Page 63 of Beneath His Robes

The threat rolled off my body and left chills, climbing their way back up to my neck. The meathead officers dragged me to the cafeteria and threw me forward while simultaneously unlocking my cuffs. Yet again, I fell to the ground, but this time, I was able to catch myself with my hands before I made an impact on the hard floor. The other inmates laughed, clapped, or ignored me completely.

The clang of trays and plastic cups filled the cafeteria when the snickering faded, echoing off the cold, sterile walls. I sat at one of the worn tables, keeping myself upright as best I could. A tray of lukewarm slop was set in front of me. I didn’t care about the food. It all tasted the same, anyway. What I cared about was all the eyes on me. I could feel them. They were there, judging, poking, and prodding.

“Hey, look at the fresh meat,” someone called from across the room.

I had only seen him a few times, but it was enough to know he was the loudmouth from the other side of the block. He’d been one of the first to latch onto my story when I arrived here. I didn’t know the moron’s name, but he was known as Ghost Hand.

I kept my head down, shoving a spoonful of tasteless mush into my mouth. Not that it mattered. The moment I set foot in this place, I became a target. It wasn’t just the crime that put me here. It was the story, too. The one everyone seemed to think they knew.

Ghost Hand sauntered over, grinning like a cat with a mouse in its mouth.

“You know, buddy boy, I heard you were a stripper before this. That right? Ya like doin’ little dances on poles, making a living off your scrawny ass body?”

He snickered to his friends, who joined in with exaggerated laughter.

I gritted my teeth but didn’t look up. I didn’t have the energy to snap back. Let them have their fun. Let them tear me down. It was what they did here. It was what I’d come to expect.

“Yeah, whore. I bet you were real good at it,” another voice chimed in. That was Bone Crusher, a guy whose idea of humor was insulting anyone he could. “You show ‘em all your moves? Show ‘em how to work your tight ass? Pretty sure I could use a private session myself.”

I took a deep breath, but it didn’t stop the flush of anger that spread across my chest. The teasing was nothing new. Hell, it was almost laughable at this point. The week I had been here was a laughable routine of this shit, but it still felt like a knife twisting in my gut every time they brought it up.

The truth?

I would only dance for Elias now.

Every night I spent on stage felt like I was losing another piece of myself. But it was the only way I could survive back then. Stripping wasn’t just a job but a means to an end. I never talked about it with anyone, not here, not anywhere. Yet somehow, these assholes had caught wind of it. If they found out I did tricks…

I forced a grin, the kind that didn’t reach my eyes.

“Yeah, real glamorous life,” I muttered, staring down at my tray. “Too bad it requires a fucking brain.”

Ghost Hand didn’t let up.

“Man, I bet you were one of those guys who thought he was hot shit, huh? Stripping for tips, getting ogled by old ladies and your own fucking kind.” His voice was laced with mockery, and the others around him laughed again, egging him on.

I wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction of a reaction. Instead, I pushed the tray away, stood up, and started walking toward the exit, the laughter following me like a shadow. I could feel their eyes on my back, but I didn’t care. They could think whatever they wanted. They didn’t know me.

They never would.

As I stepped out into the hallway, I pulled in a deep breath, trying to shake off the tightness in my chest. I had come to terms with this being my fucking life now. Sure, I didn’t like thinking about it, but it was my reality. Here, surrounded by men who hadn’t seen the worst of it, it was harder to keep that part of me buried. It was like they could smell weakness and were determined to exploit it.

I just had to keep moving forward. And ignored them.

It was all I could do.

The door to my cell slammed shut with a deafening clang, the sound echoing down the empty hall. I could still hear the mocking laughter from the cafeteria in my head, but I didn’t care to think about it anymore. I needed silence, and I needed to get away from all the eyes and the whispers.

My cellmate, however, had other plans.

“Hey, you hear that?” he said, his voice too loud and too chipper for my taste. “The guys in the cafeteria? Man, they were all over you today.”

I sighed, already knowing where this was going. “Yeah, I heard them, Vix.”

“Bet you could’ve given ‘em a show, huh? Shake that ass. Watch yourself, Ooo…!”

He snickered from the far corner of the cell, where he was pacing back and forth like he was trying to solve some invisible problem.

His name was Vixor, and he was…well, unpredictable. Most of the time, he just talked to me or himself, a stream of consciousness that never quite made sense. It wasn’t that he was dumb—far from it—but there was a certain instability in the way he processed the world.

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