Page 43 of Caged In

Perfect? Seriously? That’s your reply? Moron.

He wanders over to the end of the food bar to collect the cookies and drink. He picks out three chocolate chip cookies for the killer, because why not? No one’s going to say anything. And he’s going to be running off straight after he finishes serving, so he’s not going to be needing any with his meal. A meal he won’t be having, not when it potentially risks him running into Levis.

The killer nods at Izz, before prowling off to the far back corner to consume the meal. Izz has to force his eyes away or he’ll be frozen in place, gawking at the killer instead of continuing to serve meals.

He accepts the killer’s nod as a thank you. And the lack of a knife in his face, as a sign he had done well with his newly acquired serving skills.

Struggling to suppress a grin, Izz driftsback to the queue once more, floating over to serve the next person. A cloud of content cushioning his steps.

All things considered, he thinks that interaction went pretty smoothly—

Izz scoffs. Mentally scolding himself for trying to act cool and impress the male. He is a serial killer, for Christ’s sake.

Why does he become starry-eyed around the dangerous mohawked inmate?

~~~

Serving is finishing, the inmates already dispersing from the cafeteria to go off and do their prison life things. He is handing over a bottle of apple juice to his last ‘customer’, the last two in line are being taken care of by other servers.

Finished with the tedious task of serving, Izz collects two empty trays and lugs them back into the kitchen for whichever inmate is in charge of washing up today. He can’t see their face as they’re already bent over scrubbing away at one of the giant cooking pots, leaning bodily inside to reach the bottom. Not that he would have known who it is anyway. He doesn’t know anyone’s name in here except for Levis. He doesn’t want to learn any of their names, and he sure as hell doesn’t want to be anywhere near the one he does know.

Clanking the trays down, he back peddles through the kitchen to ensure he doesn’t run into Levis. The one inmate in here he truly wants to avoid. The rest sat back and didn’t help him, but at least they don’t grab at him.

He groanswhen the inmate he detests steps out from behind one of the cooking benches. Effectively blocking Izz’s path to the exit.

Life is never simple, not in this cage.

The only inmates loitering within the kitchen are the pot scrubber in the back and the two out front finishing serving, therest are long gone. The cafeteria is near empty, not that any of those inmates can see all the way back here.

Izz’s alone against the creep who thinks he’s entitled to feel people up without permission. All based on a delusion that someone being nice to you means they want you to touch them. That giving the person extra food in meals means you have the right to touch them.

What is wrong with this man—

Wait . . .

Extra food . . .

What was it Levis said . . .‘after all I’ve done for you. I think it’s time you start reciprocating’.

‘All I’ve done’.

All he’s done.

No.

No no no. The food. The food left in his cell. Was it Levis’s doing? The mattress too?

It has to be. And like a fool, Izz had taken it, eaten it, slept on it. He can’t pay back the money. He hadn’t asked for it. And he wouldn’t have been starving if he’d been able to eat the prison meals like everyone else. And not have a creepin his face wanting—no, demanding, Izz pay everything back.

What else could it mean? It has to be that. Levis can’t possibly only be referring to the little bit of extra food at mealtimes. Levis can’t be so deluded as to think giving an inmate a bit of extra food entitled him to sexual favours?

Then again, you shouldn’t think a mattress and snacks left in a cell entitles you to whatever you want from a person either. If you voluntarily give someone a gift, you aren’t entitled to receive whatever you want as compensation.

And to think, Izz used to believe Levis was nice. How naive he’d been . . .

“You thought about my offer?” Levis grins, squishinginto Izz’s personal space.

“No. Thank you. I’m fine.” Izz sidesteps in an attempt toweavepast the kitchen boss—

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