The prison where I found you

The iron door slammed shut, and before I could even catch my breath, Officer Graves slammed my face into the cold concrete wall.

Pain exploded across my jaw. Blood filled my mouth, warm and metallic. The metal handcuffs bit so deep into my wrists that skin tore, but Graves didn't care. He jammed his heavy thumb right behind my ear, pushing until I saw blinding white spots.

“Move, fresh meat,” Graves hissed in my ear.

I choked on a scream as he forced me down onto his knees. The freezing floor burned right through my thin orange jumpsuit. I hadn’t been in this prison for ten minutes, and the corruption was already choking me.

“Eight years for fraud,” Graves sneered. He grabbed a handful of my hair, yanking my head back so hard my neck popped. His breath smelled like stale tobacco and rotten meat. “You think you’re special, Hart? Out here, you’re just a soft target. You want to survive this place? You’re going to run my illegal money ledgers. You’re going to help me steal.”

I swallowed the blood in my mouth and tried to glare at him. “No.”

Graves gritted his teeth and drove his heavy fist straight into my ribs.

Air exploded out of my lungs. I doubled over on the floor, curling into a ball as a sickening heat spread through my chest. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't speak. I just lay there on the filthy floor, gasping like a fish out of water.

“If you say no again,” Graves growled, kicking my shoe, “I’ll unlock the gang cells tonight and tell them you asked for a visit. They’ll tear you apart, and I’ll stand outside the door and listen.”

Fear clutched my heart so tight I thought it would stop. I was completely alone. Nobody was coming to save me. My lawyer was gone, my old friends had abandoned me, and the system had thrown me away. I was completely helpless.

“Touch him again, Graves, and I’ll rip your throat out.”

The voice was low, rough, and hit the room like a physical blow.

Graves froze instantly. The two guards standing behind him reached for their heavy batons, their faces going pale.

A tall man stepped out of the shadows at the end of the hall.

He moved like someone who owned every inch of this hellhole. Broad shoulders, built like a brick wall, with heavy iron chains dragging from his wrists. A long, jagged scar ran down his sharp jawline. But it was his eyes that made my blood run cold. They were storm-gray, completely dead, and sharp enough to cut glass.

Kael Vance. The man everyone called the Reaper.

Kael didn’t even look at the armed guards or their raised weapons. His gray eyes locked onto me. He looked at the blood on my face, my torn jumpsuit, and the way my body was shaking on the floor. Something dark and dangerous flared in his eyes—not pity, but a wild, possessive anger that made my pulse spike.

“Vance,” Graves spat, stepping back to hand-cover his gun holster. “Keep walking. This is intake. He belongs to the house.”

Kael closed the space between them in three long, silent strides. He was massive. He used his height to crowd Graves right against the iron bars, looking down at him like he was an insect.

“He belongs to me,” Kael said. His voice was a low rumble that vibrated right through the concrete. “Lay another hand on him, and the supply trucks stop coming into your garage. Every illegal dollar you make in this prison disappears overnight.”

Graves’ face turned bright red, but he didn't move a muscle. He was terrified. Kael controlled the entire prison black market, and if Kael shut it down, Graves was ruined.

Graves backed away, his hands shaking as he pulled out his keys. He unlocked the nearest cell door and kicked my foot hard. “Get in! Lock him down! We’ll see how brave you are when the lights go out, Hart.”

The heavy iron door screeched open, and Graves shoved me inside. I hit the floor hard, scraping my knees against the concrete. The door slammed shut behind me, the lock clicking into place with a sound like a gunshot.

I pulled myself up against the small metal bunk, chest heavy, blood still dripping from my chin onto my jumpsuit.

Through the narrow bars, Kael stood in the dim hallway. The guards didn't dare touch him as they led him down the hall. Before he turned the corner, Kael stopped. He turned his head and looked straight at me.

His gray eyes burned into mine. It wasn't a gentle look. It was a claim. A silent warning that I was his now, whether I liked it or not. My heart hammered against my ribs—not just from the terror of the prison, but from the sudden, hot pull I felt toward him. He hadn't saved me because he was a good person. He had saved me because he wanted me for himself.

Outside my tiny window, the main prison block began to wake up. Shouts, laughing, and heavy metal tin cups banging against bars filled the night.

“Fresh meat!” someone screamed from a cell down the line. “We’re coming for you, pretty boy!”

I sank onto the thin, dirty mattress and pressed my back against the cold wall. My whole body was shaking. I was trapped between a corrupt guard who wanted to destroy my life, a tier full of violent men waiting for the dark, and an inmate kingpin who had just claimed me as his property.

I wiped the blood off my face with a trembling hand. Eight years. I didn't know if I would survive eight hours. But as the floor lights dimmed to a pale blue glow, I knew one thing for sure: the nightmare was just getting started.