The Inmate Book Novels & Stories

“We’ll call a doctor. We’ll figure this out. We’re gonna fight this.” But Brielle didn’t move. She just stood there—hand on her stomach, her name finally her own again—realizing that some prisons weren’t made of walls or rings or contracts. Some were made of biology. Some were growing inside her. To be continued...

Author’s POV… Deep in the Lunar Fangs dungeon, the food servant went round the cells of the special inmates who weren’t allowed to leave the cells to have their meals. Because these prisoners were regarded as dangerous, they had their bathrooms right in the cells and were never allowed to come out. The servant had gone round serving food, and had reached the cell of a certain inmate who hadn’t been returning his plates. “Bring out your plate, or you won’t be served your next meal,” the servant warned.

“Got it. Pretty. Boy. Princess of Cellblock C. We’ll find your vibe eventually.” He turned away and began reorganizing his things—again. He was indeed pretty, in a very masculine way. I doubt he wasn't already having a hard time with the rest of the prisoners. Oh, the things I've seen them do to guys this attractive as him…well, lucky him, he should be grateful fate made us cross paths. Now we're roomies, I will shield him from the starving gazes of the inmates. Also, I noticed he had actual labeled bags. A stack of books. Color-coded.

I need to make sure they are well taken care of. When I got to my prison cell, I found an inmate sharing with me. There he lied, reading a book. He was dark, heavy, and huge. His muscles were parked, you`d say he has been here for quite some time now. As I walked into the cell, the problem became one, am I or am I not going to greet this man?

In the seven months, she had been in that prison; no one had ever touched her; it was impossible that. Colette opened her eyes enormously as she concluded that the only person with whom she had shared intimacy was her great love Donel Dunn, a mercenary who came unannounced into her life. She immediately cleaned the baby with her worn clothes, looking for some glass to cut the umbilical cord. "Bibi, I need something sharp," she whispered. Tiredness was getting the better of her- Bibi. The mentioned one was still in shock on the dirty floor, looking at the whole scene with her mouth open; she couldn't understand how a living being had come out of her friend's body that, instead of gaining weig

I carefully stated, earning al light shrug from the inmate. “Well, when you have a neighbor who does not know when to shut up and let go about the things that just happens in life, you’ll hear some interesting stories,” he stated, hinting that it truly was Anton who spilled the beans. “Besides, you’ll find that prison is not that much of a boot camp as most people seem to see it as. Sure, there are no games or televisions here, but at least they give out books and newspapers to help us pass time.”

"Think you are better than us, huh? You aren't special in here, your highness. You are a criminal just like the rest of us. You bleed like we bleed." I gritted my teeth, fighting the urge to crash out. I kept my silence, forcing myself to focus on the dirt on the ceiling. The first inmate, not willing to let it go, pressed on. "So, what did you do to get in here, pretty boy? Murder someone? You run illegal fights? Underground stuff? You look like you have seen and tasted blood." A particularly hot-headed inmate, a big brute with a buzz cut and a full arm tattoo, pushed himself up from the bench. The only one in the entire fucking cell swaggered towards me. "Hey! We are talking to you, fancy

“Inside. Both of you.” We ducked into a nearby safehouse, the warmth hitting like a slap. Roman dropped the case onto the table, snapping the latches open. Inside was… not what I expected. It wasn’t weapons. It wasn’t explosives. It was a thick, leather-bound book — old, the edges charred and curling. Kellen frowned. “All that trouble for a book?” Roman’s face stayed unreadable, but his eyes… there was something there. Something I didn’t like.

Somewhere in the city—several stories above, in a steel and glass building—Julian Blackwood lay in his dark, sleek bedroom, staring at the book she had given him. He'd never intended to keep it. When Lena Carter had offered it to him—those gentle words, that thoughtful crease between her eyebrows—he'd intended to refuse. But something in her eyes had taken away his intention. It was neither flirting nor pretense. It was genuine. Silent. Generous. He hated kindness. It broke things open. Julian gazed down at the book. The cover was unadorned, the title in gold print: *A Man Called Ove*. He remembered Lena's words:

The light is dim, but I can see several cages around the room. The room is lit by candles, and there are several men dressed in suits walking around, one of them has a girl on a leash, and she is crawling next to him as he walks. What the fuck is this? Am I in some sort of parallel universe? I don’t want to be here, and I definitely don’t want to be sold like merchandise to be some sort of sex slave.