CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER THREE

RAFAEL

“Well, well, well. Look what they brought us. What a pretty boy toy. Boys, I think we just found ourselves some entertainment.”

The man's words were followed by laughter from the other three prisoners.

I stood near the entrance, still holding the small bundle of belongings the guards had given me, wondering whether I could somehow convince them to put me in another cell. The biggest man, the one who'd spoken, had a thick neck, broad shoulders, and a scar running from his temple toward his jaw. He looked like someone who'd spent most of his life hurting people and had never once been punished for it.

“What's your name, pretty boy?” he asked.

“Rafael.”

“Rafael what?”

“Navarro.”

He repeated my surname as though he were testing how it sounded. “I'm Briggs. That's Tommy, that's Vince, and the quiet one over there is Cole. You'll get to know us very well.”

I didn't particularly want to.

“There's an empty bunk,” I said, pointing toward the one near the wall.

Briggs laughed. “Look at him. He's already making himself comfortable.”

One of the men, Vince, moved in front of the bunk before I could approach it. He was leaner than Briggs but had thick arms and a shaved head. Tommy, the third man, sat on the edge of the opposite bed, watching me with an expression that made my skin crawl.

“Take off your shirt,” Briggs ordered.

I looked at him. “Why?”

“Because I want to see what we're working with.”

“I'm not taking anything off.”

His smile disappeared. “You think you're in a hotel?”

“No. I think I'm in prison, and I'd appreciate it if you'd stop treating me like your personal entertainment.”

Tommy laughed, but Briggs didn't. He crossed the short distance between us and snatched my belongings from my hands, tossing them onto the bunk.

“Listen carefully, Navarro. Around here, you don't get to decide how things work. You want that bed? You ask. You want food? You ask. And when I tell you to do something, you fucking do it.”

I glanced at the other men. None of them looked particularly interested in helping me.

“What do you want me to do?”

Briggs pointed toward the filthy toilet in the corner. “Clean that.”

I looked at the toilet, then back at him. “I'm not cleaning it.”

His hand caught the front of my shirt. “You really don't understand, do you?”

“Get your hands off me.”

For a moment, he seemed amused by my refusal. Then he shoved me against the wall, hard enough to knock the breath from my lungs. Vince moved closer, while Tommy got up from the bed and blocked the only clear path to the door.

“Maybe we should explain things properly,” Tommy said.

His eyes travelled over me in a way that made my stomach tighten.

I'd heard enough stories about prison to understand what they were suggesting. I'd seen the fear in the eyes of the man being beaten in the yard, and I'd heard the guards talking about prisoners who were assaulted and threatened. I hadn't even been here a full day, and already I was wondering whether I'd survive the year.

Briggs leaned closer. “You know what happens to pretty little newcomers who think they're too good for everyone?”

I swallowed. “I'm not interested in whatever you're offering.”

“Didn't ask what you wanted.”

Vince grabbed my arm, twisting it behind my back. I tried to pull free, but Briggs caught my other wrist.

“Let go of me!”

“Stop struggling,” Tommy said, moving closer. “You're making this difficult.”

Panic began to rise in my chest. I kicked backward, catching Vince in the shin, and he cursed, tightening his grip. Briggs shoved me against the wall again.

“Fucking little bastard!”

I struggled harder, but there were three of them, and I was already exhausted. My mind raced through every possible way to escape, yet none seemed likely to work. I was terrified of what they intended to do, and the thought of being trapped with them made it difficult to breathe.

Then a baton struck the cell bars.

“Lunch! Everybody out! Move your asses!”

The guard stood outside, looking impatient. Briggs released me, but not before giving my shirt a final tug.

“We're not finished, Navarro.”

I straightened my clothes, trying to steady my breathing. “I wasn't planning on coming back for more.”

He laughed. “We'll see.”

The four men left ahead of me, and I followed at a distance, keeping my eyes on them. I hoped the cafeteria would be crowded enough to keep them from trying anything else.

I was wrong.

The moment we entered, Briggs began telling anyone who would listen that they'd already had their fun with me.

“You should've seen this one earlier,” he announced, loud enough for several tables to hear. “Came in here acting innocent, but he couldn't wait to spread his legs.”

Vince joined in. “Kept pretending he didn't want it. They're always like that.”

Laughter broke out around their table.

I stopped walking. “Shut your fucking mouth.”

Briggs turned, looking delighted that I'd responded. “What's wrong? Don't like people knowing?”

“You didn't touch me.”

“That's not what you were saying in the cell.”

The other prisoners began watching. Some laughed, while others simply looked away. I could feel my face burning, but what angered me most was how easily they were turning their threats into a joke at my expense.

I dropped my tray onto the nearest table.

“Say one more fucking word about me.”

Briggs approached. “Or what?”

I punched him.

My fist caught his jaw, but before I could strike again, Vince grabbed me from behind. Tommy hit me in the ribs, and the three of them forced me away from the table. I fought back, landing another blow, but it wasn't enough. Briggs recovered quickly and drove his fist into my stomach.

I doubled over, gasping.

“That's enough!” somebody shouted, but nobody moved to help.

Briggs seized the front of my shirt and dragged me upright. “You should've kept your mouth shut.”

His grip tightened as he pulled me closer. I could barely breathe, and my ribs hurt with every movement. I tried to free myself, but Vince had my arm pinned.

Then the cafeteria doors opened.

I turned, expecting another guard to intervene.

Instead, a group of men entered, and the entire room seemed to change.

The man walking at the front was enormous. He stood well over six feet, perhaps six-foot-four, with broad shoulders, a powerful build, and an effortless confidence that made the other men instinctively move aside. His black shirt fitted closely across his chest and arms, leaving the intricate tattoos covering his forearms visible. Dark ink disappeared beneath his sleeves and climbed toward his neck, while another pattern seemed to extend beneath the collar of his shirt.

He was strikingly handsome, almost unfairly so. His dark hair was neatly styled, his jaw sharply defined, and his features were so well balanced they looked almost unreal. But it was his mouth that caught my attention for an absurd second: full, naturally pink lips that looked completely out of place on a man whose presence made an entire prison go quiet.

He wasn't smiling. He didn't need to.

The prisoners began whispering.

“Fuck. That's Volkov.”

“Keep your head down.”

“What the hell is he doing here?”

I looked between the approaching man and the prisoners around me. Even Briggs had gone quiet, though his hand remained twisted in my shirt.

“Who's that?” I whispered.

Nobody answered.

A prisoner at the next table leaned toward his companion. “You don't know? That's Mikhail Volkov. Stay out of his way unless you want to disappear.”

My stomach tightened.

Whatever reputation this man had, it was enough to frighten people who'd spent years surviving in prison.

Briggs loosened his grip slightly, distracted by the newcomer. I took the opportunity to pull at his hand, but he caught my shirt again.

I didn't know why, but something told me that this stranger was the only person in the room who could make the three men let go of me.

It was probably a stupid thought. Still, I had nothing left to lose.

“Mister,” I whispered, looking directly at him. “Please. Help me.”

A prisoner nearby heard me and let out a nervous laugh.

“Are you fucking crazy?” he muttered. “You think Volkov gives a shit about you?”

I didn't look away.

Mikhail Volkov had already entered the cafeteria, but now his attention was on me.

He began walking in my direction.