Caged In (Caged Prison #1)

38

The unease in the room is palpable. Sitting with Sin is immediately taken note of by the entire room. He isn’t sure why, everyone already knows he and Sin are fucking. Or rather they think Sin is using him. Either way, they shouldn’t be surprised. They do call him the serial killer’s bitch boy, after all.

His side is beginning to hurt once more, the pain meds wearing off. A dull ache taking their place. It’s bearable, a little discomfort he can live with.

“I feel like I’m doing something I shouldn’t be,” Izz whispers. As if he’s in a forbidden part of the prison. It’s quite strange. Nobody sits here except for Sin. And now, apparently, Izz. “I kinda like it. Like I’m sitting on a throne or something.”

Sin smirks. Pressing his thigh against Izz’s under the table. The contact can’t be seen by the rest of the room. Not unless they walked close. Which no one is ever brave enough to do.

Izz’s tucking into the start of his meal when a guard catches his eye. The guard is rocking on their heels. Hovering close by. On the periphery of the last tables holding inmates, before the bare table in front of Sin’s own. It’s almost as though they are building up the courage to do something . . .

The guard drags a hand through their hair. Then approaches. Staring at the ground the entire time. “You have a visitor, inmate A-18910.” Swiftly retreating now that the message has been relayed.

Izz peers at Sin. He wants to see his visitors. He knows it will be his mum and sister. At the same time however, he doesn’t want to leave. He wants to stay and finish eating next to Sin.

“We have other meals to do this again. Go see your family.”

He can’t handle waiting days to eat with Sin again. “Dinner,” he insists, squeezing Sin’s thigh with his hand under the table.

Izz’s grown more and more confident with touching Sin. And why shouldn’t he? They have sex all the time. They spend hours each day together. If anyone is allowed to randomly caress Sin, it should be him.

“Dinner,” Sin repeats, agreeing.

Izz dumps his tray and wanders off to visitation all by his lonesome. With no fear he’ll be attacked by anyone. They all fear Sin too much to try anything with him.

The visitation room is packed with inmates in dull plain colours and guests in brightly coloured clothing of all types. And scents, all manner of perfumes filling the space, a bouquet of flowers competing for approval.

Through the crowds he spots a familiar face. His mum waiting at one of the many tables. His sister isn’t there. Perhaps she’s in school? He can’t recall what day it is.

His mum’s wearing one of her casual, yet respectable, outfits. A lavender purple shirt, the softness of the colour complimenting her features. Her long ankle length skirt is a pale blue with a spiral pattern of flowers.

I miss this. I miss my family.

“Hi.” He greets, sitting opposite his mum, her floral perfume a happy reminder of home. “Where’s Luc?”

“Waiting outside the room. I have to speak with you first, alone.”

Oh, God. Something’s wrong . . .

Is it—

Is the—

Please don’t let it be back. He can’t lose his sister. She can’t be out there, going through it alone. All the appointments—

No. The cancer can’t be back.

If he refuses to acknowledge its presence, his mum won’t say it. Please don’t say it.

“We had an offer. For a house to live in,” his mum speaks softly, her eyes bleak.

Izz sags into his chair. While his body is flooded with relief, he experiences a pang of unease. If they have a house offer, why is his mum acting so odd? Why does she appear so put out and . . . wrong . . .

She pulls a letter from her coat pocket, slipping the pages out from within its folds. Presenting it to Izz. Who stares at it without reading, the words blurring together, his mind unable to focus.

He tentatively takes the letter. “What is it?” He brings the paper closer, trying to overcome his unease enough to read it.

“It says he’s a friend of yours. He has a home we can stay in rent free. Is this true? And why is he offering it? What’s going on?”

“I’m not sure . . .” Izz’s eyes skim over the neatly handwritten letter. The contents not making sense, even as he can read the handwritten letter just fine.

The page does not contain a name of the person who wrote it. However there is a single letter inked at the bottom. Izz doesn’t need a full name to know who wrote it. But why . . . ?