“Yard time,” he says. “Don’t make me regret it.”
A slow, easy smile spreads across my face. “You’re hurting my feelings, Jennings. When have I been problematic?”
His eyes narrow, a flicker of annoyance crossing his face. “Don’t play games with me. We both know you’ve got a reputation.”
“Reputation?” I press a hand to my chest, feigning offense. “I’m nothing if not a model inmate.”
Jennings snorts, glancing down the corridor to make sure no one else is listening. “Model inmate, my ass. I’m letting you out because it’s protocol, but the second you do anything sketchy, I’m throwing your ass in the hole.”
Here’s the thing about Jennings… he talks tough, but he’s easy to read. The way his fingers twitch near the baton and the way his gaze darts to the corners of the room when he thinks I might be watching too closely tells me he’s scared. Not enough to keep him from doing his job, but enough to put him on edge. He’s not afraid of a riot or a fight.
He’s afraid of me.
And I intend to keep it that way.
“I’ll behave,” I say smoothly, rising and sauntering over to the door. “Scout’s honor.”
“You’re no boy scout,” he mutters, unlocking the door and stepping back quickly, keeping a safe distance as I walk out. “Don’t do anything stupid. You don’t want to test me.”
I flash him another smile, this one colder. “Oh, Jennings. You act like I wouldn’t kill you just for the fun of it.”
He doesn’t respond, just jerks his head toward the corridor. I follow, my pace measured, my hands loose at my sides. He’s watching me closely, his body tense, ready to intervene at the first sign of trouble.
As we step into the yard, the air shifts. It’s charged, but what else can you expect when there’s a large group of murderers gathered? Inmates linger in small clusters, their voices low and their gazes sharp. The sun beats down on cracked concrete and deadened grass, and the smell of sweat clings to everything.
I scan the space, my gaze slipping over the clusters of inmates with practiced ease. They’re predictable, every group adhering to their roles: the posturing thugs, the opportunists watching for weakness, and the loners who think invisibility equals safety.
Off in the far corner is a lanky, wide-eyed inmate who’s pacing, his boots trampling the grass underneath. His movements are methodical, almost rhythmic, and his fingers twitch as he walks, like he’s counting steps or running calculations in his head.
Hello again, Junior.
I watch him for a moment longer, my mind already working. He’s perfect for what I have planned. Someone like him doesn’t need to be threatened. This guy just needs the right kind of pressure, the right kind of promise.
“Jennings,” I say without looking at the guard. “You can relax now. I’m just here to enjoy the fresh air.”
He grunts in response, but I can feel his gaze on me, his skepticism hanging in the air like a challenge. Let him doubt me. Let him watch. By the time I’m finished, he won’t even realize he’s part of the plan too.
For now, though, my focus is on Junior. This one’s not a fighter by choice. He’s cerebral, but not in a way that makes him immune to manipulation. In fact, it makes him ideal.
Junior’s anxiety is a tangible thing, wrapping around him like a shroud. It’s in the way his shoulders hunch and how his gaze darts to every shadow as though expecting something to leap out at him. He’s already trapped in his own mind.
I approach slowly, unhurried, as though I’m just taking in the sun like everyone else. Junior glances up as I draw closer, his eyes locking onto mine for half a second before darting away.
“Afternoon,” I say smoothly, keeping my tone light. I stop a few feet away, close enough to get his attention but far enough not to spook him.
Junior slows his pacing but doesn’t stop. “What do you want?” His voice is low and guarded. He doesn’t look at me again, his focus shifting to the ground as his fingers wiggle at his sides.
I let out a soft chuckle, crossing my arms. “Relax, Junior. I’m not here to hurt you. Quite the opposite, actually.”
His jaw tightens at my nickname for him, but he doesn’t correct me. That’s good. He’s pliable, even if he doesn’t realize it yet. “I’m not interested.” He picks up his pace, his movements more erratic now.
I step closer, just enough to cut into his path, forcing him to stop. He stiffens, his gaze darting to the groups of inmates scattered across the yard as though looking for an escape.
“Someone’s been messing with your stuff, haven’t they?” I say.
His head snaps up, his wide eyes brightening with suspicion. “What are you talking about?”
“You’ve noticed it, haven’t you?” I tilt my head, studying him. “The way your stuff has been moved, your space violated. The books with missing pages, so you can’t fully understand the text. Then there’s that note you found yesterday.”
His lips part, a flicker of surprise crossing his face before he schools his expression. “How do you—”
“Let’s just say I notice things. I also see patterns, Junior. And the pattern here? Someone’s fucking with you.”
He swallows hard, his fingers twitching again as he looks away. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t play dumb,” I say, my tone sharpening just enough to pierce through his denial. “You’ve felt it. The looks. The whispers. They’re closing in, and you’re running out of time.”
I take a step back, giving him space to process. It’s important not to crowd him. Not yet.
“Why are you telling me this?” He looks around, eyes widening. “Are you trying to help me?”
I scoff. “Hell no. I’m a selfish asshole.”
“Then why?”
“Because I don’t want Jennings to get what he’s after.”
“Jennings?” he repeats, the confusion in his voice tinged with growing unease.
I nod slowly. “Yeah, Jennings. You think he’s a man who only cares about the job and none of the perks? Open your eyes, Junior. The man’s been singling you out since day one. All those ‘random’ checks? The extra time in the laundry detail? The way he stares at you? That’s not coincidence.”
His breathing quickens. “Why?”
“Because he sees you as weak. And weakness is easy to exploit. Jennings is no different from the assholes out here in the yard. He just wears a uniform and hides behind his badge. Trust me, he wants you scared and isolated, so he can use you however he wants.”
Junior’s eyes dart to the far end of the yard where Jennings stands, his posture casual, but his gaze sweeps back and forth. As if on cue, the guard looks over at us. When his eyes briefly land on Junior, the young man stiffens next to me.
“See?” I whisper. “He’s looking right at you. Again. What a fucking pervert.”
Junior swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing as his gaze flickers back to me. Paranoia is such a pliable thing. A masterpiece in the hands that mold it.
“See?” I repeat, keeping my voice low. “He’s not subtle.”
“I—I never noticed,” Junior stammers.
“That’s the point. You’re not supposed to notice. You’re supposed to think it’s just in your head.”
I rock back on my heels and glance down when something glints in the sunlight. A penny lies at the edge of the concrete, dull and scuffed but unmistakably out of place in the barrenness of the yard. I bend down, picking it up between my fingers, and let out a soft chuckle. Junior flinches at the sound, his nerves already frayed.