Chapter Fifteen
Roman held his head high—but not too high, nothing an onlooker would notice, but enough to lift Roman’s spirits—when he followed Ezra through the hallway past the library and to the adjoined rec room between cellblocks C, D, and E. Given its close proximity to the library and the overlap in inmate use, those not technically supposed to be in the rec room often went unnoticed.
Roman suspected few guards would comment on those in attendance, though. Ezra stopped a few feet from a poker table, a friendly game with no sanctioned gambling—not that anyone bet on cards when the fights in the basement arena held the real cash flow.
“Stay close, stay quiet, stay stoic.” Ezra smirked, giving Roman a light pat. Nothing to fawn over him or show him off. Roman understood this wasn’t that type of meeting, and he wanted to impress Ezra.
He’d hoped for something a bit less intimidating than a meeting with the crime syndicates that ran Marlow Penitentiary. Well, the gang leaders who ran pieces of territory Warden Sadler permitted since Roman knew he was the most corrupt person in this prison.
“Welcome.” Daniel Sullivan shook Ezra’s hand. Daniel handled all the imported tech in and out of the prison, so if anyone so much as slipped a cell phone inside without his permission, they either handed it over or offered him a piece of the profit.
Paying for unmonitored texts and calls went a long way for convicts.
Ezra took the seat beside Daniel, and Roman stood behind and slightly to Ezra’s left side like the other men who watched over their leader. It was such a moment of pride, being tasked with the responsibility and purpose of defending Ezra. Not that he needed it, not that Ezra couldn’t handle every single person here singlehandedly. Still, it lifted Roman’s spirits, gave him encouragement, and made him a bit queasy. It’d been so long since he’d found himself feeling genuinely good that the foreign thoughts made him skeptical, even slightly paranoid, but like all things with Ezra, Roman did his best to bury the bad thoughts and focus on their friendship like he’d told Roman from day one.
Roman paid close attention to each of the men rounding the tables and their lieutenants at their sides. None of the faces had changed from what Roman recalled, not that the vacuum in power shifted much. Well, except for things like champion title.
As the current reigning champion of the arena, Ezra had earned a voice during negotiations. The champion had a hand in organizing the fights, something Roman had never cared about, something Roman saw more as a chore than a tool of power, but Ezra recognized the authority that came with having the warden’s ear and realized how to orchestrate matches to benefit the gangs.
It was so much more than rigging a few fights and cashing out on insider bets. There were ways for groups to work out their grievances in arranged fights, there were chances for payback against unsuspecting offenders, and so many other aspects Roman barely wrapped his head around. Ezra had a calculating mind, which he used to steer the other members at the table.
Roman clenched a fist, noting he never stood a chance against Ezra. It was here where Roman silently observed Ezra sweet talk other members, delicately drop intel, push and persuade negotiations here or there that Roman realized how simple it must’ve been to puppeteer him. Roman must’ve looked like a pathetic fool, an easy mark. Unfortunately, it was a fleeting thought, an ugly blip that Roman quelled quickly.
He’d learned months ago that holding onto his resentment for Ezra only made his days more grueling. Instead, he focused on how impressive Ezra’s display was. He released his balled fist and almost openly smiled at how proud Ezra must’ve been of him. Parading him around was one thing, but bringing him to a meeting like this, letting him witness conversations on how to run the prison and divide up territory… Roman believed it meant Ezra was starting to see more in him, and maybe… No. Roman didn’t want to daydream. If he started to daydream, he might actually smile.
“What’s so funny, sweetheart?” Jake Finnegan rocked back in his chair, kicking it onto two feet and wobbling momentarily.
To steady his grip, he grabbed ahold of Roman’s waist and let his hand slide lower than Roman liked.
Jake the Snake controlled the drugs in and out of Marlow Penitentiary, which made him one of the biggest players here. He had the strongest voice and was part of the reason Roman never bothered attending these meetings as champion. Jake’s desires were clear the first day Roman entered his cellblock. Roman hoped the day he knocked Jake out of the arena as champion, the psycho would take the hint, but that only made him want Roman more. In fact, Jake had only recently lessened his pursuit since Ezra claimed Roman.
“Huh?” Roman tried to shake away from Jake’s grip, but when he did, Jake dramatically wobbled and made it appear as if Roman’s ass was the only thing holding him upright.
“The smile.” Jake nodded to Roman’s face, to the smile plastered there he didn’t even realize. “Care to tell me what’s got you feeling so good? I’d love to know how to make you feel good.”
Roman wanted to shove Jake off, wanted to remind him that they would never happen, that just because he was with Ezra now, he had no intention of debasing himself with someone as sadistic as Jake the Snake. But Ezra made it clear that Roman couldn’t become a distraction and needed to stand beside his chair the same as any lieutenant would. Roman desperately wanted to believe Ezra acknowledged him as a lieutenant, hoped maybe this was the first step of Ezra’s to make the gangs see Roman that way, too.
That thought, that little whisper of a fantasy, made Roman smile. A smile that caught Jake’s eye and now had him curbing attention so he didn’t distract from the meeting.
“Let me help.” Ezra grabbed Jake’s thigh and knocked him forward, so he sat firmly in his chair. “Wouldn’t want you to fall.”
Jake kept his gaze locked on Roman. “I don’t mind falling if it’s for the right reasons.”
Between Jake’s deranged smile and Ezra’s aggravated frown, Roman found himself wanting to collapse. He hated the idea of failing Ezra, and seeing that expression with his angry green eyes filled him with dread.
“Can we continue?” Daniel scowled at Jake, then turned his gaze to Roman and sneered.
He despised Jake’s need to screw men, the way he’d flaunt his affections, and chase young men who didn’t stand a chance against his advances. But more than that, he found Roman’s willingness to subject himself to such depravity outright disgusting. Roman knew this because men like Daniel didn’t hide their hate. Roman was worse than Jake. Jake was an animal of a man, a perverted one in Daniel’s eyes, but still a man. Roman was trash; that single glance told him that much and so much more.
It also reminded Roman why he hated the heads of Marlow Penitentiary.
After the meeting ended, Ezra casually made his way around the cellblocks, keeping Roman a bit more distant than usual and ignoring him in favor of sparking up conversation with others. Roman didn’t like the slack, the extra steps of freedom. It didn’t feel like trust or a reward. It felt like a punishment; it made his skin crawl when he thought of how Ezra might be mad and what he might do if he was mad.
Despite the way Jake behaved during the meeting, Ezra still pulled him aside and shared in idle chitchat. Since Jake had interfered with the knife attack during an arena match, Ezra had considered him less of a tolerable ally and more of a budding friend. Roman couldn’t determine whether Ezra kept his distance during their conversation as a way to protect Roman from more of Jake’s lewd behavior or as a note on how Roman had already screwed up once today. Roman rarely believed in the positive what-ifs. No, his mind raced with how he could fix things, how he should apologize to Ezra.
“Relax.” Ezra’s mood completely changed when they returned to the champion’s suite.
He closed the odd distance he’d kept between himself and Roman. He smiled when the last thing Roman had seen was a frown of disappointment. He even lightly kissed Roman before tousling his ruffled pink hair.
“I’m not mad,” Ezra said. “Disappointed, maybe. But I still think your first meeting went well. Who knows? Maybe we can try again in the future. Maybe.”
Roman clung to those maybes. But he clung more to the disappointment.
“How about you get prepped?” Ezra wrapped his hands around Roman’s waist and eyed a drawer where they kept douches. “I’m feeling kind of feisty tonight, and I know usually we focus on oral so you can—”
“No, totally fine,” Roman quickly interrupted. If this would make Ezra happy, he’d get ready. If Ezra was happy, then he’d forget he was disappointed, and Roman believed it would make everything better.
Ezra rested while Roman gathered his things and headed off to the showers. He figured he might as well get fully cleaned up. The perfumy body washes used to irritate his skin, but Ezra liked the smell, and honestly, so did Roman. He preferred the fruity ones, but it wasn’t easy buying top-shelf hygiene products.
When Roman arrived at the showers, he waited for it to empty out. Nothing quite like douching in front of an audience. Once he had a modicum of privacy, Roman got to work and lay on his side, semi tilted to wait out the rinse cycle so to speak. After he’d cleaned up and doublechecked himself, he went right to the showers and hopped in. The cold hit hard, but he didn’t want to keep Ezra waiting any longer than necessary.
Drying off as quickly as possible, Roman wrapped the damp towel around his waist and went to the sink to freshen up. He primped himself a bit, styling his ruffled pink hair so it’d dry exactly how Ezra liked.
“Look at you, pretty as a picture.” Jake the Snake strutted into the bathroom, a man on either side of him and a hungry expression on his face. “Getting all dolled up for date night?”
Roman ignored him and finished brushing his teeth.
“Good, you can really get it far back there, can’t you?” Jake invaded Roman’s space, watching him brush. “No gag reflex anymore?”
Roman choked from the question, then spit the last of the paste from his mouth and rinsed.
“Ah, so just when you’re handling something big at the right angles?” Jake nodded. “I can help train that outta you.”
“Pass,” Roman finally said, collecting his things and preparing to leave.
“Wasn’t a request.” Jake grabbed Roman’s arm.
“Get off.” Roman shrugged loose, and Jake dramatically stepped back, playing as if he’d somehow been miraculously undone.
One of the men who’d stepped into the showers with Jake moved forward, and Roman fought back every instinct engrained in his head. Ezra had taught him to pause, to fall back, to listen to him, but Roman knew from too many years of fighting to never back down. He’d always known how to defend himself. He wouldn’t let this happen. Couldn’t.
Roman knocked the second man back into the third, then used the weight of both men’s collision to drop them to the floor. When Jake swept in, sneaky as always, Roman was prepared as he’d been every single time Jake made a move on him.
Without a second of hesitation, Roman punched Jake square in the nose, then pulled back and used the open palm of his other hand to fucking break it apart.
Jake roared. Blood gushed everywhere. The other men scrambled to their feet to assist. They couldn’t do anything—Roman knew that much.
Roman lifted his fists, fighting every shaky impulse back. He was twelve again, standing up to his father for the first time after training for months on how to snap back and finally put an end to everything. Unlike then, Roman wouldn’t back down. He’d actually tasted combat now. He’d fought off Jake and his crew in and out of the arena. He could do this. He didn’t need Ezra.
“Take another step, and you’re facing the champion.” Roman tried so hard to be assertive, to send his fear to his opponents, to make them quake.
“You’re no fucking champion,” Jake spat, blood gushing down his face.
“I’m the champion’s friend,” Roman said, needing Ezra more than he realized. “You don’t wanna piss him off.”
“You’re his bitch, nothing more.” Jake spit a bloody loogie onto the floor. “You’re just his favorite slut to break in.”
Roman shook at this.
“But I had eyes for that ass first.” Jake pushed himself up off the floor. “He broke you in, sure. But I’m gonna break you so much harder.”
Roman steadied his stance, shifting his gaze between Jake and his men, while he backed away to the door.
“When I’m done showing you your place, and you’re bloody and bruised and broken in every way you can fathom and so many more you’ve yet to experience, you’ll ask me, nay beg me, to fuck you a little bit harder the next time.”
Roman paused at the doorway.
“Toodaloo, sweetness.” Jake waved his fingers in a farewell and puckered his lips. “Be seeing you real soon, best believe it.”