Chapter 42
SINN'OUS
The deal is done, the cards are laid out and everything is working its way up to being set in stone.
It won’t be long now until Izz’s a free man.
An early release brought on by one hard working lawyer who Sinn'ous has to respect.
Because he gets shit done. The face-to-face meeting Sinn'ous just had confirms it.
The next steps are setting up a meet-and-greet where Izz will speak with the lawyer to go over all the gritty details. It will happen soon, once paperwork is confirmed or something tediously boring like that. He hadn’t tracked much past the hard facts.
Jasper Marcelo will be released, and Sinn'ous will be keeping him.
All that’s left is to nut out the logistics of this, and how he is going to keep a grip on Izz once the boy is out in the world.
It’s something he can plan out in his cell tonight, because he just knows he will not be sleeping until some type of plan is at least half formed.
Even if it’s not quite tangible. He can mesh out everything else once the bones of the plan are in place.
“So.” Rogers’s presence drifts into his space, pulling up on him in a way an unwanted fly does, and falls into step at Sinn'ous’s side. “I heard you permanently claimed Jasper. This means you’re not going to put him under?”
News travels fast, apparently. He’d have given it a day or two to spread to the guards. Or at least until the next shower. Matvey must be running his mouth hard.
“Where’d you hear that?” He is generally curious, and not sure what the answer is.
Although it would have to be Matvey, it’s hard to imagine he’d grow the balls to circulate this rumour, especially when Sinn'ous would know exactly who did it. Seeing as only the three of them were in that cell, and the guard who opened the doors to the Wing didn’t hang around to see who went in to get inked.
“Thomson. He said Jasper flashed him a tattoo on his storm out of laundry. A tattoo with a very distinct name.”
So a guard’s been gossiping, unsurprising. What is surprising is how fast Izz took to being claimed. It’s a better outcome than Sinn'ous could have hoped for. More than he expected, which was bordering on the lines of regret and heated frustration, once the fear of the attack wore off.
This though. This he can use.
This he can manipulate to his own gain.
Sinn'ous stops short, studying Rogers. “He did. Did he.” This time it’s not a question, it’s an internal pondering voiced aloud.
Rogers furrows an inquisitive brow, slowly nodding while trying to read Sinn'ous. He won’t succeed. Sinn'ous flattens his expression and tucks his emotions behind a stone-cold exterior.
The smirk, however, slips past his walls and he doesn’t even try to stuff it away. “Praise Satan.” He states, and Rogers wisely makes no remark.
He abandons Rogers at the junction of interlocking corridors, and slips back into A-Wing. The likes of which are beginning to stir to the recently released inmates. Doors are opening to allow everyone to escape their cells and crowd the cafeteria to the beginnings of a new day.
Walking against the crowd is simple when they part for him. A ripped seam splitting to clear his path. Wary glances get thrown his way, cautious words whispered. It’s the same as usual, treated by caged wolves like an anomaly.
The stairs he climbs two at a time. And because he can, he stops at the top of them, leaning back against the railing to form a blockade.
He isn’t physically preventing anyone from leaving, but no one tries to walk around him either.
They all hover at a stretched distance, spacing themselves far enough away to get a good head start should he choose to attack them.
Not that it will help, if he wanted them dead, they would be dead.
Should he choose to do so, distance would not stop him.
A very angry-looking Izz comes storming down the platform.
It’s enough to make you beam. The under-surface rage cracking the usually controlled features of his boy.
Until it’s gone, cleaned away by a feral grin.
And as much as the grin is stunning, he finds himself missing the shimmering anger breeding life into those bright green eyes.
He wants it back.
Izz halts in front of Sinn'ous. And the anger stays gone.
Can’t have that now can we.
“Morning,” Sinn'ous breaks the silence, offering an appropriate greeting. Rolling off the rails to stand at his full height, towering over the boy.
“Good morning.” Izz boldly leans into Sinn'ous’s space, chest to chest with him. “Thank you for the sandwich.”
Sinn'ous disregards Izz’s words. It’s not a big deal, he took a sandwich from a guard to leave for Izz to find, same as all the other treats he’s left.
His mind is already honed into the desire to see an up-close glimpse at that rage, to drink in the gasoline which had been fuelling those green irises.
So he does what anyone would do in his situation, he brings up the cause of the anger.
“You left the laundry room early. Made quite the scene,” he tilts his head when the boy’s eyes spark, not quite the hatred of before, but getting fucking close.
He runs his eyes down Izz’s body, catching every tightening twitch of muscle. Eating in the visible reactions.
Izz’s brows furrow into a new emotion. More unsettled than angry. Not the cocktail Sinn'ous had been aiming to stir but it’s fascinating all the same.
“You heard about that?” The boy’s eyes change, a swirl of mistrust and embarrassment, the dusting of a flush on his cheeks also checks with the emotion of embarrassment.
Why is he embarrassed over his anger?
However, a larger concern is this mistrust he can see, it’s not what he wanted when he brought this up. He needs to squash this. And fast.
“Your storm-out is the talk of the prison. You showed a guard my mark to get out of work.” He mixes his words into a telling amusement, softening his facial features to portray a more laid-back approachable demeanour. Something trustful, open, and honest.
“I suppose I did. I hadn’t thought about it at the time. I just didn’t want the guard in my business. I was pissed,” Izz shrugs, rocking back on his heels nervously.
There is something the boy is leaving out, something he is holding back, and Sinn'ous wants to know what it is.
Instead of outright demanding this, he raises a brow.
Giving Izz the illusion of having a choice.
If the boy fails to bite the bait he will resort to other methods to get what he wants.
But in order to sink his claws into Izz he has to manipulate a sense of security and trust.
If they think they have a say, and call the shots, they are more likely to do what you want while believing it’s their idea.
And it works.
Izz spills a tide of gossip from other inmates, over bets on how long a lifespan he will have when being associated to Sinn'ous. It’s nothing Sinn'ous hasn’t heard already, or thought of himself, Izz has no clue how close he’d come to being a statistic in their bets. A pay out for many inmates.
He should offer support? Smooth over the vacuum of emotions spilling all-over the fucking place. But when he opens his mouth to do just that Izz cuts him off.
“You framed those guys for the guard’s . . . murder?” The accusation is a soft-spoken squeak, barely loud enough to carry to Sinn'ous’s ears.
Not what he was expecting to hear.
Also an accurate assumption.
But he can’t give Izz the answer to this, the boy isn’t ready to definitively know who Sinn'ous is. “A guard’s death is always investigated thoroughly. Best not to leave them an open case,” is the only explanation Sinn'ous is able to give.
He leads Izz down the stairs guiding the way to A-Wing’s corridor, fully intent on dropping this subject. Izz on the other hand is not.
A puppy with a bone.
“Did you only frame them? or did you . . .”
Sinn'ous locks eyes on the boy, reiterating wordlessly what Izz’s fishing for. Letting him come to his own conclusions.
Sinn'ous can see the gears turning, it’s a palpable change in the boy.
Reni breaks out of the crowd, hovering behind Izz at a respectable distance. Sinn'ous doesn’t spare him so much as a glance, and he’s sure that Izz hasn’t noticed him.
Attention facing forward once again, Sinn'ous continues on, knowing Izz will follow. It’s becoming abundantly clear just how easy it will be to chain the boy to his side.
They’ve gone several steps before Izz speaks up again. “How long do you have left on your sentence?”
“Ten months.” He leaves out any hints of his interactions with the lawyer. It’s not something Izz needs to know yet.
Don’t worry, I am sorting that out as we speak. Satan will guide the process and assist in the success of my plans.
Soon. Oh so soon. He will have Izz in his grasp even outside these walls. He refuses to let his prey get away.
Ever.
You’re mine to hurt. Mind to have. Mine to possess. Body and soul.
Nothing and no one will take you away from me. There is no preventing this, it’s as inevitable as the lives he takes in Satan’s name.
Izz makes a little sound of surprise. His footsteps faltering then continuing to slap on. They’ve ended up walking side by side, weirdly similar to that of a couple walking the streets. It’s different, but not unwanted. The close proximity is oddly . . . relaxing?
It’s weird because he usually avoids close proximity to others. Getting close in the past has always resulted in unwelcome touch.
And this closeness is different to sacrifices. For one, he isn’t about to kill Izz. And for another, this closeness is . . .
Well, he’s not entirely sure what it is. Endearing?—
Gross, no.
They enter the cafeteria, bright lights, loud voices, bulky tables, scuffed floor. The whole room smells like night sweats and morning breath. If he didn’t have a strong stomach the stench would curdle his organs.
He catches Izz’s upper arm in a vice-like grip, redirecting him when he tries to join the end of the queue. Cutting straight to the front he collects two trays, and two meals. All the while the boy fidgets nervously by his side.
He’s on auto pilot up to the moment he clicks to the fact that Izz’s following him to his table and not to Reni’s table. And as elated as this development hits, he cannot allow it.
Distance is key to breed dependency, Izz has to experience the shitty side of prison to see how good he can have it by doing what Sinn'ous wants.
He leans into Izz, lightly nudging him towards Reni’s table. “Sit with your friends, it will do you good to have a social circle. You thrive off social interactions.”
No arguments come, the boy does as he is told. And Sinn'ous continues on to his own table, to sit alone and watch the room. Much can be learnt about others’ behaviour when they think no one is paying attention to them. Meals are a perfect time to observe behaviour and calculate social interactions.