Prison Break Books Novels & Stories

Book Three of the Badboy Trilogy Written by: Vendité Johnson The Badboy Trilogy Book One: How to Destroy a Badboy Book Two: The Emancipation of a Badboy Book Three: A Rhapsody for the Playboy Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, business, places, events and incidents are either a product of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual person, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

They both nod their heads in agreement and we walk toward the holding cells. I open the gate for Bobby’s cell and he looks miserable, he has lost a lot of weight, and he was beaten to a pulp almost unrecognizable. That’s how I like them. Today he dies. I don’t care what he has to say anymore. I haven’t been dealing with him, it has been Theo and Elliot, but his last breath will be on my hands. “Killian, take me out of here son”, he says and I can’t help but chuckle. His dying eyes are glued to mine as I walk to him and punch him straight in the face. He screams in pain and that feed my soul That’s exactly what I need.

“How’s the pain?” “I’ll live.” I grunted as I picked up the books she had dropped to distract myself from the pain of her checking over my injuries. “I found those on Stephanie’s bookshelf.” She chuckled. “Thought you could use something to keep you busy. I picked that one because the author has my name.” I looked more closely at the books she had brought, chuckling when I saw that one was titled ‘The Rogue Queen’ by Rory McCauley-Hayman. I waved the second book titled ‘Breaking The Bond’, in the air.

The city lights twinkled like faraway stars, reminding me of the world that keeps moving beyond these walls. I couldn’t help but think of my dad, stuck in a cell, his innocence taken away by a system that just doesn’t seem to care. I couldn’t help but think of my mom; her absence feels like a huge emptiness inside me. I couldn’t help but think of Luca, the sweet little boy who had turned out to be my unexpected anchor. What’s my purpose here? I wondered. How did things end up like this for me?

Together, we're dangerous. But now? I'm alone. No friends. No freedom. No plan. Just a bruised body and some repressed trauma from sparring with a woman who clearly bench-presses elephants for fun. But hey—if Michael Scofield could break out of prison, surely I can break out of this fancy hellhole. I've seen all five seasons of Prison Break. Twice. I know how to improvise a lockpick out of a toothbrush and a shoelace. I know to memorize blueprints and observe guard patterns.

Hello everyone. So I have come up with an updated schedule for this book. I will take a few days off as my little girl has a horrible cold. And I am potty training my oldest. But, I will be writing offline, so from the first of November, you will have daily updates. There are around 25 chapters till the end of the book. I already have a couple written, and the guideline all mapped out. I understand that it's frustrating to stay one week without updates. But think that from the 1st, you will have daily updates and, some days, double updates. The chapters will be updated at 1 am UK time.

Leo’s fingers gripped the back of her chair so hard his knuckles turned bloodless and pale. “This is me being nice. I used to like that guy. Hell, he even made a house call and treated my burn once. But after what he done, I lost all respect for him.” Amber nodded. Dr. Gainey had taken care of Grayson for a few years, the only doctor who knew all his secrets. He’d saved his life after Grayson’s accidental overdose back in November. But one good deed didn’t change the awful thing he’d done. He’d given Courtney the ammunition she needed to trap him in their marriage. To hold Grayson hostage with her threats, making him a prisoner in his own life.

“I bet you taste like roses and honey.” I didn’t break our stare-down. “Can a prisoner at least get a book? I mean, if you’re not going to entertain me in any other way…” It was probably not wise to poke him, but I wasn’t some weakling he could bend with a few harsh words and threats. He stared at me before disappearing into his “office” but surprised me when he came back over with a book in his hand. He let loose a battered and beaten flutter of pages through the top of the cage. It landed in my lap with a thump. The binding was cracked and the worn pages indicated it was a much-read book. The cover wasn’t familiar, but it was also scuffed and torn.