Page 97 of All In

Unless they’re exceptionally mentally weak, they’ll need time to stew in the misery before they’re ready to speak. Questioning them before then would be a waste of time for both of us.

And I have no time to spare at the moment. My omega is inside, likely feeling as though her world is falling apart all over again.

I grab two syringes and a vial of adrenaline.

Combining hallucinogenics and uppers certainly does have quite the effect on the human mind.

“Excuse me,” I say to Locke, who studies his cousin slumped against the wall.

He steps back. “Need any assistance?”

“No, but you can grab one of the buckets in the cabinets to the left of the door. They’re under the bottom set.”

He heads off, and I handle Braxton. He begins to rouse and attempts to fall forward. The chain linked to the collar around his neck keeps him from face-planting into the concrete floor.

I step over the drain in the floor for bay one and aim for number three, closing the door to Braxton’s cell without bothering to lock it.

Spots three and four share a prison toilet that’s located between the two.

Number five is an upgrade from either of those two, as it has an actual half wall blocking its toilet from view. It’s a reward system with my guests hoping to behave well enough that they earn their way to number five. Likewise, with bad behavior, they can move closer to number one.

I grab the cell door to number three and step inside. William is shackled by his left wrist and ankle. If he was in four, it would be his right side, so he could access the toilet. I gain no joy in forcing some of my inhabitants to use buckets, but it’s another layer of mental anguish that helps to break them.

“The bucket is for Braxton, I’m guessing?” Locke asks with a cheerful lilt to his tone.

“Yes,” I agree, preparing to give Will his first injection.

“Do you buy new buckets for each prisoner?” Locke asks.

“I’m certainly not going to clean and reuse them.” I actually shudder at the thought and move to the second vial. Once that’s handled, I rip the bag off Will’s head and give him a gentle kick in the thigh.

He begins to stir, and I leave his cell.

I return the vials to the medicine cabinet and toss the needles in the sharps container.

After grabbing the keys to lock their cells, I move toward Braxton’s first.

“Good afternoon. You’ve been given a bucket for your waste. I suggest you use it. You won’t be pleased with the cleanup process if you fail to comply.” I finish locking his door and move to Will’s. “You have access to the toilet to your left. I also recommend using it. You have twelve hours to parcel out what you’ve done to earn your place here. Be honest with yourself about your sins and things will go more smoothly for you. I’ll be back soon.” I step back from Will’s door and give it a solid shake before glancing over my shoulder at Locke. “Shall we go?”

He’s got his long hair tied up in a bun that makes him seem slightly more ridiculous than he did upon our first meeting. “That was kinda underwhelming.”

“It’s a process,” I say, heading to the surround sound.

The settings are pre-saved in playlists, from optimal misery to simply high frequencies that tend to stress the nervous system.

This is a long-game tactic.

I select one that alternates between heavy metal and classic ballads from the 1920s. It’s genuinely awful to listen to for any prolonged period.

Locke jolts as the screaming metal starts through the speakers. “Jesus Christ,” he mutters, making a break for the stairs.

I watch him carefully as I follow him out.

There’s something about him that sets off my radar; I’m just unsure what it is or what my instincts are trying to tell me.

It seems like, maybe, he’s a bit like me and just better at masking than I am.

Experience tells me that being a sociopath doesn’t necessarily mean that he’s incapable of having morals and even basic emotions. There’s no doubt in my mind that I experience a wide range of emotions, although mine tend to bounce between intrigue and anger.

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