The Prison Novels & Stories

I didn’t know attempted murder was enough to land me in this hellhole. “Move!” I’m pushed, jolting me out of my thoughts, and I begin to walk forward. The officer’s grip on my shoulder is firm, almost bruising. It’s a silent reminder of the power he holds over me. Approaching the wire fence, I can feel the electric current coursing through it. There’s a faint buzzing in the air, like an angry swarm of bees. Any prisoner who attempts to escape from this prison will be electrocuted to death.

Within the vast, dimly lit expanse of the repurposed factory, now transformed into a makeshift prison, an air of palpable tension hung heavily. The two-story building was segmented into numerous private cells, each imprisoning individuals from four towns – a mix of Alphas, Betas, and Omegas ensnared during the operation. These cramped quarters, typically housing two or three captives, bore the weight of their fear and uncertainty. In one such cell, a family of four huddled together, their faces ghostly pale.

Do you honestly think they'll let Celena walk out of there scot-free? "Remember, the Fourth Military District is one of the most infamous prisons in the whole country. No prisoner has ever survived to tell the tale. At the very least, they were all tormented until they went out of their minds!" Cheryl heaved a sigh of relief upon hearing this. Her eyes were narrowed in malice, and she sneered. "That's great! I hope that little b*tch dies in there! If she does, everything she has, including the company and her mansion, shall become ours!"

"Sold." "He handed me a hotel key card outside the prison gates while my mother was dying in St. Clare's," Iris said, her voice cracking as she held his gaze. "He told me her surgery deposit would only be paid if I stayed in that room until dawn. Judge my morals after you meet Gordon Whitmore." Kieran stood still for a long beat, his dark eyes searching her face. He didn't let go of her wrist. "Room 1606," Iris whispered, her voice breaking on the numbers. "The suite at the end of the corridor on the top floor. You were drugged, and men were searching the hallway for you."

In the summer of 1980, after the college entrance exam, my friend Lucas Grant came out to my house and clapped me on the shoulder. "Evan Cole, you missed the cutoff by twenty points. College was never in the cards for you. Let it go." I believed him. The next day I went south for work. Over the next four years I learned a trade, repairing imported precision machinery, the kind nobody else would touch. Then Meridian Chemical Works, twenty minutes from the house I grew up in, hired me on as a specialist machinist. On my first morning I stopped in front of the honor board outside the administration building. Under "Outstanding Production Workers," I saw my own name. Evan Cole. But the

Dante didn't say anything to Cain, but kept watching him mess with his food while the other two laughed. "Is this the benefit of being a prison boss? Looks like I'll be taking that title from you, boy," Cain mocked, licking the sauce from his hand, dumping the messy plate back on the table. His repulsive act was seen by other inmates and fellow cops. But no one wanted to get involved. Even Meera got irritated by this and came up to me, grabbing my arm to get me to act. "Why aren't you doing anything? Stop that lunatic!" She said, looking back at Cain then at me.

The Club had used the chaos to pull me back in. Now I was being sent to their most exclusive and feared facility: The Pleasure Prison, a private island resort disguised as a high-security rehabilitation center for the ultra-wealthy. In reality, it was a luxurious prison where the Club’s most valuable toys were kept, trained, and broken under the guise of “therapy.” Two guards in black uniforms met me on the tarmac. They didn’t speak as they removed my coat, leaving me completely naked except for the collar. The cool island breeze brushed against my bare skin, making my nipples harden instantly.

The holding facility was not a prison; it was a sensory deprivation chamber designed for the dissolution of the soul. They didn't call it a jail. They called it The Processing Center, a concrete-walled monolith buried deep beneath the city's old financial district. When the guards threw me into the interrogation chair, the cold metal bit into my skin through my thin sweater.

He had answered coldly with no iota of feelings,now his back and they are about to get married,by the time he's done destroying him, Ethan would regret they ever met. He walked towards his room, picking his phone as he dialed a number. “What have you got “ He asked. “She was in prison,that's what the record is saying,I'm telling you this records weren't like this originally someone powerful enough messed up with this” The person at the other end said. “A prison out of nowhere,what's the name of the prison? “Downey county correctional facility” The voice answered. “The fuck is that” “It's owned by a private institution,you won't believe it”

Drunk on his flattery, Tawnie lost all clarity and completely forgot her duties as a doctor. In the end, she harmed both others and herself. Matthew was ultimately sentenced to ten years in prison. Having no valid medical license, he had no qualification to perform surgeries. His practice was illegal. I had never looked down on him, only merely stating facts. Tawnie was sentenced to three years in prison. Our marriage came to an end. After everything had finally settled, Tawnie asked to see me. I hadn’t initially agreed, but she insisted it concerned Bethany. Only then did I agree to see her one last time.