same black irises flecked with golden browns, intensely watching, waiting.

“That—” Izz clears his throat. “T-those were from you . . .”

He’s not sure which is worse. Levis—who got handsy-feely into Izz’s personal space without consent. Or this serial killer inmate who’s murdered hundreds of people—according to Reni.

“Who else would they be from,” the killer’s eyes bore into Izz, a question without it being a question, with the expectation of an answer.

Izz feels small. Shrink-wrapped into a tiny helpless form. He’s shorter and skinnier than the killer, physically weaker. His fighting skills are questionable. He wouldn’t stand a chance going toe to toe with the male. His entire body is insignificantly powerless.

“Ahhhh,” Izz can’t think of a single word to say in his defence—he’s unsure why he needs a defence . . .

I can’t think with his gaze on me.

Unconsciously Izz’s eyes flick over to Levis on the other side of the room—who is still glaring daggers at him. Seething on the far side of the tiled expanse. It’s a brisk flick of the eyes to and from. Yet it’s enough for the killer to catch it and know his meaning. The air changing around Izz, stirring, constricting, cooling. As if the killer’s anger is manifesting itself so intensely the air is affected by it—

A cold deathly growl rumbles over to Izz, as the killer faces the wall, “he won’t bother you ever again.”

Despite his instincts going haywire, Izz finds himself relaxing at the statement. He’s not sure he should. But his instincts are informing him this male is trustworthy. Half his instincts are screaming and flashing warnings at how dangerous the killer is, but at the same time, the other half are relaxing and fighting the agitated fear receptors. Trying to tell his mind to ‘ calm down, there’s nothing to fear’.

So which half of his instincts does he trust? Which half can he trust?

Izz’s aware that he’s probably delusional. But screw it. He’ll keep his delusions. Better than acknowledging the thought wedged in the back of his mind that this serial killer has attached himself to Izz to make him the next victim—

A flash of red at the small of the killer’s back draws his eyes. The tattoo inked in smooth skin has a word written in red ink, but it’s on a sharp angle and all he can read is the ending O U S . . . What does it spell? The middle of the word is consumed in a large blood splatter. The red letters running through the blood-ink puddle fade into open skin, so you can see the writing through the blood. A finger drawn through wet blood in a killer’s written message—

Izz curses himself for falling for a predator’s charms. Smacking the shower off he storms out of the room. He keeps his eyes locked on the exit and doesn’t turn back to look at anyone. He prays no one follows him out. He wants to dress and get back to his cell to process what just happened before his mind spirals out of control.

~~~

Izz’s too antsy to think straight. This stuff he’s been gifted . . . it’s from a serial killer. A serial killer, who for some unknown reason, has formed a kind of attachment to him—

Scratch that, if Izz thought about it, he can think of the reason why—

He doesn’t want to end up the next victim, so he’s refusing to give voice to those assumptions. Leaving them to rot and fester in the back of his mind.

He decides his nerves will be soothed by a sugar binge. A sugar rush will fill his belly and take his mind far away from his anxiety. Chocolate helps with anxiety—he read it somewhere, at least he thinks he did.

Kneeling on the floor at the head of his bunk, he sifts through the large selection of snacks in his cupboard. Throwing the chocolate bars and pop tarts and a bag of potato chips onto his bunk. He’ll have a party—a party of one—to ease his nerves.

He’s sitting on his bunk—pale as a sheet—in a nest of food wrappers—when Reni arrives close to the time the lunch bell is scheduled to ring. His cellmate must be here to collect him for lunch. From the look on Reni’s face, Izz’s inner turmoil and worries are written all over him.

“You okay, man?” Reni approaches, frowning as he sits on his own bed, directly in front of Izz. “You don’t look too good. You need me to get a nurse? Or something?”

He isn’t sure how to respond. Is he okay? He’s not sure . . . Yes? . . . No? . . . Quite possibly . . . ? Not in the slightest . . . ?

Perhaps it will be better not to answer. He casts his eyes down to the wrapper mess surrounding his legs. His cellmate doesn’t deserve to be lied to, or ignored. Reni deserves to be told the truth. It’s the least Izz owes him for everything his friend has done for him.

“. . . I . . . I f-found out who the g-gifts are coming from.” Is that really his voice? He sounds timid and weak. Sounds utterly unlike his usual self. He sounds . . . vulnerable.

Reni remains silent, his gaze boring into Izz. Waiting for information. For an answer. An acknowledgement to the enquiry. Or for Izz to faint. To pass out cold.

His friend always knows what he needs. Senses where Izz’s heads at. Why did he have to meet Reni in here? He could have done with this type of friendship on the outside. Maybe then he wouldn’t be locked in this cage. Rotting away with criminals who enjoy tormenting him.

“. . . I . . .” Izz curses, clearing his throat. He manhandles his fear to the side, pushing through it to let his words out, “I should have listened to you. What am I supposed to do now? How am I supposed to pay him back? I have no money. I can’t give it back. And he—he—” Izz breaks off, running out of steam. Dropping his head into his palms, he tightens his muscles, trying to quell the urge to shake.

Why does your body shake when you’re scared? He’s sure there’s some sort of scientific mumbo-jumbo to explain it —

“What’s he want.” Not a question. Reni already assuming he knows the answer.

“I don’t know. I don’t . . .” Izz trails off. Taking a deep breath to steady himself for what he has to say next. He knows he has to tell Reni everything. How else will his friend be able to help him if he doesn’t know everything . . .

Biting back a sob, Izz slowly lets the story pass his lips. His dry throat is having a hard time allowing the words to come out clearly. He starts from the beginning. The creepy server guy. What the server demanded. What the creep tried to do. To the moment when Levis walked into the showers and turned away. The serial killer materialising out of nowhere right beside him. To the killer informing Izz that he was the one who left the gifts. Left the gifts for Izz to enjoy, no strings attached.

Reni remains quiet throughout the whole story, nodding slowly in places. But other than that, his friend keeps silent—eyes wide and unblinking, listening intently.

A lifetime passes after Izz finishes his story. A lifetime filled with him stressing over how his friend will react. If his friend will abandon him. Or turn on him like David, saying that he is the problem and David was right all along. Or worse, go after the serial killer, like the last time Izz was in trouble. Only this fight wouldn’t end with his friend in The Hole . . .

He wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he got Reni killed. Not over this crazy situation. Not over him. Reni never deserved any of it—why did he think it was a good idea to unburden himself on his friend?

“Shit,” Reni finally releases the breath he’s been holding onto. His eyes blown wide.

“Really?” Izz sputters. “That’s all you’ve got? What the hell am I supposed to do?” Great. Now Izz’s yelling at his friend.

Way to go. Yell at one of the only friends you have in this cage of hundreds. Drive away the inmate who cares about your survival.

Izz rubs frantically at his hair, as if it might stimulate his brain into blurting out a solution to his problems. He isn’t coming up with any viable plans, and it doesn’t appear as though Reni is having any less trouble in the planning department.

“I—ah . . .” Reni opens and shuts his mouth a few times. Closing it for good when he can’t find anything to say.

“Great. Just . . . great.” Izz throws his hands in the air.

I’m screwed. I’m so fucking dead.