Total pages in book: 15
Estimated words: 14234 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 71(@200wpm)___ 57(@250wpm)___ 47(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 14234 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 71(@200wpm)___ 57(@250wpm)___ 47(@300wpm)
Once in the showers, Sage didn’t know which way to turn. He didn’t want other inmates to ogle his dick, but he didn’t want to turn his back to anyone, either. So he washed, awkwardly shifting and turning. There were guys groping each other and some doing more than that, but the guards didn’t seem interested in stopping them as long as it seemed mostly consensual. And even if it wasn’t, they didn’t seem all that eager to do anything. There was a big guy in the opposite corner forcing his dick down another guy’s throat. Sage tried hard not to look that way. His heart beat so fast he thought he was going to be sick.
He saw many other guys eyeing him interestedly, but no one tried anything. Sage suspected that it had something to do with Xavier, who stayed close to him, silent and stony-faced.
Deciding that no one was going to attack him, Sage relaxed a bit.
It was a mistake.
Halfway through the shower, he felt it: a hand on his ass.
Sage froze and then looked at Xavier. “Keep your hands to yourself,” he hissed. He knew better than to make a scene. Sage might not know much about prison hierarchy, but he knew enough. He knew Xavier would have to demonstrate who was in charge here if Sage made him look weak.
Xavier looked at him calmly, dark eyes unreadable. “I need to show everyone that you’re mine,” he said quietly. “If I don’t, other guys will get ideas. You don’t want that, do you?”
Sage glared at him, but as much as he hated it, the guy was right. If he had to choose between being considered his cellmate’s plaything and being gangbanged, he knew what he would choose.
So he didn’t move away, letting Xavier keep a proprietary hand on his butt. His face was probably bright red—it was a huge blow to his masculinity. He wondered if this was how women felt when men objectified them.
When shower time was finally over, he shook Xavier’s hand off, dressed and walked back to the cell quickly.
Xavier didn’t return immediately.
When he did, Sage tensed involuntarily, gripping the book he was trying—and failing—to read.
“Relax, Pouty Lips,” Xavier said with a snort.
“Don’t call me that.”
“I’ll call you whatever I want.”
Sage felt a surge of helpless anger, but he said nothing. Truth be told, Xavier unnerved him. He was different from other inmates: quiet and intense in a strange way. He didn’t raise his voice, he didn’t boast like other inmates did, but from what Sage had seen that day, Xavier seemed well-respected, even feared.
“What are you in here for?” Sage asked, unable to suppress his curiosity.
“Killed eight people at a mall,” Xavier said, looking him in the eye.
Sage blinked. “You’re joking, right?”
Xavier made a shrugging gesture that could be interpreted either way. Sage really hoped he was joking.
“How old are you?” Xavier said suddenly, eyeing him.
“Twenty-three.”
Xavier studied him for several moments before getting into his bunk. What a strange guy.
* * *
Days passed by, and the prison life was nothing like Sage imagined. For one thing, it was far more boring than he’d ever thought. He couldn’t do anything he wanted. Everything he did was controlled and regulated, and it started slowly driving him mad. Sometimes it got so boring he felt like he had to do something drastic just to escape the monotony. Now he could understand why there was so much violence in prison: people had to entertain themselves. It freaked him out and scared him that he was starting to relate to those criminals.
The other inmates mostly left him alone, but Sage had no delusions about that. He saw the looks other men gave him. He was blond, blue-eyed and too damn “pretty” not to attract attention. As much as he hated that he had to depend on Xavier, the guy was the only thing that kept others away. By the end of the second week, Sage was already so used to having Xavier’s proprietary hand on him in the showers that he just ignored it.
But although he knew everyone thought he was Xavier’s bitch, being called that to his face was a different thing entirely.
“I’m not his bitch,” he snapped when Arman, the guy he’d formed a tentative friendship of sorts with, called him that jokingly. “He isn’t fucking me.”
Arman gave him an odd look and didn’t say anything.
Sage thought nothing of it until he returned that evening to their cell and found Xavier waiting for him already. And he was angry as hell, his dark eyebrows drawn into a line, his lips pressed together.
Xavier was on him before he could even blink. He shoved Sage against the wall, pressing his arm against his throat. “Do you want me to kill you? You made me look like a fucking liar. Is that your gratitude?”