Chapter 4
The lights dim with a soft click that echoes down the corridor like someone turning off the world. Darkness creeps in slow, thick, swallowing the edges of my cell first. The only light left is a weak orange glow from the emergency strip along the floor. It paints everything in sick, bloody shades. I stand at the bars for a moment longer, letting my eyes adjust. Lena's cell is already dark. She's curled on her bunk, back to me, breathing steady. Asleep or pretending. Doesn't matter. Tonight I'm not here for conversation.
I walk the three steps to my bunk and sit. The mattress sinks under me like a tired sigh. I pull my knees up, wrap my arms around them, and lean my head back against the cold wall. The jumpsuit feels rougher in the dark. Every seam scratches. I don't care. I close my eyes and let the prison sounds fill the space around me. Distant shouts. A cough that won't stop. Metal creaking somewhere deep in the walls. And underneath it all, the low hum of men. Hundreds of them. Breathing. Waiting. Wanting.
I open my eyes again. The darkness isn't empty. It's full of faces I can still see perfectly. The scarred one—Reaper. His eyes had been black, bottomless, like staring into oil. When he looked at me in the yard, it wasn't lust alone. It was ownership. Like he'd already decided my skin belonged under his hands. Then Prince. That smirk. That lazy tilt of his head. He'd winked like we shared a secret joke, like he knew I'd come here just for him to play with. And Throne. God, Throne. He hadn't moved a muscle, but his stare had weight. Heavy. Unmoving. The kind that pins you down without touching you.
Three different kinds of danger. Three different kinds of hunger. And all three had locked on me at the same second, like wolves catching the same scent on the wind. My heart beats faster just thinking about it. Not fear. Heat. A slow, spreading warmth that starts low in my belly and climbs. I press my thighs together. The friction sends a small spark up my spine.
I let my hand drift down. Slow. No rush. The jumpsuit zipper is cold against my fingers. I tug it lower, just enough. Cool air kisses the skin between my breasts. I trace the line of my collarbone, then lower, cupping myself lightly through the rough fabric. My breath catches. It's quiet, but in this silence it sounds loud. I imagine it's not my hand. It's theirs. Reaper's rough palm, calloused from fights. Prince's clever fingers, teasing, promising. Throne's huge grip, gentle until it isn't. All of them. Together. Competing. Watching each other while they touch me.
My other hand slides between my legs. I don't push the jumpsuit down. I don't need to. The pressure through the fabric is enough. I rock against my palm, slow circles, eyes still open in the dark. I picture their faces again. The way Reaper's jaw would tighten if he saw this. The way Prince would laugh, low and wicked, and whisper something filthy in my ear. The way Throne would just watch, silent, until he couldn't stand it anymore and stepped forward to take what the others only dreamed of.
A soft sound escapes my throat. I bite my lip to keep it quiet. But the heat keeps building. Sharp. Sweet. Dangerous. I move faster, hips lifting just a little off the bunk. The mattress creaks. I don't stop. I want this. I need this. The first real taste of power in this place isn't the guards or the walls. It's this—knowing that right now, somewhere out there in the dark, those three men are probably thinking about me too. Hard. Aching. Imagining exactly what I'm doing.
My back arches. My breath comes in short gasps. The pleasure hits fast, bright, like a match struck in the black. I ride it out, thighs trembling, fingers pressed hard. When it fades, I'm left panting, skin damp under the jumpsuit, heart slamming against my ribs.
I zip up slowly. Smooth my hair back with shaky hands. Then I smile into the darkness. Wide. Wicked. Satisfied.
Because this isn't just release.
This is planning.
This is rehearsal.
Tomorrow I start collecting what's already mine.
And when I do,
they won't just want me.
They'll need me.
All of them.
Every single dangerous inch.