Shadowman (Alabaster Penitentiary #5)

Prologue

F eel heavily, or feel nothing at all.

Those are the two wildly different sides of mys personality. Sometimes I’m empty. Dead inside. Lost like a shadow, existing only as a silent, lurking piece of someone else.

Other times, my heart races so fast, and my chest cinches so tight, I think my ribs could snap.

My mind captures a thought; traps it the way a child traps a butterfly in a jar, to ogle with wide eyes while it flutters about…

Before it ultimately dies from lack of oxygen because they forgot to poke air-holes.

Do I resent being like this?

Yes. Of fucking course I do.

It’s not exactly fun to live each day not knowing how I’ll feel the next. If I’ll be stewing in a silent ache of emotions that make me want to scream and punch the wall until my knuckles are bloodied to the bone…

Or if I’ll be a corpse.

But the thing is, no one knows about any of it. These are things that rest beneath my surface. And nobody ever gets that deep.

The world is full of narcissists. Human beings are inherently self-involved, which certainly enabled me when I was free. Before I got locked up, I adored how engrossed people were in their own bullshit.

Made it real easy for me to slink around undetected.

But here, in Alabaster Penitentiary , I find the lack of attention sort of… vexing.

I’m not saying I want everyone to be focused on me all the time, or even most of the time. It’d drive me nuts. But there are certain moments when I feel like I could slit my throat in the middle of this cafeteria, and no one would bat an eye.

Do they even see me?

Or am I still completely… invisible?

Lifting my gaze from the plate of slop in front of me, I watch my friends. Luthor is talking about this device he’s been working on for months. His body is turned, facing Ren, which would indicate that he’s really only speaking to him. Not me.

And Ren is smiling—as he does when he’s looking at Luthor. Full attention given, only occasionally breaking eye contact to watch Luthor’s lips move.

Pouring over him curiously, I study Ren’s face. Sparkling eyes the color of a bright blue sky, pointed nose, curved lips forming their signature smirk and framed by pretty-boy dimples. Jawline sharp, dusted in a dark stubble. Almost time for a shave.

Down my gaze travels, over the slope of his neck to his wide shoulders, biceps and torso plump with muscles you can’t see when they’re hidden by his shirt. But I know they’re there.

One of his long arms is extended slightly, and I lean forward to see where his hand is, though I don’t really need to. I already know it’s resting possessively on Luthor’s thigh, subtly grazing up and down.

Because Luthor belongs to Ren. He always has, even when he was acting like he didn’t.

It didn’t matter that Ren cheated on him. I knew from the moment it happened he would fall back under the spell of Warren Xavier. It was only a matter of time before they were like this. Attached , in a state of constant fawning and obsessive desire that borders on psychotic.

Luthor’s a genius— literally . The kid is so smart, he could probably work for NASA, or become the next Steve Jobs—if he wasn’t locked away in concrete hell, that is.

So forgive me for harboring some resentment over his stupidity when it comes to our friend Ren.

Not that I think it’s stupid for someone to want Ren… A lot of people do. I just feel like it was obvious Luthor would go back, and him claiming he wouldn’t drove me a little nuts.

Maybe it’s none of my business… I mean, it is their relationship. They can go about it however they want. Obnoxiously codependent… Fine. That’s their prerogative.

But I’ve been caught in the middle of their toxic shit many times over the years, which is why I sometimes feel trapped on this hellish carnival ride with them.

For me, it was unintentional. But I think for them—especially for Ren—it was very deliberate. It’s just the way he is, I suppose. Another selfish soul with a one-track mind, compulsively aimed in only one direction.

Still, that doesn’t make it any less infuriating.

Deciding I need to get up and move for a second before I explode, I stand with my tray. Luthor’s eyes fling to me, and he tilts his head, as if he’s about to ask where I’m going. But then Ren picks up one of Luthor’s hands, affectionately playing with his fingers.

Attention effectively drawn back.

Rolling my eyes, I clench my jaw while stomping away from the table. My brain is pinging receptors of many vivid emotions, all of which are bothering me immensely as I sullenly dump my food into the trash, tossing my empty tray into the pile with a huff.

This is all just so annoying . The way I’m filled to the brim with chaotic things that have no business being inside me. The itchy discomfort of feeling like I’m a child again, standing in the corner…

Watching. Always just… watching.

Luthor is one of the very, very few people in this world I actually trust. I’d go as far as to call him my brother , which may be kind of weird, considering recent events.

Nonetheless, he’s been my friend since the moment I got here, and I don’t like resenting him for things beyond his control.

After all, it’s not his fault his naivety and general sweetness made him easy prey for someone like Ren.

Glancing back over at the table, I scoff internally at their heart-eyes and hushed conversations.

Ren’s such a jealous weirdo.

He had the nerve to imply that I might have a thing for Luthor. The other day, in the showers… He was messing with me about it. And he couldn’t possibly be more misguided.

I mean, where would he even get that from??

Sure, Luthor and I messed around a tiny bit. Just once. But I’ve also been consistently fucking Ren on and off pretty much since I got here, so it’s really not a big deal.

Plus, he was there! With me and Luthor. He orchestrated the whole thing, as he tends to. One of his brilliant schemes to lure Luthor back in, using me as a pawn in his damn sexual games.

I guess I could just tell him to fuck off when he suggests it… But it’s very important to me that they understand how little I care.

I’m not gay. I’m not interested in men sexually. I never have been…

Yes, we’re in prison, and the options here are severely limited. Understandably, your hand gets old real quick. If someone’s offering, I’ll take it, because a mouth is just a mouth. A hole is just a hole, no matter how surprisingly good it feels. Maybe some more than others…

Whatever. The point is, it doesn’t matter . Their mess isn’t mine, and fooling around with them is just another way to pass the time in this boring fucking place.

Luthor is still just my friend, and I could fuck Ren a million more times without feeling a goddamn thing. And more to the point, now that he and Luthor are screwing, it’s all irrelevant. Because I assume that means he doesn’t need to use me anymore…

Which is fine . Since, you know, I never cared in the first place.

Ren got what he wanted, and he’ll probably never even think about all the stuff we did together ever again. So… good.

I’m not thinking about it either.

Inside, my stomach is twisting and wrenching.

Probably because I barely ate and I’m perpetually starving.

A burn is making its way up my throat as I reluctantly wander back toward the table, dreading it and pretending I’m not.

But I don’t get more than a step or two before someone appears in my peripheral.

My face shifts, and I peer up at the figure now standing right beside me. It’s the new guy… 102.

His irises shine down at me, and I’m instantly held still, just like when he came up to us the other day. It was the first time I saw him, this new inmate who popped up seemingly out of nowhere, with his peculiar eyes the shade of indigo. They’re practically purple. Very odd.

And he clearly isn’t shy with eye contact.

“Hi again,” he hums quietly. I just blink at the lurching character; tall and slim, with messy black hair and a British accent. “You’re Kang… right?”

I nod slowly, eyes flicking to my table, checking on my friends like a reflex. Ren wasn’t shy about his distrust for this person when we met him in the showers. But he’s one to talk… Ren’s a pretty untrustworthy motherfucker himself.

Either way, it’s irrelevant. Because he’s not paying attention to me, anyway.

“Byron,” I murmur to the Brit. “Your name is…”

“Trevel,” he answers, though it was on the tip of my tongue. A unique name, for sure. “Trevel Fenwick. Newest addition to this bloody nightmare.”

I huff a small breath that’s usually as close to a laugh as you’ll get from me. I’m not one for flagrant laughter. Not many things are all that funny.

Unsure of what to say to the guy, or why he decided to come up to me in the first place, I simply stand still and portray my standard indifference.

“So, how long have you been here?” he asks me, interested, or at least pretending to be.

“Well, I’m #62,” I tell him in a bored tone, though the way his intense violet gaze is zeroed in on my face brings an inexplicable need to fidget. “If that gives you an idea.”

His head tilts curiously. “That must be a couple of years, then? At least?”

I nod again, pulse picking up, because his accent reminds me of someone… Someone who meant a great deal to me.

I don’t like it.

Trevel isn’t put off by my surly silence. He lets out an exhale, unusual eyes drifting over to Luthor and Ren. “Those are your mates?”

I swallow hard. “Yes.”

Pursing his lips, he offers a curt bob of his head. “I hope I haven’t offended them somehow. The dark-haired one seemed to think I was up to no good when we met. Though, I can’t say it’s the first time someone’s assumed that about me at first glance.”

His shoulders move subtly, a rumbly noise coming from his throat. A very modest chuckle, like mine.

“That’s just Ren. It’s how he is. He’s crazy protective…” My voice trails before I add, “Of Luthor.”

Trevel shifts his gaze back to me, cocking a dark brow. “Only him?” My lips part, but he goes on, “I recall him moving you away from me as well…”

I can’t help the scoff that puffs out of me. “Oh, yea. He’ll definitely act like he’s being a loyal friend. But really, he’s just trying to control everything.”

And manipulate me.

“You don’t strike me as the type to be controlled,” Trevel says, almost curiously.

The comment makes me feel strange, but I push past it and remember myself. “I’m not,” I grunt, catching a brief twitch of his lips. “But he bosses me around like I’m just some lovable sidekick. And yet when it comes to standing up for our friend who was murdered , he shrugs it off.”

Shaking my head, I feel the palpable rise of heated anger in my veins when thinking about what happened to my cellmate… Before and after his death.

Trevel’s forehead lines, orbs of deep purple cast down at me. “Your friend was murdered?”

“Yea,” I sigh. “By this preppy little shithead who calls himself The Carver . And now my friends are befriending the psycho. Inviting him to sit with us and shit, like it didn’t even fucking happen. Totally spitting on our friend’s grave.”

This little tangent is spewing out on its own, but I barely even care. Because now that I’m saying the words out loud again, I’m fuming on behalf of Kieran O’Malley, someone who meant a lot to me. Clearly, a lot more than he meant to Ren.

Something in Trevel’s face has shifted. His already severe features have gone dark, a bit of mayhem in his eyes. It’s pretty alarming.

But before I can try to inch away from it, he reaches out and places a hand on my shoulder. I flinch, startled by his touch. But he keeps it intact and leans in closer.

“Loyalty is everything,” he whispers. Chills sheet my flesh. “I’m sorry about your friend.”

Frozen, I stare up at him, forcing myself to croak, “Thank you.”

Trevel’s chin dips, lips moving too close to my ear. “You might like the taste of revenge.” Warm breath brushes my skin, and my teeth set, gut flipping upside down. “I know I do. It’s quite… sweet . Like honey.”

My throat is so dry I can barely gulp as his hand sweeps off my shoulder, grazing down my back before it leaves my body. I only have one full second to stammer until the guards bark that it’s about time to leave. My eyes flick toward them, and when they return to Trevel, he’s already walking away.

What the hell was that?

My mind is cycling through his words as Luthor and Ren walk over to me. Confusion traces the fingerprints I can still feel on my shoulder.

We leave the cafeteria. And it’s as we’re walking that my gaze also wanders… cautiously to the mysterious stranger with the violet eyes. I’m unable to rid myself of this sensation, one I haven’t felt in a very long time.

He can actually see me, can’t he?

A fellow man in the shadows, perhaps.