All Chapters of Cellblock Heat : Chapter 91 - Chapter 98

Quincy“Tell me what you told Bill?”My gaze is pinned on the inmates grinding through their workout in the yard—sweat slicking their backs, steel clanging as dumbbells hit the cracked pavement—but my question is aimed at my cellie lounging beside me on the bleachers.Jordan lets out this bark of laughter, deliberately exaggerated, like he wants everyone within a thirty-foot radius to know he’s enjoying himself at my expense. When his laughter fades, he tips his head toward me, eyes dancing.“Let me get this straight, preppy,” he says, shifting so his whole body is angled at me. “You really think you’ve bought my mouth because you shoved your dick in it once and came down my throat? Come on, don’t be delusional.”He strokes the side of his freshly trimmed Ivy League haircut like he’s some runway model posing for the yard.I grit my teeth, jaw tight enough to ache. “Don’t try to make this obscene, Jordan. Answer my fucking question.”His grin widens. “No can do.”Then, like the bastard

Jordan I lean back on the pool tiles, slick with water, still catching my breath when Manny groans beside me.“Shit, I forgot how much butterfly strokes murder the shoulders,” he says, flexing his arms like he’s just come from war. “Feels like I’ve been wrestling crocodiles.”I smirk. “That’s because you swim like one. Heavy splashes, wide mouth, no grace.”“Wide mouth?” He gasps, clutching his chest dramatically. “Coming from the guy who nearly inhaled half the pool in round four?”“Fuck you,” I scoff. “That was a tactical gulp.”We both laugh, the sound echoing off the walls of the massive prison pool, half-empty with only a couple of other inmates scattered around. The water laps gently against my skin, cool enough to sting the sweat out of my body. We’d just gone eight rounds—neither of us willing to back down first—and now the silence between strokes settles into something calmer.Manny exhales long and low, tilting his head back against the tiles. “You know… my girl used to lov

JordanSeven shots of gin between us, and Preppy’s got his guard down—leaning into me like I’m the only safe thing left, like the alcohol and his dilemma were hand in hand, chaperoning him straight to his grave.His breath reeks of the cheap burn we downed in the warehouse—the one I smuggled in after the day’s shift. From holding a blade to my throat hours ago to this—the back of his head resting against my neck, mumbling about how unfair the world is.Guess the liquor’s good at peeling back his pretty layers.“Don’t you dare look so smug,” he slurs, voice a mix of accusation and surrender.I chuckle, low in his ear. “I’m not smug. Just… observant.”He laughs—brokenly. The sadness leaking through his laughter vibrates against my chest. When he straightens up to face me, his eyes are glassy—half-drunk, half-lost.“I don’t know what to believe anymore, Jordan.” He shakes his head slowly, tilting it like the movement alone might make sense of things. “Everything’s crashing down on me. I

JordanIn Bill’s Office.“With all due respect, Bill — cut the crap. My ankle’s doing just fine. How about we digress from that irrelevant topic?”I’m not here for chitchat, especially not when I feel like Ramos was behind the strange footage. My gut tells me so. He should start talking — I need to know if he’s truly a threat.Bill looked up from his paperwork, his spectacles sliding a little down his nose as his eyes flicked up at me — sharp and assessing. The man always had that permanent air of someone who’d seen too much and learned to smile through it.The office smelled like polished wood and coffee that had gone cold hours ago. Sunlight poured through the blinds, casting prison-bar stripes across the floor — poetic, if you asked me.“Always impatient, aren’t you, Vex?” Bill said, leaning back in his chair. “You remind me of me when I was your age.”“Guess that’s why we get along,” I replied, pulling the chair opposite him and dropping into it without an invitation.He sighed, b