Page 21

Chapter Twenty

Ronan

I sat on the cold bench in my cell, the stone walls pressing in on me like they were closing down around my soul. My hands were clenched into fists, but I didn’t even notice. I couldn’t focus on anything in this godforsaken place except the endless pull of my thoughts. And right now, they were all on him…Elias. Like they always were. I should be thinking of a way to get out of this fucking hell hole.

I stared through the small window, the faint light from the sky outside doing little to soften the gray walls around me. I couldn’t feel the warmth of the sun, just the cold of the prison that was now my reality. But my mind wasn’t here, not really. It was with him.

Elias had somehow become my anchor. His voice still whispered through my mind, calm and steady, a stark contrast to the storm I felt inside. He’d always been so kind, even when I didn’t deserve it.

He was the only one to tell me that the snake Jack slithered his way out of these bars, just as sure as the devil himself would. A wicked tongue that spun lies sweet as Eden’s fucking apple. Elias had shown me grace, and now that I was here, locked away for something I couldn’t undo, his presence felt even more unreachable.

I closed my eyes, and I could still see the smirk on my stepfather’s face. I still hear his words echoing in my ears. I couldn’t stand it, not anymore. I couldn’t stand watching Miranda get knocked around yet again. He broke her sobriety. Ended years of patience, strength, and painstakingly critical improvement. It burned my soul like a tear in the fabric, knowing that she still wouldn’t leave him if she woke up. I couldn’t handle her forgiveness for him. So, I did something I never thought I would in all those years, shackled with his drunk slurs of hate and abuse. I hit him. Hard. Too hard. With a fucking chair. It didn’t matter that I was angry or trying to protect her or Elias from his cruelty. Now, I was stuck behind these walls and being painted as ‘the man who put his own mother into critical care.’

The guilt gnawed at me.

I’d lost my temper, and now I was paying for his crime.

But what hurt more was that Elias was breaking his vows for me. It started with his attempts to lie to get me out of the cops’ hold, and it stretched to being in this place. He shouldn’t be visiting me here, tainting his robes with the foul energy of the lost souls here.

I could hear his words in my mind, his soft tone always bringing me peace. But it wasn’t enough. I needed him to be safe, to get the fuck out of here and stop playing this damn game we were always in—A rubber band that was pulled taut only to snap back to the beginning and start the process all over again.

I needed to know he could move on. I never should have come here, never should have whispered my sins to him in that confessional. It felt so long ago that I watched his hands go pale white on the wooden ledge, trying to resist me.

I turned my gaze back to the window, my chest tightening with the thought of him. How could I have let it all go so wrong? How could I have let this happen? How could I leave the love of my life to fend for himself with the coiled snake I provoked?

“Inmate!” the bulky guard barked. “Saint Clare, it’s time for cafe hours. Get up and place your hands against the wall.”

I jolted at the tone of the guard, not used to all the fucking screaming around this place. Sighing, I stood up and walked to the bare gray wall, placing my hands above my head. The officer walked inside, and the loud buzzing sound made me flinch. He ran his hands over my shoulders, sliding them down over my ass and between my thighs.

I stiffened, grimacing, when he kicked my legs apart. His meaty hands gripped my hair and yanked my head back.

“Oh, don’t even play, boy. I know you like it up there. You ain’t foolin’ anyone ‘round here.”

I swallowed my anger, and insults, trying to calm myself when he continued to grope my package and linger on my dick. It felt like the seconds ticked on forever until he locked my hands behind my back with the rusty metal cuffs.

“I know who I am and what I like. But do you, Officer?”

The cop smashed my head into the hard concrete of the wall and laughed when I fell down to the ground from the assault. My hands were cuffed behind my back, and I had no way of picking myself up. My forehead was busted, and blood began leaking into my eye. I ignored the sting and tried to readjust myself on the floor, but another cop reached down and yanked me to my feet.

“I suggest you keep that pretty mouth shut before someone else does,” he said, holding my chin, forcing me to look at his ugly mole-infested face. “We can be your friends here, or we can be your enemies. With your history and your little dance job, I recommend you keep us as friends.”

The threat rolled off my body and left chills, climbing their way back up to my neck. The meathead officers dragged me to the cafeteria and threw me forward while simultaneously unlocking my cuffs. Yet again, I fell to the ground, but this time, I was able to catch myself with my hands before I made an impact on the hard floor. The other inmates laughed, clapped, or ignored me completely.

The clang of trays and plastic cups filled the cafeteria when the snickering faded, echoing off the cold, sterile walls. I sat at one of the worn tables, keeping myself upright as best I could. A tray of lukewarm slop was set in front of me. I didn’t care about the food. It all tasted the same, anyway. What I cared about was all the eyes on me. I could feel them. They were there, judging, poking, and prodding.

“Hey, look at the fresh meat,” someone called from across the room.

I had only seen him a few times, but it was enough to know he was the loudmouth from the other side of the block. He’d been one of the first to latch onto my story when I arrived here. I didn’t know the moron’s name, but he was known as Ghost Hand.

I kept my head down, shoving a spoonful of tasteless mush into my mouth. Not that it mattered. The moment I set foot in this place, I became a target. It wasn’t just the crime that put me here. It was the story, too. The one everyone seemed to think they knew.

Ghost Hand sauntered over, grinning like a cat with a mouse in its mouth.

“You know, buddy boy, I heard you were a stripper before this. That right? Ya like doin’ little dances on poles, making a living off your scrawny ass body?”

He snickered to his friends, who joined in with exaggerated laughter.

I gritted my teeth but didn’t look up. I didn’t have the energy to snap back. Let them have their fun. Let them tear me down. It was what they did here. It was what I’d come to expect.

“Yeah, whore. I bet you were real good at it,” another voice chimed in. That was Bone Crusher, a guy whose idea of humor was insulting anyone he could. “You show ‘em all your moves? Show ‘em how to work your tight ass? Pretty sure I could use a private session myself.”

I took a deep breath, but it didn’t stop the flush of anger that spread across my chest. The teasing was nothing new. Hell, it was almost laughable at this point. The week I had been here was a laughable routine of this shit, but it still felt like a knife twisting in my gut every time they brought it up.

The truth?

I would only dance for Elias now.

Every night I spent on stage felt like I was losing another piece of myself. But it was the only way I could survive back then. Stripping wasn’t just a job but a means to an end. I never talked about it with anyone, not here, not anywhere. Yet somehow, these assholes had caught wind of it. If they found out I did tricks…

I forced a grin, the kind that didn’t reach my eyes.

“Yeah, real glamorous life,” I muttered, staring down at my tray. “Too bad it requires a fucking brain.”

Ghost Hand didn’t let up.

“Man, I bet you were one of those guys who thought he was hot shit, huh? Stripping for tips, getting ogled by old ladies and your own fucking kind.” His voice was laced with mockery, and the others around him laughed again, egging him on.

I wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction of a reaction. Instead, I pushed the tray away, stood up, and started walking toward the exit, the laughter following me like a shadow. I could feel their eyes on my back, but I didn’t care. They could think whatever they wanted. They didn’t know me.

They never would.

As I stepped out into the hallway, I pulled in a deep breath, trying to shake off the tightness in my chest. I had come to terms with this being my fucking life now. Sure, I didn’t like thinking about it, but it was my reality. Here, surrounded by men who hadn’t seen the worst of it, it was harder to keep that part of me buried. It was like they could smell weakness and were determined to exploit it.

I just had to keep moving forward. And ignored them.

It was all I could do.

The door to my cell slammed shut with a deafening clang, the sound echoing down the empty hall. I could still hear the mocking laughter from the cafeteria in my head, but I didn’t care to think about it anymore. I needed silence, and I needed to get away from all the eyes and the whispers.

My cellmate, however, had other plans.

“Hey, you hear that?” he said, his voice too loud and too chipper for my taste. “The guys in the cafeteria? Man, they were all over you today.”

I sighed, already knowing where this was going. “Yeah, I heard them, Vix.”

“Bet you could’ve given ‘em a show, huh? Shake that ass. Watch yourself, Ooo…!”

He snickered from the far corner of the cell, where he was pacing back and forth like he was trying to solve some invisible problem.

His name was Vixor, and he was…well, unpredictable. Most of the time, he just talked to me or himself, a stream of consciousness that never quite made sense. It wasn’t that he was dumb—far from it—but there was a certain instability in the way he processed the world.

He was harmless, usually, but that didn’t mean I liked being around him, especially not today.

“Vix, just—” I started, but he was already bouncing on the balls of his feet, moving in quick, erratic circles like he was about to explode by singing at the top of his lungs.

“Dancing on stage! Stripping!” He laughed louder now, throwing his arms out like he was the one being heckled. “That’s gotta be a crazy life, huh? Just you, a pole, and a crowd full of—” He paused dramatically. “Horny old men!”

I rolled my eyes, trying to ignore him. I wasn’t in the mood for his nonsense, but he was relentless.

“Bet you had a whole routine, huh? A little hip thrust, a little shimmy, maybe a twirl to get ‘em riled up?” Vix was getting louder, his grin widening as he closed the space between us.“Man, you must’ve had ‘em eating out of your hand. Or maybe just ‘slobbing your knob.’ Could’ve been a porn star. Wait, were you? Did you do that gigolo on low-low?”

“Vixor,” I said, quieter this time, trying to keep the edge from my voice. “Shut up. I’m not in the mood.”

He didn’t seem to hear me. His eyes were wide, as if he saw something I couldn’t see.

“You know what I would’ve done?” he said, completely ignoring the fact that I’d just told him to drop it. “I would’ve danced on top of the table. Hell, I would’ve climbed the bars and done a whole damn striptease right in front of ‘em!”

He threw himself dramatically onto his bed. His arms outstretched like he was awaiting a standing ovation while ripping off his tank.

I didn’t even bother looking at him. I just stared at the dingy concrete floor. “Yeah, I bet you would’ve.”

“You know…” he said, still lying on his bed but now with an odd, conspiratorial tone in his voice, “Sometimes I think we’re all just stripping, man. Not for money but for something else. We’re all whores. All slinging our dicks around for something. We’re all just peeling away the layers, bit by bit, exposing the shit that’s inside of us. That’s what this place does, you know? It makes you naked in ways you didn’t think you could be.”

I glanced over at him. Vix was lying there, his eyes a little too wide and his words a little too philosophical for my mood. His mind, it seemed, was always in a hundred different places, none of them fully grounded.

“Yeah,” I muttered. “I guess that’s one way of putting it. We’re all a bunch of whores.”

He propped himself up on his elbows, staring at me with an intensity that I didn’t expect, and it made me uncomfortable. “I bet you’re thinking about him, huh?”

The words hit me like a slap. For a second, my breath caught in my throat. My chest tightened.

“What?” I managed, my voice barely above a whisper.

“That priest guy. Elias, right?” Vix’s voice was oddly knowing, his smile creeping up at the edges like he was enjoying some private joke. “You’ve got it bad, don’t you? That’s why you’re so quiet all the time, huh? Because you’re thinking about him. Did you kiss him? Did y’all fuck in his fancy church? Man, I wish I could fuck a priest. But you’re just thinkin’ bout what it meant. What it could’ve been.”

I didn’t respond, my heart pounding in my chest. The fact that Vix, of all people, had picked up on that was unsettling.

How the hell did he know?

But his eyes weren’t malicious, just curious, like he was trying to figure me out in the most bizarre way. I was a puzzle that he couldn’t quite find all the pieces to just yet.

I leaned back against the wall, closing my eyes, trying to keep my emotions buried under layers of indifference.

“I’m not thinking about him,” I lied, my voice rough.

Vix just hummed, his gaze flickering over me like he could see right through the lie.

“That’s what you say,” he said softly. “But I can see it. You’re wearing your feelings like a jacket. A big ol’ priesty robe. It’s all over you, man. A priest don’t come visitin’ a criminal unless he cares about him.”

I didn’t have the energy to argue with him. Besides, Vix wasn’t wrong. But I couldn’t let him see how right he was. Not in here. Not with the whole world turned upside down, with everyone waiting for me to crack. An awful feeling crept up my spine, and I gasped.

“Do you get conjugals?” he said, almost frothing at the mouth.

If Vix, of all people, could see my feelings for Elias from my visitation visits…they all knew.

I stood up, walking toward the small metal sink in the corner of the cell. “Just drop it, Vix.”

Vix, to his credit, didn’t push further. He just watched me for a long moment before he let out a loud, fake yawn. “Alright, Dollar Doll. You’re the boss.”

I didn’t look back at him as I sat back down on my bed, pulling the thin blanket over my body. The hum of the prison outside felt louder now. The buzzing of the fluorescent lights and the muffled voices from down the hall were all blending together into a dull, relentless noise.

But even in the quiet of my cell, I couldn’t get away from the thoughts that were circling in my head—thoughts of Elias, of that kiss, of the club, and of the man I could never have. Thoughts that Vix somehow managed to bring to the surface, no matter how much I tried to bury them.

I just wanted to sleep. But even as I closed my eyes, I knew it wouldn’t be that easy.