Chapter Sixteen
“T revel! Great to see you. Have a seat, my dear.”
Eyeing the man cautiously, I take a seat opposite him at his desk. Large, oak, and quite ornate. But what’s really caught my attention is the massive bay window behind him.
“Wow… That’s quite the view,” I breathe out, admiring the ocean’s waves rippling below us. “I didn’t know this building had windows.”
“Oh, it really doesn’t,” Manuel Blanco says with a smirk. Then he stands, wandering over to what looks like a lavish little minibar. “Would you care for something to drink? Pellegrino? Coconut water?”
“I don’t suppose you have any bourbon in there?” I lift a brow, and he cocks his head admonishingly.
“Now, Trevel… You’ve been given an opportunity to start fresh here, no substances. Don’t squander it.”
I swear, he sounds like a father. It’s interesting, being that I never had parents who, well…
gave a rat’s tiny bollocks. So as much as I feel like a petulant teenager right now, I’m unable to disregard the warm and fuzzies in the pit of my stomach from him actually caring. Or at least pretending to.
Still more than I got from the wankers who made me.
I sigh. “Pellegrino is perfect, thank you.”
The Ivory is wearing a pleased expression as he pulls out two cans, cracking them both open and sliding one over to me. He sits back down in his fancy desk chair, sipping from his drink, eyeing me as he does.
Swallowing a fizzy gulp myself, I rumble, “Also, let me just say, thank you so much for that… basket. It really was quite the gift.”
He beams. “I can’t imagine you’ve already finished it?”
“No, no,” I huff. “It’s enough food to last a month. But those chocolate-covered cherries… Dear God .”
He laughs softly. “I hoped you’d enjoy those.”
My smile is only partially forced. It’s not that I’m ungrateful, because surely, he doesn’t need to give me anything. Still, I’m finding it difficult not to gawk at him like a dog walking on its hind legs.
I mean, he’s the Warden of Alabaster Penitentiary . I barely know anything about him, and he scares the panties off me. I can only imagine the things he’s done… The stuff of nightmares, I’m sure.
And yet, here he is… Smiling at me. Offering me drinks and discussing sweet treats, as if we’re old friends getting together for a long overdue lunch in between our busy schedules.
It’s bizarre, to say the least. I just can’t get a proper read on what it is he wants ; why he’s plying me with gifts and inviting me up to his office to chat.
I’m an inmate here, not his pal.
What is your agenda, Mr. Ivory?
“So, how are you settling in?” he asks, leaning back in his seat. “I trust that Kent’s been accommodating when he can?”
Kent, of course, being the bloke he’s tasked with babysitting me.
He seems like a nice enough fellow. And he has a Daddy Dom vibe about him that’s rather titillating. I wonder what his official position is…
Top or bottom.
Jesting, of course. I mean his job.
I know he works directly for The Ivory… What is he, a butler? Personal security and gift basket delivery?
This place seems tragically understaffed.
“Kent is a stand-up lad,” I reply. “Of course, it’s prison … There’s a certain level of discomfort to be expected.”
He stares at me until I begin to cower.
“But I do greatly appreciate your hospitality, sir.”
The Warden’s lips curve, his eyes still lingering on my face. “What happened?”
I balk, instantly stiff. “Beg your pardon?”
“To your mouth , Trevel.” He speaks more insistently. “You have a cut on your lip. Where is that from? Have any inmates been hassling you? If so, simply give me their names and I’ll see to it that they’re dealt with.”
My mind instantly drifts to the other night, in the basement. Though if we’re being honest, the memories haven’t gone far since it happened…
The hottest fight ever with the sexiest, broodiest, most delicious fighter I can’t seem to stop thinking about.
Byron Kang.
Fucking hell … Even just hearing his name in my head has me squirming and trying to hide it.
That boy is something else… I would let him kick my ass a hundred more times if it meant feeling that mixture of wanton rage and restless desire he keeps tucked away inside his perfectly mouthwatering body.
Remembering myself, I clear my throat. “Oh, no. Nothing like that. I… slipped in the shower. I can be a right clumsy thing sometimes.”
It’s clear from the look on his face that The Ivory doesn’t believe me. Fortunately for me, he lets it go, sipping from his drink again. “As long as you’re not having any trouble. I want you to be comfortable here, Trevel. You’re very important to me.”
A few seconds pass, wherein I stare at him and contemplate what, if anything, I should say to that remark.
On the one hand, I want to stay in his good graces, because at least here, I get treats and access to his personal security.
On the other, I’m not always the best at holding my tongue, especially when I feel I’m being toyed with.
“You know what would make me even more comfortable?” I sit back in my seat, mirroring his body language. “A room in your mansion with my own en suite.”
The Ivory chuckles, shaking his head. But the laughter stops abruptly, and he lifts a light eyebrow. “Don’t push it, Trevel.”
“Yes, sir,” I mumble.
It was worth a shot.
“Look, I understand that this isn’t fun for you.
” He swivels back and forth in his chair.
“The prison is no picnic. I get that. But this is where you must stay, Trevel. Make your peace with it and don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.
There are plenty of inmates, I’d say damn near every last one, who would kill to have their own private cell stocked with food, and the opportunity to wander about at their leisure—within reason, of course. ”
Yes, yes… within reason .
“But, sir, the thing is, I’m feeling a tad… isolated.” My fingers twist in my lap. “I do relish my privacy, but I’m already going mad with boredom. I don’t know how the inmates who have been here for years do it.”
Once again, my thoughts go to Byron. He said he’s been here several…
No wonder he seems desperate for someone to open up to. Bottling up his frustrations for years with no one to properly… pop the top , so to speak.
Bollocks. If I keep thinking about him, I may need to cross my legs.
The Ivory unleashes a rather cunning smirk, leaning forward in his chair. “I’m so happy to hear you say that, Trevel. Because, in fact, I do have a plan to get you socializing more.”
I’m not sure what prompts this, but a frisson of thrill runs through me at the idea that he might give me a cellmate. Maybe even a certain fuckhot Asian bloke with a sinful mouth and muscles I want to lick like candy…
I cannot even fathom how thirsty I am for this lad. It’s becoming worrying.
“Color me intrigued.” I scoot up to the edge of my seat.
“I’ve been thinking,” the Warden says. “How would you feel about restarting your sessions with Dr. Love?”
My heart leaps into my throat.
Alright, then. I suppose we’re talking about the other man I found myself painfully attracted to…
The nodding of my head becomes gradually more enthusiastic the longer that suggestion swims through my brain. “I think that’s a fine idea. I could really use some… good old-fashioned therapy.”
I grin, mentally sifting through all of the possibilities.
Oh, how I would love to start seeing the good doctor again…
“Wonderful,” Manuel chirps. “I was hoping you’d feel that way.”
Opening his laptop, he presses a few buttons. Then he spins it so that I can see the screen. It’s playing what looks like… a video feed. “What you’re seeing here is video from the East Wing.”
An odd sensation settles in my gut at what I’m seeing.
Bloody hell… I’m back in Riverwoods.
“The east side of the prison was developed first,” he goes on, giving me a history lesson while I’m floundering inside. “Initially, this building was slated to be an institution, called Alabaster Asylum. But ultimately, it was requested that it be made into a penitentiary instead.”
“Requested…?” I murmur absentmindedly. “By whom?”
The Ivory gives me a look that says, I can’t tell you that.
Hm… Ominous.
He taps another button, and the camera angle and location change, displaying various areas of this East Wing .
It’s very different from general population.
There are rows of padded cells, occupied by inmates laced up in straitjackets, and rows of other cells, which look like a doctor’s exam room from the forties—a big chair in the middle bolted to the floor, with shackles hanging off of it.
All of which can be seen at all times by Manuel Blanco, apparently.
I must admit, this is triggering me just a tad.
The conditions at Riverwoods were nowhere near as bad as these, but it was still a place I detested.
They would never use straitjackets… But they had no problem strapping your arms and legs down if they felt you might harm yourself or one of the staff.
I know this because I spent many an evening strapped to a gurney and screaming until they stuck a needle in my neck.
Fear releases a fervent flood of adrenaline into my nervous system. I sincerely hope this isn’t what The Ivory has in store for me… Testing and experimentation, without the laws and regulations of a place like Riverwoods.
Is that… what Dr. Love does?
Alabaster Pen’s resident psych superstar, reigning over the East Wing??
The Warden presses yet another button, changing from the live feed to what looks to be recorded video. It’s date and time-stamped, but I don’t know what date and time it is, so I can’t tell when this is from.
“You see, Trevel, the thing with Dr. Love is that I brought him here solely to examine my most prized possession, Felix Darcey. Which he certainly did, and did well. That said, it seems as if spending all of his time with his subject may be… shifting his objectives.”
My forehead creases, muscles stiffening at his words. “What do you mean… And who’s Felix Darcey?”