Todos los capítulos de Cellblock Heat : Capítulo 21 - Capítulo 30

Quincy “Alright, Cons, hurry your ass up,” a guard bellowed from the hallway. “Shower time’s scheduled for fifty minutes. Cellblock C, move!” Shower time in prison is one of the shadiest hours of the day. People sneak in contraband, make deals, settle scores… and worse. Things I’d rather not name. Things I don't ever want to be a victim of. That’s why I wait. I let all the OGs go first. Let them crowd in, do their thing, and leave. The last thing I need is to draw attention to myself. I’m not afraid of them—not really. I just don’t want trouble. Some of these guys are serving life. Me? I’d rather not add extra months because I bumped into someone the wrong way under a busted showerhead. I spent the first fifteen minutes obsessively flossing like there were termites between my teeth. Then I brushed for another twenty like I was scrubbing ink off denim. All of it—a stalling tactic. With five minutes left, I shaved invisible side hairs like they were enemies of progress. I c

Quincy The cell was cold. Or maybe I was. It was hard to tell where the chill began—inside or out.But I knew something was wrong. Terribly wrong.I couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe properly either. My head throbbed like a siren trapped inside a box. Every sound was muffled. They felt distant. Like it came from the edge of a tunnel.Then—I heard a voice. Loud. Angry. Broken.“Help! I need help in here! Guards!”Banging of metal followed.That voice. I knew it.Jordan.Why did he sound so worried? He's the most unbothered man I've known. And now he's hauling like he was at the verge of falling into an abyss.My eyelids wouldn’t open to let me see him. My body was a weightless brick. My chest felt like it was being squeezed. I wanted to ask what was happening, but my tongue was heavy—cemented to the roof of my mouth.Then I felt it—strong arms circling around me. One hand cupping the back of my head, the other pressed tight around my ribs. I was shaking. Or maybe it was him.“Hold on, p

JordanThe sound of rain still lingered in my ears, even though the storm had passed. The cell had dried into that weird kind of silence only prisons could perfect—where nothing felt truly still, but no one dared speak.Visiting hours.I stood by the metal sink, shirt in hand, brushing imaginary wrinkles from the sleeves like it mattered. My palms were damp.I’d only get fifteen minutes. Maybe twenty if the guard was in a good mood—but part of me still found time to care what I looked like. Old habits.I was halfway through smoothing the collar when I heard the cell door creak open.Quincy walked in.He had a weird movement earlier this morning, and I wanted to come with him to the infirmary to at least know the cause. But then the guards saw that to be the perfect time to dump me on some tedious yard duty. Thank fuck I had five minutes to shower, else I’d be smelling like shit.But then, he had that look on his face—the one that didn’t belong to the Quincy I first met. Gone was the s

EdwardThe wind at the private hangar always smelled the same. It's always the smell of fuel, steel, and faint salt from the Atlantic.I never liked it.But I showed no reaction as I stepped out of the black SUV and into the tarmac breeze, adjusting the cuff of my overcoat with a practiced movement. My fingers moved on my coat, smoothing the fabric that didn’t need smoothing.It was an attribute to the wind. My jet was set for me. I had a board meeting in Germany where I was going alone. Without my Backbone. The jet gleamed under the hangar lights. The sleekness was what brought me more attention. It spoke about me before I spoke. “Everything’s ready, sir,” Myles, my efficient and punctual PA said as he walked behind me, by my side. Four armed bodyguards made a square formation around me.I gave him a nod, slow and silent, my eyes lifting toward the jet’s open stairway.It should’ve been another routine departure.But nothing had been routine since the night the calls stopped coming

Quincy I had a session with Dr Anaba. And although it didn't feel like a good day was starting, I had to make it look like one. Did some workouts in the yard—away from the rest of the inmates. So far as good they've done nothing than giving me glares. They'd seen the bruise on my lips, and nothing excites them to know for a fact that my Protect—the name they called Jordan in regards to me—haf bitten me to shit last night. My back muscles ache so bad from the push. But it didn't stop me from going for ten push ups. I had confirmed it was really bad from the x-ray results Dr Anaba conducted. She bored my life with so many questions. Like why Jordan chose to give me the beating of a century after showing up as someone that would rather die than see me hurt. How do I feel about being locked up with one who's bipolar. If he'd assaulted me in the past before now, and I had chosen to stay quiet. Meanwhile as she went on with the questions, my mind drifted to Jordan's breath warming my