Chapter Four
Ezra blinked, the anger in his eyes and joy on his face replaced by pure bewilderment. The crowd roared, disgusted, intrigued, and delighted by the turn of events.
“What makes you think I want you?” Ezra asked, eyes fixated on Roman but scanning the crowd as they curiously listened.
“Like you said, you already took everything from me.” Roman shrugged, downplaying the massive wager he’d thrown out for all to hear. “My title, my cell, my best friend. I’m thinking there’s one more thing of mine you want.”
His pride. It was the ultimate thing to offer in prison, the last thing an inmate would want taken from them, stripped away.
“I graciously accept this wager.” Jake cut in, smiling and menacing, feeding the already hungry audience the idea of bedding and breaking Roman.
It was a dream come true for Jake, so despite the incredible discomfort the entire scenario brought Roman, he took some small satisfaction in shutting down Jake.
“You’ve tried your hand at those terms without the wager,” Roman replied, acknowledging when Jake and a few of his crew members found Roman alone and unprepared and tried to take him by force. “You lost then, too.”
Jake had handled his loss as champion well enough, never caring for the demand of reigning and entertainment. No, he didn’t care Roman had claimed the title, but he certainly wanted to claim Roman.
It’d been a grueling fight. Jake learned after walking away with two slings on his arms to never make an attempt on Roman again, with or without his crew at his side. He could and would taunt, nothing to be done there, but Jake knew no amount of his venomous nature would beat Roman.
“So, I beat you in a fight, and you bend over for me?” Ezra asked, dismissively shrugging while gesturing for additional clarification.
Roman couldn’t discern if he was downplaying his piqued interest or truly bored at the potential. Maybe Roman should’ve bet someone like Jake. He shuttered at the idea. Not that Roman intended on being defeated again, but there were worse things than giving it up to a cocky guy strutting around with the new champion title.
The biggest problem was that if he made this bet, if he lost this bet, then it’d put an even bigger target on his head. There was a reason that men didn’t offer up their ass freely. Even Levi understood the second an inmate submitted, for fun or for force, they lost the right to resist the advances of everyone else who sought a quick release.
“And all you want is your title and bestie back?” Ezra quirked a brow.
“Cell, too.” Roman shrugged.
“Yeah, I’m gonna have to raise the stakes.” Ezra sucked his teeth, expression contemplative. “If you win, you can have what you want, but I want more than a one-and-done fuck when I win.”
Roman’s chest tightened.
“I want you to offer yourself to me entirely.” Ezra looked past Roman and at Levi. “I want you to be my friend, completely complicit and compliant to my will.”
Roman had suspected this potential turn in the wager. That was the purpose, to spark intrigue and offer Roman an opening to get back his title, his authority, and his friend. Ezra had all but forced Levi to take the same deal. Levi refused because who wanted to offer themselves up as a full-time bitch to serve a man arrogant enough to put the revised terms of the wager on full display for all.
“You’ll be an absolutely submissive and permanent fixture in my life.” Ezra smiled wide. “Obedient, too.”
Roman swallowed hard at the menacing stare but kept his face as neutral as he could muster.
“I’ll even do you one better,” Ezra added, gesturing for the crowd to quiet. “When you lose again—because you will lose again—I’ll still make sure your buddy stays safe. That means no worrying about who he ends up rooming with, what cellblock he lands on, or what he is or isn’t willing to do.”
Roman studied Ezra’s calm, calculated expression and the corner of a smile that grew on his face.
“Champion’s word.” Ezra placed a hand on his chest and raised the other in a pledge. “No one will touch Levi so long as you uphold your end of the deal.”
“Boo,” Jake the Snake shouted. “I was looking forward to getting to know that big dumb pretty boy.”
Levi recoiled a bit, eyes wide and wary as he searched the crowd, likely searching for where Jake slithered. At least Roman suspected as much.
“Well?” Ezra asked. “Can you be a man of your honor?”
“Just take his ass now,” someone shouted.
The cheer of the crowd infuriated Roman. He wanted to lunge out, silence them, turn and face Ezra, and wipe that smug smirk away.
“Now, now, now.” Ezra quieted the crowd again. “That’s tempting, and I did already beat him, so by rights, I should get to plow him.”
Roman nearly spat when Ezra winked, fueling the crowd with his lewd bravado.
“I suppose asking him to submit wouldn’t be outside the realm of what I’m due.”
Roman bit back a snarl. Beat him? He got a lucky sucker punch and chokehold. That was it. Roman would be ready next time.
“But beating a man only puts him in his place. Besting a man, though.” Ezra walked the length of the crowd, slowly circling Roman. “Besting a man shows him his place.”
Ezra’s hot breath hit Roman’s ear, and he spun around, locking his eyes on the man he wanted to defeat more than anything.
“When I’ve bested you, you will drop to your knees and serve me.” Ezra encouraged the roar of the crowd, the humorous laughter they had for Roman’s plight, and when they settled, he continued. “I will be your every waking thought. My desires will be your desires. My needs will be your needs. My pleasure will be your pleasure. Your sole responsibility in life moving forward will be to serve me and bring me satisfaction. Nothing more. When you lose this next match, when I have defeated you yet again, you will give yourself to me entirely. No one-time stint. Bet it all, or don’t bother challenging me ever again.”
“Done,” Roman said with unflinching certainty.
He wouldn’t yield, couldn’t yield. Not if he wanted to show everyone he had nothing to fear. Not if he wanted to believe it himself.
The crowd roared, and Ezra asked for someone in the Challenger’s Chance to offer him an opportunity to really spar, someone who hadn’t already been defeated by him.
“I know some guys are eager to offer up their asses to me, but are there any real men here who just want to talk with their fists?” Ezra shouted, his hateful green eyes locked on Roman as the crowd laughed at their former champion’s expense.
The bet had been struck, and Roman slinked back into the crowd and away from the arena. It was a reckless gamble consuming his thoughts throughout the evening. Roman knew he could win in the rematch. He’d underestimated Ezra last time. He’d been exhausted after three matches already. He’d been cocky. With Levi on the line, Roman wouldn’t make any of those mistakes again.
Roman tossed and turned in bed, fixated on the wager, the raised stakes, on the win he’d need to survive a mess already at his feet. Too many inmates had grown bold against him; too many guards had turned a blind eye to taunting jabs, literal threats, vicious attacks. Roman couldn’t risk the hell he’d face if he lost the match. If Roman didn’t reestablish his standing at Marlow Penitentiary soon, he’d end up with more than a few barbs and the occasional sucker punch.
Now the fear of losing had crept into his thoughts while he slept alone in his cell. If he lost, could he follow through with the barter? It would make him a target to everyone and anyone. Would Ezra force him to follow through? Would others see the weakness if he backed out? Vipers like Jake the Snake would certainly strike if Roman reneged. Jake always looked for weakness in the men he broke. That was why Roman never allowed even a fraction of fear or vulnerability to cross his face when around Jake or his crew. They were the biggest predators in Marlow.
The real worry of backing out came with how Levi would be punished. Ezra would keep him and take him and make him submit, despite pretending Levi had a choice. A lie and an illusion for certain. Or Levi would refuse the offer, Ezra would tire of the teasing, and Levi would be tossed to Jake as a present, forced to fend for himself.
Roman’s worries haunted him for the next several days, making sleep and his days alone with no one to talk to incredibly exhausting.
In the days that followed, inmates continued pressing Roman, picking fights or making threats. Some said they didn’t need to wait until he lost another match to see what a noisy bitch he could be.
It turned out that defending himself against three men in the cafeteria hadn’t reestablished his hold over his fellow inmates. It took taking down two more before the guards interfered. Thankfully, or much to his dismay, they decided not to throw him in solitary for starting another fight.
“Don’t think this is a free pass,” a guard said, shoving Roman toward the warden’s office. “Just know I’ve got money on you getting your ass beat.”
“In more ways than one.” The second guard laughed, taunting smile, and hand on his baton. “My question is: are you jealous your boyfriend is sucking off the new champion, or are you hoping Ezra’s dick is bigger than that faggot you’re currently bending over for?”
Roman knew he shouldn’t. He knew he already had too many enemies. He knew they’d brought him to the warden’s so Sadler could ream him a new one and threaten him with solitary. He knew pissing off the guards without having the title of champion to force them off was a foolish, foolish thing. Still, nothing pissed him off more than when someone talked about Levi in a derogatory way.
Roman laughed with the oafish guard, then headbutted him until he keeled over. When the second guard went to reach for his weapon, Roman squared up and figured he could probably take these two before backup arrived and beat him to a pulp.
The door swung open and made the entire possibility moot. Ezra stood there, gaze fixed on the guards who left without a word or protest.
“Picking fights everywhere you go,” Ezra said with a grin. “Figured you might try to get yourself locked up before our big rematch.”
“Excuse me?” Roman snapped, offended at the accusation.
“Can’t lose to me if you’re in solitary, right?” Ezra batted his lashes. “But I’ve already had a word with our astute warden, and honestly, he’d probably let you set this place on fire and still keep the rematch scheduled.”
Good alternative option. For a few seconds, Roman let his mind run wild with the fantasy of starting a fire and a riot and then just escaping Marlow Penitentiary. In his daydreams, he didn’t have to worry about manhunts or predators or additional charges. Nope. For just a few seconds, he was sipping cocktails on an island that didn’t extradite or cost more than a few pennies to live well. He sighed as his daydream fizzled out under the weight of reality.
Ezra ushered Roman into the warden’s office, where the man sat at his desk, writing a report clearly marked for Roman’s file.
“I was a bit disappointed to learn that Ezra agreed to the rematch,” Warden Sadler said. “Honestly, the chance of you getting back your title makes me sick.”
“Wishing you would’ve gotten rid of me while you had the chance?” Roman asked with a bit more bluster than he thought he could manage, but he refused to squirm in front of the warden.
He was quite shocked Warden Sadler hadn’t made a move on him. Perhaps he expected Roman to be dealt with by the gangs who no longer feared him or the guards who no longer had to tolerate him. In either case, he considered himself fortunate that the warden hadn’t swooped in with swift vengeance. And so long as Roman reclaimed his title, Warden Sadler would never be able to touch him.
“Personally, I rather like the bet you two have.” Warden Sadler glanced between Roman and Ezra. “Maybe he’ll fuck some manners into you.”
Roman scowled, ready to lunge forward and break the warden’s nose for a second time.
Ezra placed a hand on Roman’s knee, steadying the tremble, likely confusing it for fear on Roman’s part instead of an all-consuming rage held in check by little more than Roman’s count backward from a hundred.
“That’s the plan.” Ezra smiled. “Give him a second chance, let him realize he never stood a chance, and then take him to bed since he’s so desperate to get fucked.”
Roman knocked away Ezra’s hand.
“What?” Ezra’s smile grew. “You’re the one who came to me with the bet.”
“Not surprising,” Warden Sadler said with a scoff, having always considered Roman’s friendship with Levi more than a friendship.
Roman knew that much, and he didn’t care about the whispers. Levi was the only consistent thing in Roman’s life since he arrived at Marlow Penitentiary. He was the only one who had Roman’s back before he became the champion. Levi had taken beatings to protect Roman from crews like Jake Finnegan’s, people who saw a mouthy young man in need of some correctional justice correcting.
“I’m only here because of Levi,” Roman said.
“Yeah, I caught that.” Warden Sadler rolled his eyes.
“He’s my friend, and I want to ensure that you uphold the deal.” Roman glared. “I don’t give a shit about the champion title, but you will leave Levi alone, keep Jake and Ezra and anyone else away from him.”
“Just friends, huh?” Ezra chuckled. “The lady doth protest too much, methinks.”
Roman turned his glare onto Ezra.
“Now, I see why you offered your ass up,” Ezra said matter-of-factly, unfazed by Roman’s rage. “Must be itching for a real man.”
“Are we done here?” Roman stood.
“We are,” Warden Sadler said. “You should consider yourself lucky you’ll have the protection of champion no matter how this turns out.”
A threat and a reminder that Warden Sadler wanted nothing more than to destroy Roman Grayson. He left the office with the weight of the world on his chest, making each breath more difficult. Between the gangs and guards who hated him, the dangers presented to Levi, the precarious war he waged with the warden, and the threat of Ezra beating him again, Roman couldn’t focus.
“You pull a stunt like you did today at the cafeteria, and I won’t toss you in solitary,” Warden Sadler said, the edge in his voice turning hot and sharp. “I’ll throw you in The Pit and leave you there to rot.”
He had to win. He had to defeat Ezra. Reclaim his title. Hold onto any strength he could in this den of vipers. The next misstep would be Roman’s death; he knew that more than anything. He’d spoken out too much, he’d crossed too many monsters, he’d left himself vulnerable from every direction.
The day of the fight, Roman couldn’t stomach anything. Not that he wanted to eat the cafeteria food where spit in his mashed potatoes was a luxury seasoning compared to some of the things tossed in to mock him.
“You look terrible,” Levi approached Roman outside of the cafeteria, eyes darting to see who watched his movements. It pained Roman that Levi and so many others had to watch their backs because Ezra didn’t give a fuck about anybody but himself.
“Thanks?” Roman quirked a brow.
“My bad.” Levi sighed. “Just worried. About you. Not about the situation. Not that I’m not worried about it. Not that I’m worried worried about it. Really, my only focus is on you and how not terrible you—”
“I didn’t sleep well is all,” Roman interjected to spare himself a ten-minute rant of Levi flailing about to dig himself out of a word hole he would only continue sinking further into. “It’s all good.”
“You look sick,” Levi said. “Are you sick?”
“No,” Roman insisted. “Nerves is all.”
“Maybe you should reconsider.” Levi had this pleading desperation on his face; all he could see was the worst.
That hurt more than the doubt itself. Doubt, Roman could handle. He had enough to spare. It was Levi’s optimism crumbling away before him that really ached. Levi was such a beacon of positivity here, and the idea of losing that spark of joy infuriated Roman. The rage would be enough to push him through the competition no matter how hungry he was from missing meals, how worn down he was from watching his back, or how sleep-deprived the dread of this rematch had left him.
Roman would push through.
“Here.” Levi offered Roman a bottle of water, clear and pricy and something he could no longer afford thanks to the warden cleaning out his commissary funds.
“Thank you.”
“You look tired, dude.”
“I’m fine.” Roman took a swig. “I’ll be fine. Everything will be fine.”
Ezra whistled. Not the commanding dog call he’d used on Levi last time he dared talk to Roman. No, this whistle was flirty and encouraged others to add in their own mocking catcalls. Roman glowered, unwilling to fuel Ezra’s blatant baiting.
“You ready to get beat down?” Ezra chuckled. “After the fight, I mean.”
Levi swallowed his nerves, averting his gaze from Roman, and returned to Ezra, probably desperate to stay in the man’s good graces just a few days longer. If Levi wanted Roman to backout or worried Roman would lose, then that meant Levi had already conceded his fate. Levi expected to get passed along soon enough.
Roman wouldn’t let that happen. “See you tonight, Ezra.”
With that, Roman left the cafeteria and returned to his cell, where he rested and ran moves until a guard arrived to escort him to the arena.
No other matches were set, no Challenger’s Chance open to the crowd. All that awaited Roman as he walked into the cold basement arena was a rematch where he’d either regain his honor or lose what last shreds of dignity he had left. The authority above was bigger than it’d ever been. The crowd below had swelled twice in size, and it seemed guards who weren’t even working late-night shifts had stayed to see the rematch.
“Here’s to a spectacular evening,” Warden Sadler announced, stirring the crowd. “The rematch no one asked for but the disgraced Roman Grayson begged for.”
Booing from the crowd didn’t surprise Roman, but the jeers from the authority, the wealthy founders, took him aback. They didn’t seem so fickle.
“We all know what Grayson is willing to wager if he loses again,” Warden Sadler continued. “One wonders what he offered just so our new champion would consider this fight worth his time.”
Roman’s entire expression twisted into fuming fury for the laughing crowd, the very direct assumptions they made for the warden’s not-so-subtle accusation.
Ezra stood tall in the center, ready and taunting Roman to approach. Since Roman didn’t care to build hype or delay the inevitable, he bulldozed past the crowd and went right for Ezra. The first punch hit hard and served as the starting bell since both men ignored the ceremony of such things.
Ezra had allowed Roman an easy first strike, an act of gloating or pity, and one Roman would make the new champion regret. Roman came in faster than last time, not allowing Ezra an opportunity to recover, to pivot, to dodge. Blow after blow, Roman knocked Ezra back, keeping him close to the crowd but not daring to press in. He couldn’t trust them not to help Ezra, not to hit Roman.
The last time they faced each other, Roman was exhausted and on his last reserves. This time, he knew his stamina would outlast Ezra. Still, his lungs clawed at him, and his muscles cramped. So much stress whittled away at him since his defeat, but Roman ignored the aches, ignored the pain. He continued pressing into Ezra, one successful strike after another.
Everything was going well until Ezra ducked and countered, landing his first punch of the night. Roman had readied himself the same way he had a thousand times before when an opponent came in to hit him. It would hurt, but Roman would be fine. He’d taken his fair share of punches to the face.
Something about this blow, though… The crowd gasped, adding to the ticking seconds of silence while Roman recovered. Blood painted his face, blurring the vision on his right side. Had Ezra been wearing brass knuckles? No, that was merely hope on Roman’s part. He’d wanted Ezra to cheat, to pull something deceptive, anything to answer for why he struck so hard and now seemed to stand unfazed by the barrage of hits he’d taken.
Ezra stood tall and ready and not at all shaken. Roman, on the other hand, couldn’t stop shaking. He couldn’t remove the dread that ate away at his insides, he couldn’t silence the taunting crowd, he couldn’t even calm his erratic heartbeat that added to the panic. Ignoring his headwound at the very least, Roman swept in to continue, but Ezra was already finished with this fight. No longer interested in teasing out the last shreds of Roman’s hope, Ezra spun around and kicked Roman across the head, sparking a terrible pain on the left side of his face.
When he hit the concrete ground, Roman didn’t know if he’d crashed headfirst or if the two strikes had really taken that much out of him. He struggled to get up, struggled to ignore the laughing crowd, struggled to fight back the looming shadows.