The Inmate Novels & Stories

Chapter 4: The Cracks in the Mask Alexia The dim light from the overhead bulb flickered, casting fleeting shadows across the damp walls of my cell. I stared at the steel door, my mind a whirlpool of confusion and despair. Each second dragged into an eternity, the silence broken only by the occasional drip of water from a leaky pipe.

Most of the of the people in the cells are mostly innocent people who Sinclair have put here for not helping his course or finding out about his plans, But over the course of the time I've been here and Adonis became King he has released a lot of people, It wasn't a big prison anyway, we are about 50 inmates here, Life here has taught me a lot about life and making the right decisions at the appropriate time mostly as a man. Me and Rissa are seated on the table after waiting in line to collect our food from the prison cook. When we sat on the steel tables, Rissa bent her head down looking at her food and shook her head, She raised her head back up, “I'm fucking tired of this shit.” She moane

I said aloud so he could also hear me. "What if you are here for the next one year, what will you do? Still go after her body?" Allen asked me, I was irritated and pissed. A year? Me? Hell no! "Are you drunk or something? Just tell James what I told you!!" I yelled at him, what the heck? "Do you know who is before you?" I asked him as I leaned against the wall. "My neighboring inmate? You are still an inmate irrespective of who you are or what position you hold, you are still an inmate," he said. I could hear the smirk in his voice.

No candles. No cake. No voice whispering my name in love. Just cold stone under my bare feet and iron air scraping my lungs as if even breathing here cost too much. Night wrapped the prison in a suffocating silence that wasn’t quiet at all , it screamed. The kind of silence that reminds you that you are forgotten. Tonight, I was not Alina Thornbrook anymore. I was Inmate 447. I sat on the thin mattress with my knees pulled to my chest, my fingers wrapped around my arms as if I could hold myself together by sheer force. My body had grown used to hunger. To bruises. To being unseen.

“Sorry to bother you, Mr. Miller, sir,” my cellmate said. “If I could just get by you here…” “No problem, Mike,” I said. Prison was a terrible place to be, but for a made man of my rank the situation wasn’t quite so bad. Mike edged past my legs, head down. He was a cleaner for the R-27 mob, in prison for multiple murders. Five that they knew about. Nice guy. Professional. I hoped he’d be able to relax around me soon. We could play chess. We’d need some way to pass the time, although he’d probably get out before I did.

The coarse fabric of my neon-orange jumpsuit chafed against my neck with every movement, a constant reminder of the privilege I had so easily discarded. My fingers were covered in raw, stinging blisters that never had the chance to heal. For twenty-six years, my hands had held nothing heavier than a crystal glass of premium scotch or the leather steering wheel of an imported sports car. Today, my reality consisted of a plastic bucket and a twelve-hour shift moving heavy linen bundles for the state infrastructure network. "Hey, Hartley! Look at the central monitor above the guard tier!" an inmate named Miller shouted from the folding racks, letting out a low, appreciative whistle. "Your old m

The Prison Guard & The Inmate My name is Logan Kane. Twenty-six years old. Been a corrections officer for three years, and I thought I had seen it all. Until they transferred me to Block D — the worst wing in the entire maximum-security prison. The place where they put the animals who would rather kill you than look at you. I walked the tier on my first night with my shoulders squared and my baton ready. The lights were low, the air thick with the smell of sweat, piss, and pure aggression. Inmates shouted shit from their cells as I passed. Most of it I ignored.

He admitted his wrongdoing, accepted the punishment of being stripped of his Beta position, and left the territory. How he is now, no one knows.

Mason told me the only reason they have a kitchen is for when the vampire king has human guests around. We lie to the guards, saying it's time for Mom to eat. “Hi, Mason. How are you doing today?” the guard in front of the dungeon says. Luckily, Mason’s good friends with him. He’ll allow me to enter without making a fuss. “I’m doing well. How are you doing, Sam?” Mason asks. “I’m good. You must be here to give the prisoner in cell 201 her food.” “Yes.” “Open the tray,” he says, and Mason does as he asks. He checks the tray for sharp objects. Once he’s sure that there is none he clears us to go in.

Why did they beat him brutally? Maybe they have some enmity with him. After all, the man was not a saint. The world says saints are not safe in this world and that is true but sinners are not safe either. Their sinful deeds make them enemies of others. The same must have happened with the blond man, she explained it to herself. “So is he being treated right now?” Hazel asked her, coming out of her thoughts. “Yeah, Rabiya said he’s in the hospital.” Hazel nodded and got up, still thinking about that matter. She hung the towel on the hanger and went towards the balcony side of her room.