The Inmate Novels & Stories

Its towering walls stood as a testament to confinement, a stark reminder of the consequences awaiting those who dared to cross the line of law. Within the confines of his cold and dimly lit cell, Colton sat in solitude. The echoes of his footsteps resonated against the barren walls, bouncing back as a haunting reminder of his current reality. His once stylish attire was now replaced by a plain, prison-issued uniform, a stark contrast to his former life of luxury.

note that this is illegal. With a deep breath, Athena clicked on the files Jay had sent her, and a series of mugshots filled her screen. Five faces stared back at her, each with a haunting story to tell. The first inmate, Karam Abigal, sent a shiver down Athena's spine. The sheer brutality of his crimes, the annihilation of an entire family, shook her to her core. It was chilling to read that he suffered from depression and schizophrenia, mental illnesses that seemed to contribute to the unimaginable acts he had committed. His impending death in five months added another layer of gravity to the situation.

That she might give me one last chance to explain myself before the jury decides my fate. Prison is exactly as terrible as I imagined it would be. The food is barely edible, the bed is a thin mattress on a metal frame, and the other inmates range from indifferent to openly hostile. Most of them know who I am. The news anchor kidnapper. The rich lawyer who thought she was above the law. They don't like me, and I can't blame them. I wouldn't like me either.

Closing her eyes for a moment to steady herself, she finally lifted her hand and knocked. A faint voice from inside answered, "Come in." Jennifer opened the door and stepped inside. Sitting behind the desk was the same officer she had seen before....the one who never seemed to care much about what prisoners did, the one who treated everything as if it didn’t concern him as if he loved the chaos going on. His eyes moved lazily to the number tag pinned on her uniform and he raised a brow. "Inmate 2310?" he read out loud. Jennifer walked further in until she stood directly in front of his desk. Her fingers curled at her side, but her voice was steady.

Tuesday Night. NYPD Detention Facility, Manhattan. The holding cell smelled of bleach, old sweat, and despair. Selene sat huddled in the corner of the metal bench, her knees pulled up to her chest. Her grey suit the one she had worn to court thinking she would walk out a free woman—was wrinkled and stained. Her hair was a matted mess, the elastic tie long gone. She wasn't the polished executive anymore. She was just Inmate 8940.

While some of the nurses—who Deloris discovered were rarely actually registered nurses—napped in a nearby chair waiting for alarms or commotion from their patients, others read or stared for hours on end at their cell phones, no doubt heightening their social media status with pictures of kittens and puppies or better yet, political propaganda. Adelaide’s nurse, a big burly man named Mack, was fond of his social media, yet he often chose sleeping as his favorite way to pass the time. As I eased through the entry from the courtyard—the one that Isaac had left unlocked—I envisioned the scenes I’d watched multiple times. I recalled Mack securing Adelaide’s hands. I heard his tenor as he mocked

He called out, chuckling, his craving for power made him turn into a psycho, I sniggered. He yanked his hands into the cell of one of the inmates and pulled him towards the rod, his head hitting it as he clenched tight to his neck. “Where is Andrea, that whoreson.” He spat at him, the inmate didn't dare to look Ramanov in the face. “I—don't know—” He said with a crack of fear in his voice, and I pitied him, goosebumps all over his face and he was already heating up at this rate he might end up peeing on his pants.

She saw on his identification card the name, ‘Agent Eamon Sussex’. “Name…Vasily Vlad Petrovich. Sex…Female. Age…39. Nationality…Russian” the agent read from a large file that had the inmate’s photograph on it. “Thought you were Ukrainian” the agent raised his head look at the inmate. She said nothing nor made any expression. “In prison for first degree murder…has residential permit in the States…” he continued, pausing afterwards to look at the inmate once more. “What brings you to America? Why America? Couldn’t you stay back in Russia…? I mean, Russia offers a lot of opportunities” he asked. “Fre

There were no cameras here to capture her manufactured tears, no Julian to manipulate, and no escape. Thousands of miles away, Julian Sterling experienced his own terrifying revelation. The heavy iron door of his cell in the federal penitentiary slammed shut, the deafening clang ringing in his ears. The lights flickered and died, plunging him into the mandatory night-time lockdown. He sat on the edge of the paper-thin mattress, pulling his knees to his chest. He was no longer a billionaire CEO. He was Inmate 94022, entirely powerless, left alone in the dark with the crushing knowledge that he had willingly handed the two women in his life their ultimate victories—one an empire, the other a l

Larry had never hit a woman before, he couldn't lay a hand on her. "Come on, fuck me." Wanda was smug. Every woman who has been in prison for a long time is naturally full of desire for sex and freedom. That was a basic human need and desire that couldn't be stopped. Wanda's hand managed to reach inside Larry's pants, her eyes lit up, and she kissed Larry even more frantically. Larry never anticipated that inmates would behave in such a manner. In his mind, aren't they all supposed to be actively rehabilitating for early freedom?