Prisoner and Together: All of You series complete set by Melissa Silvey Page B
Authors: Melissa Silvey
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Lucius. Although he has some muscle tone, I have a feeling all of his killing has been with a gun. I don’t think he’s killed anyone with his bare hands.
“I’m gonna take you out, grandpa. You fucking old man. I’m the new generation. We’re takin’ over!” he exclaims.
I have a feeling it’s false bravado. I think he’s probably about ready to piss himself. I glance up at the glass again. I’m probably going to give myself away, but I can’t stop. I know she’s up there, somewhere. I can’t let her watch me die.
“Fight!” a man yells, as a bell rings, and the kid rushes at me in a flurry of punches that don’t land anywhere except my biceps. When I try to grab him, he scurries away. He’s fast, I’ll give him that. This time when he rushes me, he hits me in the stomach. He actually cries out when his fist makes contact. I reach out and grab his neck, and he tries to pull away and punches me again. This one lands a little lower, but not in my nuts, thankfully. It hurts a little, I’ll give him that.
I apply pressure to his throat, and lift him off the ground. He is almost at eye level when he realizes he’s going to die. He makes a futile effort to free himself by kicking and punching me wildly, but his strikes land harmlessly on my thighs and chest. He’s making gurgling noises now. His hands go up to try to pull my hands off his throat. When that doesn’t work, he desperately tries to scratch at my face and neck. I fucking hate scratches, unless they’re down my back, with well-manicured fingernails.
Finally, as he’s struggling for breath, he grabs my wrists and digs his fingers in. It’s his last ditch effort to save his own life. It doesn’t work. When he stops fighting I drop him, and he falls limply to the floor. The crowd is silent for several moments. I know it’s not what they want. I know they want a bloody battle, but I’m not going to give it to them, at least not against some punk ass kid. Grandpa, my ass.
I roar loudly, and kick his lifeless body. I begin to beat my chest, and stomp around the ring. The crowd cheers loudly. They want a show. I can give them that.
My guard lets me get out all the fake aggression, then enters the cage to handcuff me. He looks scared. “It’s an act,” I whisper, as I willingly give him my hands.
He doesn’t relax as he leads me toward a waiting car. I glance over my shoulder, and I think I get just a peek of light purple scrubs being led out of the arena. I smile, and walk calmly with the guard. “Can I get a couple of bottles of water, and some extra condoms?”
“Sure, whatever,” he says nervously.
I hear the door open, and I sit calmly on my cot and wait for her to enter. The door closes, and we’re alone. It’s almost like we’re the only two people in the world. My heart is beating wildly already.
When she removes the blindfold, she looks slightly disoriented. She searches the tiny room quickly, and stops when she sees me. She’s breathing heavily, as she just stands there. I try to show no emotion, but she looks like she’s going through each and every one of them, all at the same time.
She’s thinking something, and she’s afraid to say it. She doesn’t trust me enough to tell me what she’s thinking. I get the feeling again that she’s a cop. She doesn’t belong here. She’s been in jail at least two weeks, and she still looks like she’s stepped straight off a cover shoot, even in the prison scrubs. Finally, after going through all the thoughts in her mind, she settles on one.
“Are you okay?” she asks hesitantly, as her eyes fixate on my face.
“Never better,” I say calmly. Is she going to act like what happened last week, and the week before that, didn’t happen? “Are you going to play hard to get? Because I get the feeling you don’t play games.” I remain seated.
“I’m gonna take you out, grandpa. You fucking old man. I’m the new generation. We’re takin’ over!” he exclaims.
I have a feeling it’s false bravado. I think he’s probably about ready to piss himself. I glance up at the glass again. I’m probably going to give myself away, but I can’t stop. I know she’s up there, somewhere. I can’t let her watch me die.
“Fight!” a man yells, as a bell rings, and the kid rushes at me in a flurry of punches that don’t land anywhere except my biceps. When I try to grab him, he scurries away. He’s fast, I’ll give him that. This time when he rushes me, he hits me in the stomach. He actually cries out when his fist makes contact. I reach out and grab his neck, and he tries to pull away and punches me again. This one lands a little lower, but not in my nuts, thankfully. It hurts a little, I’ll give him that.
I apply pressure to his throat, and lift him off the ground. He is almost at eye level when he realizes he’s going to die. He makes a futile effort to free himself by kicking and punching me wildly, but his strikes land harmlessly on my thighs and chest. He’s making gurgling noises now. His hands go up to try to pull my hands off his throat. When that doesn’t work, he desperately tries to scratch at my face and neck. I fucking hate scratches, unless they’re down my back, with well-manicured fingernails.
Finally, as he’s struggling for breath, he grabs my wrists and digs his fingers in. It’s his last ditch effort to save his own life. It doesn’t work. When he stops fighting I drop him, and he falls limply to the floor. The crowd is silent for several moments. I know it’s not what they want. I know they want a bloody battle, but I’m not going to give it to them, at least not against some punk ass kid. Grandpa, my ass.
I roar loudly, and kick his lifeless body. I begin to beat my chest, and stomp around the ring. The crowd cheers loudly. They want a show. I can give them that.
My guard lets me get out all the fake aggression, then enters the cage to handcuff me. He looks scared. “It’s an act,” I whisper, as I willingly give him my hands.
He doesn’t relax as he leads me toward a waiting car. I glance over my shoulder, and I think I get just a peek of light purple scrubs being led out of the arena. I smile, and walk calmly with the guard. “Can I get a couple of bottles of water, and some extra condoms?”
“Sure, whatever,” he says nervously.
I hear the door open, and I sit calmly on my cot and wait for her to enter. The door closes, and we’re alone. It’s almost like we’re the only two people in the world. My heart is beating wildly already.
When she removes the blindfold, she looks slightly disoriented. She searches the tiny room quickly, and stops when she sees me. She’s breathing heavily, as she just stands there. I try to show no emotion, but she looks like she’s going through each and every one of them, all at the same time.
She’s thinking something, and she’s afraid to say it. She doesn’t trust me enough to tell me what she’s thinking. I get the feeling again that she’s a cop. She doesn’t belong here. She’s been in jail at least two weeks, and she still looks like she’s stepped straight off a cover shoot, even in the prison scrubs. Finally, after going through all the thoughts in her mind, she settles on one.
“Are you okay?” she asks hesitantly, as her eyes fixate on my face.
“Never better,” I say calmly. Is she going to act like what happened last week, and the week before that, didn’t happen? “Are you going to play hard to get? Because I get the feeling you don’t play games.” I remain seated.
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