Page 64 of Mara
“Yeah, he’s got scratches and cuts all over and a deep cut on his chest, and some bruises. We did find a pocket knife on him, so he could be a sadist and had done it himself. I dunno, the freak is a real nutter.”
I bit my tongue to keep from laughing. Silence was best.
“Chad and I are bringin’ ‘im to medical to be patched up, then his sorry ass will be in cells. Let the boys pinkin’ up these pretty cheeks on ‘im’”
I snorted.
“He’s a real lady’s man. Looks like a fucking plastic doll, I’m sure Dickie will love this one. He gets off on blondies.”
If a man tried to touch me, it would only increase my rap sheet because I would be forced to make him choke on his own ‘dickie’. Still, I remained silent.
“Yeah, okay, Boss. We’ll keep real quiet.”
He lowered his voice and cupped the radio. I caught a few words, but the main one had my blood singing in my veins.
“Wellard.”
Looks like my date with cells was being cancelled.
Finally being welcomed into Mara’s little playground was a fucking letdown. It smelled like feet in here. I loved how they thought this was punishment. That the cold cuffs around my wrists, the hands shoved me forward, the heavy doors of Wellard slamming shut behind me, would break me.
They didn’t understand.
This wasn’t a prison. It was a fucking homecoming.
The air inside smelled of antiseptic and desperation, humming with the soft, erratic sounds of the broken things caged within. Someone was crying down the hall, another whispering to no one in particular. A man laughed—a deep, guttural thing—before a guard barked at him to shut up. I didn’t like this place. I fucking loved all of it.
The floors gleamed under flickering lights as I was led past rows of locked doors. Some had tiny windows, revealing glimpses of twitching fingers and wide, staring eyes. Others remained closed, their secrets left to the imagination. The walls pulsed with life, full of people who had long since lost their grip on reality. They slipped between the cracks of sanity like rain through rotting floorboards.
I belonged here.
A nurse passed by, clutching a clipboard to her chest, eyes flicking toward me before darting away just as quickly.
Pity. I would’ve liked to hold that gaze a little longer. See what she was afraid of. No matter. I’d have this bitch underme in no time. I needed a person here under my thumb, and I couldn’t have my Little Reaper getting too nosy.
The way this nurse was eyeing me down was just the same as every dumb fuck that wanted my dick.
The guards muttered to each other as they walked me to my room, but I only half-listened. Something about evaluations, high-risk monitoring, and the usual nonsense…they thought they could predict me. Control me. The thought almost made me laugh.
When we stopped, one of them yanked the door open and shoved me inside. A single cot, a bolted-down desk, a window too narrow to slip through. A collar for a beast they didn’t know how to tame.
But I didn’t fight it. Didn’t snarl or even utter a curse.
Instead, I turned slowly, letting my fingers brush against the cool metal frame of the bed. The cuffs were undone, and my wrists ached, but I didn’t rub them.
I just smiled.
They didn’t realize.
They had put me exactly where I wanted to be.
The door clanged shut behind me, the lock clicking into place with a finality that should have unsettled me. Instead, I inhaled deeply, taking in the sterile scent of antiseptic and something heavier beneath it.
Something raw.
Sweat, fear, desperation.
The air in places like this always held onto things, memories of people who had passed through, their madness leaving an imprint.
