Chapter 2 Alice
ALICE
He’s brutally tall and broad-shouldered with a jaw that looks like it was printed from steel. And despite his shadow-black suit and white button-up shirt beneath, I can tell he’s one of those guys who goes to the gym every day.
He’s so handsome…
And the way he moves—it’s like he created the Earth. I can’t picture this man worrying about anything.
For the first time since my sentencing, a new sensation hits me, running down my spine to the zenith of my thighs, and something odd happens. I feel a moistness…
Oh God. Did I just pee a little?
I look down and see a damp spot forming.
Quickly, I clamp my thighs together.
“Five-oh-seven-five,” he says simply, his voice triggering my nerves and blood to blaze. My vocal chords seem to be on a delay. It takes several seconds for me to respond.
“W-what?”
“Your number,” he replies simply. “That is your name from now on.”
Reduced to a number. Like I’m not even human.
“I…okay.”
He rises swiftly from his chair, his movements tight and concise like an athlete. Towering over me, he taps a black rod against his palm. Tap, tap.
“Yes, sir,” he corrects me, his eyes narrow.
I blink quickly. My lips part. Something in me cracks.
Kneeling before him, staring up at his enormity and unmistakable display of power—that’s when I feel it. An awakening. An emergence of sensation in my most private flesh, blooming like a flower begging for sun.
This man terrifies me, but at the same time, I’m drawn to him in a way I can’t explain. Like a hole that’s found its missing peg.
“Yes, sir,” I repeat obediently.
He nods coldly. Not a hint of humanity or expression on his stern face. He might as well be a moving statue, carved from marble. Even his eyes are unblinking.
“I, Killian Rew, am the warden here at Last Rites, as well as chief correctional officer. From this moment on, you will be under my surveillance twenty-four hours a day, and you will obey my every last word. Understood?”
My breath goes cold, but the ache near my pelvis warms and rises, pooling in my belly.
What is happening to me?
Somehow, I manage to nod, and in a flash, the tip of his black rod is beneath my chin, like a snake ready to strike. It smells of leather and discipline. And I understand now; if I disobey, he will use it on me.
“You don’t nod, inmate,” he says. “What do you say?”
It takes all my willpower to find my voice. “Y-yes, sir…”
He shakes his head, disapproving. “Stop pretending you’re some innocent little girl, Alice. You are a criminal. That’s why you’re here.”
I want to protest, but what’s the point? Shouting at the judge was one thing, but I can’t raise my voice to this man. The result would be…catastrophic.
“Okay.” He nods to the guards. “Time for her physical exam. Bring her.”
He leaves the room first. The two men beside me grab me roughly by the arms and drag me after him, down a long hall and into a white room that resembles an infirmary. There is nothing but an overhead light and a bed covered in white sheets.
“Remove her handcuffs and leave us,” Killian tells them. The men unchain me, and I might be imagining things, but I’m pretty sure they bow before excusing themselves.
The warden levels his eyes at me, and as casually as we were discussing the weather, tells me—
“Strip.”
My jaw drops. His words bury themselves in my chest and my mind flashes back to the judge’s gavel hammering out my sentence and my mom scorning me as I was hauled away.
Killian’s pitiless eyes pin me in place, piercing through my exterior and straight into my soul.
“W-what?” I gasp.
“You heard me. Strip,” he repeats. “You are required to undergo a physical examination before you are taken to your cell.”
I’m trembling as I gaze back at him, helpless. But then it happens.
Killian lashes out with his rod, snapping the corded leather against the wall by my head with a crack that sounds like lightning. I gasp reflexively, but nothing comes out.
“You will obey my every last word,” he repeats, this time with a dark, threatening tone.
Fear grips my stomach as I reach for the top button of my jumpsuit. No man has ever even seen me in a bikini, and he wants me to get naked for him. I bite my lower lip and try to calm my heart.
A war rages within me. With each button I undo, revealing more and more of my body to the warden, the fear grows. But with that fear, is something else—a craving for something I don’t understand.
My eyes focus on his hands, strong fingers wrapped around his rod of discipline. I undo the last button, and my jumpsuit falls to the cold, concrete floor, leaving me standing before him in nothing but my bra and panties.
The wet spot has grown. I feel it. Damp fabric pressing against my most hidden parts.
No doubt he sees it too.
My hips twist involuntarily. I can feel his gaze on me like a physical force, freezing me in place. Everything about him screams power. This man is in control of over five thousand dangerous men. I will never be a threat to him.
“And the rest,” he says. Please, no. I was praying he wouldn’t demand more, but what can I do?
I must obey.
I unclasp my bra first, letting it fall past my arms, then reach down and with a trembling gasp, pull my panties over my hips.
This is so embarrassing.
Both land at my feet and I instantly move to cover myself with my arms, but the warden’s voice rings out like thunder.
“Did I say you could cover yourself?”
My body jerks. I fumble. “I—”
So much is happening at once. It’s too much.
A tear slips from my left eye, yet I somehow manage to move away my arms and hands, revealing my full naked self to this man I just met.
This man who owns me. Who owns my life.
His gaze flickers. His left hand moves between his legs for a brief moment. A thought runs through my mind.
Is he touching himself through his pants?
I should be disgusted. Instead, I’m suddenly hot, starved for some kind of relief.
“Lie down on the bed.” He points, his hand unwavering. “Legs facing me.”
A piercing fervor grips me like a rope coiled around my neck, overriding the furious anxiety threatening to take over.
I do as I’m told.
The old cot’s springs creak beneath me as I lie back. The sheets are scratchy and rough. The light is clinical, casting no shadow, hiding nothing from him.
The throb between my legs expands as he circles me, his eyes examining every single inch. He slowly drags the tip of his rod across my nipples, and I cringe as they pucker and harden.
There’s a tiny pulse at the edge of his jaw. He widens his stance, as if making room for something between his legs. “You look so sweet, but you’re a bad girl. Aren’t you?”
Everyone’s been attacking me all day, but when Killian says it, it doesn’t feel like an accusation. It feels like an invitation.
He continues down my belly to my crux. My center. My legs squeeze together involuntarily. And in a flash, he has both hands on my thighs and is spreading me wide open.
A cry chokes in my throat. My body twitches.
His touch…it’s soft like silk…
It’s okay. This is just a physical examination. It’s standard. Nothing to worry about.
I keep telling myself this, but it does nothing to stop the flush spreading up from my breasts, up my throat and turning my cheeks red as apples.
“Five-oh-seven-five, would you like to explain why your pussy is so wet?”
I’m gonna die.
Panic floods through me. My hips shift on the bed, and I feel it—the moisture now gushing from my intimate line, dripping down my butt onto the sheets beneath.
That driving want I’ve been trying to ignore—it’s there. And it’s obvious for him to see.
I try to twist away in shame, but his hands gasp me like clamps, holding me open. “You understand this is a prison? You are a criminal.”
All I can do is nod and squelch out a tiny whimper. “Yes.”
Killian shakes his head, then lowers his eyes and drags a finger across my most sensitive place.
I arch off the sheets, and the cheap bed rattles beneath me as I’m flooded with a sweeping heat. My toes and fingers tingle, and I clench my hands into fists.
He raises his finger to my eyes—slick, gleaming, dripping with my own juices—and for the first time, he almost smiles.
“No, I don’t think you understand.” His voice drops a register, coming out like gravel. “Fuck…”
What is happening?
Is his disapproval making me ache?
I’ve never been drunk, but I’d bet what I’m feeling is close. The heavy longing between my thighs continues to grow as he looms over me, his fingers pressing into my soft skin.
His touch is somehow soft and strong at the same time.
My vision narrows. My flush grows. My heart is pounding with such violent intensity that I’m sure something in me is about to give way.
The last thing I see before I faint is his face, chiseled and gorgeous, staring down at me, eyes narrow and intent. “You’re mine now, Alice. And this is only the beginning.”