Page 4

Chapter two

Nadia

2 years ago - 25 years old

“ C ongratulations, Nadi!” Wren screamed from the stands.

I have just received my guard card and completed the basic training program for correctional officers in Indiana. It was something I decided to do on a whim and became really interested in being an officer. My dad would regularly comment on how the medical field and law enforcement would always have jobs available. So, here I am, low and behold, he was fucking absent. Shocker.

After working the morning shift at the post office and the night shift for a local trash pick-up service, I’ve had enough. My first job was at the local diner and not any better, it was grueling work. Boring. Dirty. A dead end.

During a night filled with tears, feeling sorry for myself and hating my life, I came across a posting for basic officer training and applied. When I woke up the next morning, I had an acceptance email.

Stunned doesn’t begin to explain how I felt.

I didn’t think an acceptance would have come so quickly, but I knew I had pretty good grades when I graduated, and I fit the diversity hiring requirements. I shouldn’t have been too surprised, but I was.

Here I am now, finishing up the last ten minutes of my mini-graduation. Ready to start applying for positions and to get the fuck out of Hazelwood. Away from my shitty dad, away from the white trash life most of us lived, and the bad memories that lingered just outside of my door.

“Bitch, look at you in that uniform. So fresh and so clean! If this job falls through, you could do a stripper-gram service,” Ivy crooned while grabbing hold of me and spinning me around.

“Remember that time we got in a fight in eighth grade and I blacked both of your eyes?”

“How could I forget? That’s when I learned how to contour like a pro.” Ivy grinned.

“I’m about to do it again.”

“Easy, easy!” Oliver chuckled, joining us.

“Oh, shut up, Oliver, she doesn’t mean it.”

“I don’t?” I replied with a playful smirk.

I was the rebel of the bunch, no doubt about it. I may have passed high school with flying colors and stayed out of trouble with the law, but people knew not to fuck with me. I was the one always ready to fight and stand up for someone else. The one with bloodied lips and black eyes from time to time. Sitting in the principal’s office, begging for him to not call my dad.

I couldn’t help but reminisce back to the day I had just mentioned, the day I beat Ivy’s ass. We were arguing over something so trivial, now that I think about it. It wasn’t boys, since we had drastically different tastes. She liked the well put together men, suits, ties, the whole shebang. I liked them rough, unkept, and wild.

You’ll never guess, but our disagreement was over a movie. We were so damn heated over the Wrath of the Titans remake. I thought the original couldn’t be beat and she had some crush on Sam Worthington. Needless to say, we came to blows and I ended up in the office with the town creep.

The memories of begging my principal caused me to shudder more times than I would prefer to count, to be honest. I… well… Principal Trenton made sure I found a way to encourage him to not call my dad. I’ve relived those nightmares one too many times with my therapist, Elaine, and she tells me I’m not the one to blame. Doesn’t she know that victims don’t feel that way?

Stupid bitch.

I knew it was wrong, Trenton knew it was wrong, but no one in Hazelwood cares about girls who are sexually assaulted. You see all sorts of reports and stories online, but being a victim myself, I know people don’t really care.

They look at you with disdain, throw around snide remarks, and relentless victim blaming. How could a 15-year-old-girl getting throat fucked by her principal be at fault? There were times I choked so hard that I vomited in his trashcan, struggling to catch my breath. Another time he ripped one of my tonsils and I started coughing up blood. The nurse wanted to call the ambulance, thinking I was injured in P.E., but luckily, I talked her down.

I was a child, one with a slight violent streak that only seemed to increase as I got older. Which was how Trenton found out how much I was over being his little fuck toy.

Not many people know this, but the average human bite is around 160-psi and it only takes 100-psi to bite through the soft tissues of a penis. The last bit of it though, you may have to saw your teeth until the incisors finish it off and the floppy thing falls out of your mouth.

Hard lesson learned for Mr. Trenton, I’m sure his wife was upset. Not.

Anyway.

Ivy was right, but I’m not going to tell her that. I looked good, I felt good. Though the past seven years had really dampened my attitude, I just knew things were going to get better from here.

At least.. that’s what my therapist and I thought.

“Congratulations on making it this far. You have graduated from basic guard training and are now ready to move into the next level which will prepare you for working in high-stress and intense situations such as governmental bodyguards, bounty hunting, or correctional officer positions.”

I have prepared for this day for months.

Thinking to myself as our new defense tactics and weapons training instructor paced from side to side in front of me and the other eight officers who stood here at the ready.

Mini militaristic group of individuals we were. Almost as if we were preparing for war, which I suppose a few of us were. Some of us may not make it a year before giving up, others might not live to tell our families of our accomplishments.

I still had several levels of training to complete before I could even think about applying to open positions. Once this part was over, and I obtained my licenses, I could do the damn thing and find a job that didn’t force me back to fucking Hazelwood.

“This week and next week we will be reviewing, practicing, and testing defense tactics that will not only keep your ward alive, but you as well,” instructor Wolfe announced.

We all grunted or nodded in acceptance before he split us up into groups, ensuring there was a disadvantage between each of us. It was daunting, but at the same time, necessary. I didn’t know what kind of people I would encounter in a correctional facility so it was better to be prepared than not. I may be on the taller side for a woman, at five foot nine, but I know there are bigger and badder people out there than me.

I was placed with Hank. He’s a softie but don’t let that fool you. The Viking-looking fucker could flick me in the head and make it fall off my shoulders. The size difference was striking, and if I’m going to be honest, so damn hot. I could get behind it if he didn’t remind me of a young version of Ivys’ dad; he is going to ruin some girl someday, and I love that for her.

“Ready to do this thing, baby cakes?” Hank asked.

We bumped knuckles, smiling to one another, then turned to listen to Wolfe. Ready for instruction and to get my ass handed to me. I was good at physical altercation, and my scores were up there close to Hanks, which is likely the real reason Wolfe paired us together. We get nothing out of training if there isn’t some sort of challenge or competition, and grappling with a giant is rewarding when he loses.

Hank could stomp a mud hole in someone, and I’d have my arms wrapped around them in a chokehold in the matter of seconds. If we weren’t going in completely different directions, we would make a great partnership.

After weeks of defense preparation, Wolfe ushered us into weapons and firearm training. I fucking loved firearm coaching. The tight, yet relaxed, hold of my hand squeezing around the grip of a .40 caliber- the recoil that shook my upper body, it did things. It set off little zaps of power that I thirsted for, gave me an edge in this chaotic life.

While I had not intended on becoming so enthralled with weapons training, having this new found power and being able to wield it, when necessary, made my head a little too big sometimes. My silhouette targets were peppered with bullet holes. Practiced clusters existing in the chest, while we were also taught to incapacitate a target by hitting the extremities. Therefore, my targets had groupings at both shoulders and where the hips would have been. It took me hours and hours of practicing, but I got better with time and eventually aced my shooting requirements.

We had to pass several rounds of testing, in both hand-held weapons and firearms, before we could be released from training. Those who had a hard time doing either were held back and were not allowed to turn in the state documentation needed to move out of controlled environments.

I couldn’t manage a knife to save my life, which negatively effected my ability to wield a baton too, something I knew correctional officers utilized more often than not. This hiccup kept me back a week, but eventually, I finished and was able to have a little bit of time to myself before the real work began. The work that would prove whether or not I could make it in this career field and show my worthless father that I would be something more than he ever thought I could be.

Three weeks after I finished training, I interviewed at several locations, but when I got the call for Darkwater, I was speechless. The Human Resource office was willing to pull me in as the minority-hire though DWCI a max-security prison. The state government has been harping on law enforcement lately, stating that the lack of women and minorities was leading to skewed representation. What better way to put a Band-aid on the issue than hiring students right out of training.

When I showed up to the front gates for my interview, having to wait outside the old stone face of the facility, I almost thought I was biting off more than I could chew. The interview process was dull, intimidating, and felt more like signing up for a colonoscopy than trying to land a job. Yet, by the end of my interview, they decided to give me a conditional hire as long as I went under their intense pre-hire process which seemed like a pretty standard thing.

Following a background check, mental and physical evaluations, drug testing, and a polygraph, I got my first date of employment. Is there irony in it being the date my mom dipped out and left me with my dad? I suppose not.

I am, officially, a Correctional Officer at Darkwater Correctional Institute. Well, I will be when I start in a few days, April 18th.

When I got home from all the fun and grueling pre-hire stuff, I opened my laptop, and sitting at the top of my email was my acceptance email. I stared at it for what felt like hours until the idea truly settled in.

I did it. I am leaving Hazelwood and never coming back.

My first day, oddly enough, was the most laid-back day since my hiring.

I was given my uniform, my locker, trained, and went home. My training continued for six months until my probationary period ran out. Then I got my cell block assignment, block ‘C.’ The prison used to split the inmates up depending on their convictions, but as spaces emptied from death or dismissal, the Warden started plugging new prisoners into empty cells wherever they fit.

Now, everyone was blended together. Murderers with rapists, white collar criminals with terrorists, traffickers next to convicted police officers.

Darkwater is absolute mayhem, and I love it.

Nadia Present Day

Sirens are wailing to the point it’s giving me a damn headache, red and white lights flashing in the corridors of cell block ‘C.’ Sounds of guard boots slapping on the concrete floors echoed as we all ran toward a cell that had smoke billowing out of it.

“Jesus!” Officer Clark grunted when we skid to a stop outside the glowing cell.

Heat poured out of the hold that was, quite literally, ablaze. Excruciating screams accompanying the roaring flames and the rancid smell of burning flesh.

I stared, my mind quickly disassociating from the horror happening before me. This place is a black hole.

You come in, you don’t get out.

I can’t believe I was genuinely excited two years ago, to come and work for a shit hole like DWCI. What a fool I was. I am too far into the trenches now to back out, so I learned how to turn off my emotions and let the shock value roll off my back.

Darkwater Correctional Institute; a maximum-security prison where the worst came to serve until the end of their lives. Apparently, today was execution day for the man that was locked in his cell, shrieking from the pain of being burned alive.

A few other guards ran up with fire extinguishers as the pained sounds began to cease.

Death’s coming.

The extra guards deployed the contents of the fire extinguishers, clouding the cell block, and blotting out the light from the flames, snuffing them thoroughly. We stood there for a moment, staring into the blackened, flame licked cell, waiting to see what was going to happen… if that inmate was still alive. Though we knew he wasn’t, he couldn’t be. The smoke inhalation was enough to end his life, never mind the fire.

“Lock the block down, get the medic team in here, and get this shit cleaned up,” Clark grumbled out with an exasperated breath. He was an old fuck who reminded me of my dad half the time with the way he spoke to people and treated some of the inmates. He didn’t give a damn about them, not that they cared about us either. He was just mad at life, mad he was here, which I could understand, but he was even more upset over the fact he had to write a report for this incident. I sympathized with him; reports were the most mundane and boring part of this whole job. At least he could be grateful that he was getting to go back to the office and not deal with other people.

“What in God’s name happened!?”

Fuck, I know that voice.

Warden Durden.

Turning slightly, I peered over my left shoulder at the frumpy man as he rushed down the hall. It’s funny seeing him here, Farquaad-looking ass.

“Thought he was in fuckin’ New York?” I asked, leaning over to Officer Zurita.

“That’s his clone, Pierce,” he replied with a sarcastic eye roll. If I wasn’t a guard, and with the shit I have seen over the past three years, I’d pluck those mud-colored eyeballs right out of their goddamn sockets. He knew what the hell I was asking, I don’t know why he always tried to push my buttons. We trained together for the first few months I came to DCI, and he got tired of me real fast. You and everyone else, buddy.

“He got back this morning. The missus was spotted out and about, and he flew off the handle,” Zurita added. “You know how he is. Flaunt his trophy wife around, but if she’s anywhere without him, he thinks she’s fucking someone else.”

“Just peachy,” I replied.

Straightening up as Warden Durden stomped up to the rest of us, someone tossed me a roll of ‘crime scene’ tape so I could begin roping the area off. I was grateful for the task that way Durden wouldn’t try to interrogate me instead of Clark. I was off in a different area of the prison, nowhere near my post, but he didn’t need to know that.

“Clark! If you don’t open your mouth and start explaining what the hell happened in my prison, I’m going to throw you in a cell with one of the inmates in ‘B’ block,” Durden shouted.

“Sir,” Clark grunted, quickly rattling off what we discovered and the details as the both of them walked off.

I busied myself with getting the area secure while waiting for the medics to come up from the basement. This was inmate Brooks’ cell. Inmate #776924. A chomo. He won’t be missed, and I am surprised he had lived this long, to be honest. Chomos don’t make it very long in Darkwater. As you can see, they are murdered quickly, and usually in a way that sends one hell of a message. They are not welcome here, they are so low on the food chain that they will not be awarded the pleasure of breathing very long.

Between us, he deserved it. After living the life I did, I would do the same thing as an inmate— examine, control, execute.

You won’t hear me telling anyone that however. I’d get my badge taken and Internal Affairs would descend upon me. IA never finds anything incriminating, since the system is crooked as fuck, but they’re still a hassle to deal with.

I remember jumping through so many hoops just to make it to where I am at now. School, guard training, defense tactics, firearm training, weapons training, background checks, mental evaluations… fuck, the list is exhaustive.

All I knew was that staying off the IA’s radar was the best thing to do. When I gave in and started fucking with the inmates, like the others have, I needed to keep it on the hush-hush. Which is how it was so easy to play with Inmate #524997, Kace Patton. Pretty boy who was brought up in one of your normal, cookie-cutter, neighborhoods. Missing daddy but still had enough of daddy's money laying around that mommy could spoil and baby the poor thing when he was sent to Darkwater. He was simply in the wrong place, at the wrong time, and killed some poor girl.

Kace, Inmate Patton, is my current obsession. Sometimes his aloofness reminds me of Rey. Dammit, I miss him. But other than that, it took one run in with Kace for me to lock onto my target.

Now?

He’s mine.

Speaking of, I need to get back to him. I left him restrained in his cell earlier while his cellie was off doing god knows what. I’m sure he is plenty angry at me today.

The thought of him sitting there, handcuffed to his bed, fuming, made me smile. We have a pretty rocky thing going on, but it definitely passes the time.

Let me finish roping off this murder, pretty boy, I’m coming.