4. Chapter Two
Chapter Two
Roman
My eyes stay locked on the cold gray concrete walls, replaying the trial over and over in my head. Ten fucking years. To most, that’s a lifetime, but considering I could’ve gotten life, it’s a gift. A shred of hope that maybe, one day, I’ll get back to her.
I sit on my bunk, staring at the wall, while Carl rambles on beside me. He’s a mammoth of a man, bald and old enough to be my father. A killer with some weird sense of honor, and unfortunately, my cellmate. His voice drones, sounding too much like my pops.
"You know, boy, ten years ain’t so bad for what you did. Hell, that was a sweet deal," he says, waving a newspaper clipping in front of me. The bold headline screams about my sentencing.
Fuck, news travels fast. My sentencing was just days ago, but in a small town, nothing stays quiet. My jaw aches, still tender from the last brawl. At least this time I wasn’t stabbed.
Life’s been a nightmare, but I have to keep pushing. Nine more years until I can hold her again. Nine fucking years until Xena’s back in my arms. I just have to survive it. For her.
I wonder if she’s even reading the letters. Three hundred and sixty-five of them. Not one reply. Not even a word. I won’t lie—it pisses me off. Each day the silence gnaws at me, festering, slowly turning into resentment .
But still I need her. Her little temper tantrum better end soon because all is doing is adding heat to my already burning rage. I hated this, being away from her.
"You listening, boy?" Carl snaps me back to reality. I grunt, not really in the mood to chat. He shakes his head and stands, moving from his bunk toward mine. His green eyes scan my face, taking in the black eye and split lip. "They got you good this time," he mutters, nodding at the damage.
I smirk, wiping the blood from my lip. "You should see the other guy."
Carl’s concern is obvious, though I’m not sure if it’s pity or something else. "It’s fucking Christmas. You’d think those assholes would back off for a day," he says, shaking his head. But I don’t respond. My mind’s elsewhere, drifting to Xena. My sanity. My religion. The only thing keeping me from falling apart.
Keys jingle in the distance, and I hear the guards approaching. They always walk slowly, like they’re savoring every second of the control they have. "Delgado, shower time," one of them calls out, smirking.
Carl stiffens beside me. "I’ll shower with the boy," he says, stepping forward, but the guard stops him with a sneer.
"Not your time," the guard drawls.
I can feel it—the tension in the air, thick and heavy. My adrenaline kicks in, muscles tightening with the familiar anticipation of violence. I know what’s coming. People aren't happy about the way I got off for killing Golden Boy. His family’s loaded, and Cedarvale isn’t about to let me forget it.
"It’s all good, Carl. Just a shower," I say, trying to sound casual, but even I don’t believe it. Carl sure as hell doesn’t, his eyes narrowing as he watches me walk away. Maybe this is where I die.
I follow the guards down the cold, dimly lit hallway, my slides slapping against the cracked tile. The shower room smells like mildew, damp and claustrophobic. The echoes of dripping water fill the silence as I strip down, stepping into the spray. The water’s lukewarm, but it stings against the cuts on my skin. I try to focus on the feel of the water, on anything to keep the gnawing dread at bay .
I hear them before I feel them—footsteps behind me, shuffling like predators circling their prey. The guards whisper something to each other, laughing under their breath. My heart pounds, my muscles tense. I force my thoughts back to Xena. Always her. Always the thought of her soft skin, her lips… But instead, my cock stirs, and for a second, I consider stroking myself just for a release, something to take the edge off.
My hand barely grazes my cock when the first blow lands, a fist slamming into the back of my head.
"Merry Christmas, sicko," one of the prisoners' snarls. I stagger forward, but before I can recover, another kick hits me square in the ribs, knocking the wind out of me. "Golden Boy’s family sends their regards," he hisses, driving his boot into my gut.
I hit the tile floor hard, gasping for air. My skull throbs, but the real pain hasn’t even begun. Fingers tangle in the longer part of my hair, yanking my head back, and then I feel it—the sharp burn, the violent intrusion. I bite down hard on my lip, refusing to scream. Refusing to give them the satisfaction as his cock slams into me.
"Merry." Thrust. "Fucking." Thrust. "Christmas, Delgado."
The pain rips through me like fire, searing up my spine, but it only fuels the rage inside me. My vision blurs, and my body moves on instinct. I lunge forward, my teeth sinking into the throat of the prisoner in front of me. I bite down hard. The taste of copper floods my mouth, and he screams, his blood spilling onto the wet floor. I don’t stop. Even as he stabs me, the shank digging into my side, I bite down harder, my teeth grinding through flesh.
He collapses beneath me, gurgling as I pull away, spitting a chunk of his throat onto the tile. Blood drips from my mouth as I turn, my eyes wild. The man behind me freezes, but it’s too late for him. I throw my head back, smashing it into his face, hearing the crunch of his nose breaking.
Blood runs between my legs, slick and hot, but I don’t stop. I won’t stop. My fingers close around the shank, and I rise to my feet, swaying as the room spins. The prisoners scramble, fear finally seeping into their eyes as they back away.
Mr. Foster, one of the few decent guards here, bursts in with Carl. I don’t even register them. My legs give out, and I collapse, sobbing into Carl’s arms as blood pools beneath me. The pain is overwhelming, and my vision fades.
Carl holds me, his voice rough as he shouts for help, but it’s all just noise now. All I can think of is Xena. Always her. Always the one thing that could’ve saved me, if I hadn’t fucked it all up.
Merry fucking Christmas.