Prison Bitch
10.
Cashel was a man of means and had been Riley's ride or die for as long as either of them could remember. But for the first time in forever, Riley had to fight off doubt. There was no way Cashel wouldn't come through. He always did. However, only the thought of letting Dylan in that psychopath's hands for yet another moment, and another after that, was enough to drive him mad.
What did Dylan think about him now? Probably that Riley was some shmuck, who couldn't even protect his bitch. Nah, Dylan was not like that. But he would think that he had been abandoned at the mercy of that fucker, and he probably feared for his fucking life.
That was the fucking problem. Riley rested his head against the door to cool it. His blood ran hot everywhere. Any moment that passed, that psychopath could just kill Dylan, and no one would fucking care.
Except for him, Riley O'Connor. Cobra. These fucking bitches needed to learn the name. Guys like Dylan, who needed to put their asses up to survive, weren't the real bitches. Bitches were those who thought themselves better than the alpha wolf in a place like that.
The warden, the stupid guards, who thought him fallen out of favor, didn't know half the truth about him. They looked at him and saw a successful businessman, a shady one, but still someone soft, carved from a world that lay outside, with its rules and easy life.
No one knew how he truly came to his fortune. No one, except Cashel, who had come with him once they shed their old lives and founded new ones. For the outside world, Cashel was a lawyer, a nose in the books kind of fellow. They had no idea what he could do. As for Riley, they saw the affable club owner, someone who played dirty only with the books, and never for real with people.
How wrong they were. All for the better, because Riley didn't care about giving up on his well-earned life for their sake. They had to know he was called Cobra. They must have wondered about it. But, in this new world, only he and Cashel knew why the nickname fit him like a glove.
The knock on his door pulled him out of his dark thoughts. He gestured with his chin for Sean to enter.
"Boss," his lieutenant started and then, pursed his lips.
"What do you have to tell me?" Riley preferred taking the bull by the horns.
"The head of the Niners gave Dylan to that fucker," Sean said. "Dagger is a fucking sadist. He's here for mutilating some chicks. But rumor on the street has it that they only found the girls that survived. The dead ones, they haven't yet."
"Either way, he's not here for murder," Riley concluded. "Still, why the fuck is he in gen pop? A guy like that belongs with a tougher crowd."
Sean shrugged. "He's kind of new here. A transfer."
Riley didn't believe in fortune tellers and speakers to the dead, and he didn't believe in coincidence, either. "Someone important must have put his signature on that piece of toilet paper," he concluded out loud.
Again, his lieutenant's face twisted into a deep frown. "You mean, someone who's after your money, right, boss?"
"You catch on quickly. I'm going to be straight with you here, Sean. I'm telling it now like it is. And you'll go and take the message to the boys, too." Riley paused for a moment, to give the other time to think. He preferred to know his allies before anything else. "I'm the proverbial hot potato right now. You feel the need to drop me, no problem. My door is open."
"What? No way, boss." Sean punched himself in the chest. "We're the fucking Greenies. The green in our veins doesn't lie. We're with you, no matter what."
Riley moved closer and towered over Sean. "You boys are here for petty crimes. You'll be out in no time. Are you really sure you want to risk your hide instead of playing safe?"
Sean didn't back down and looked him square in the eyes. "We're nothing out there, boss. We go out, we'll be back in. In no time. That's how it is for the likes of us. The Greenies, this gang, is what we have."
Sean was a good man. Riley patted him on the shoulders, hard, to test his resolve one more time. "Then here's my promise. All who remain by my side, everyone, you hear me, you can all count on me. There's going to be war."
"The fucking block stinks with it," Sean agreed.
"So, here's the deal. Survive this shit, get out, and then come find me. I'm a generous man. Neither of you will have to go back to stealing cars or whatever you're in here for. Your lives will change."
Sean's face lit up. "Awesome, boss. Now, about this war. The boys are getting ready. They're on the lookout. But we don't know who's going to be Sparky."
"Sparky?" Riley asked.
"Yeah, you know, the guy who's going to throw the first punch, get the party started."
"It cannot be from our side," Riley warned. "But you don't worry about Sparky. We'll have our party, and it's going to start soon. You just make sure you're ready."
Sean nodded. He wasn't the kind to run his mouth more than necessary, and Riley liked that about him.
"Tell me more about this Dagger."
"He plays a long time with his victims," Sean began. "Some of those girls that were rescued from his den had been there for like half a year. All damn pretty girls," he added and shook his head. "Messing up their faces, cutting deeper every time. Not like either of us is here for being some fucking choir boys, but that shit, it's just fucked up. Why would you do that to someone? You have a beef with some fellow, you settle it. But to torture someone, and so pretty, on top of all that. Too bad they didn't find the girls he killed. They should fucking lock him up, alone in a cell, and throw away the key."
"He'll get what's due," Riley assured him. "Now, you go back to the boys, and tell them what I told you."
"Sure thing, boss. We're going to save Dylan, right?"
Riley nodded shortly. "You can bet." He let a wolfish grin creep up his lips. "And that Dagger individual won't get to torture another pretty girl in his fucking life."
***
Dylan kept to a corner of the bed, making himself small, trying not to get his cellmate's attention more than necessary. Dagger was using the small table to arrange some chess pieces, although he didn't have a board.
His wound was itchy and it hurt when touched. He had tried to go to the infirmary, but his new owner hadn't allowed it, so there he was.
The fear he had experienced the night before continued to fester inside him. The man had said that he would cut him every three days. It was only the fear that kept him from acting up, fear that Dagger would consider other new torture in the meantime.
At least, it didn't look like Dagger wanted to fuck him again. Dylan didn't know why that thing in particular made him recoil even more than the promise of being cutting dangling over his head.
Riley had given him such a cold stare that morning. He must have known. He must have heard about how Dylan got fucked like a little bitch, and now he didn't want him anymore. And then, there was that cut along his cheek that would turn ugly for not being cared for properly. Dagger had assured him that his saliva was the best sanitizer. Dylan doubted it, although the man looked like a stickler for cleanliness. That morning, he had witnessed him shaving himself with unhurried meticulous moves. The entire cell looked like one could eat from the floor, which said a lot about the man's character.
