Page 55 of Caged In

Izz rushes his rinse job, trying to slosh the soap off as quickly as possible. To leave, to get out and away from the dangerous male beside him.

Why is the killer here? Why is he insisting on standing right next to Izz. Is this the killer’s usual place?

Does that mean Izz’s in the wrong? Is he going to be killed for showering in the killer’s space?

He hopes it’s not what his family finds on his death record.Killed for using a serial killer’s spot in the showers.Is not what he wants his life to come down to.

The killer is always in the cafeteria during the breakfast meal. So why is he here now? Is breakfast over? Or did Levis and the killer both skip it to come here?

Is it a coincidence?

This day has only justbegun and his mind is already filled with far too many questions, and far too fewanswers. He feels as if he’s going to self-combust due to the amount of pressure building in his head.

The killer shifts, and Izz dies—

Maybe he’s a taddramatic, but it sure feels like his heart gives out. Its beating is so fast it’s one long thud with no ending in sight.

He can see the killer’s gaze lock on him. His skin pricking with awareness at the killer’s sharp eyes running up and down his form—

The intensity of the killer’s inspection is constricting Izz’s throat. His nervous system firing up and running rampant tosuch a degree it manifests into a physical reaction in his body. A sheen of sweat trickling over every orifice, noticeable even under the shower’s warm spray. The water stinging his sensitive skin, almost as if the killer’s eyes are tenderising his flesh and making it hypersensitive. Increasing his awareness to how utterly naked he is. He’d be self-conscious if he wasn’t so terrified.

Izz can’t hold his tongue a second longer. Letting his unease escape in a torrent of scrambled words, “I’m n-not interested in d-doing anything with y-you.”

The killer’s fixation remains on Izz. No apology for the obvious ogling he’s doing. No explanation. Nothing but silence.

Izz tacks on nervously, “I don’t w-want it, I don’t want you to t-touch m-me,” he stutters, showing this dangerous male how panicked he is. His inner prey animal screaming at him for revealing his weak and helpless state.

The killer smiles softly—a soft, warm, friendly, smile. StunningIzz in its unexpectedness. He was fully prepared to have the killer let out a mocking laugh and smirk at him before slitting his throat. He did not expect a warm smile. This soft expression, the closest Izz has seen the male come to a smile—not that he has been constantly studying the other. Nope. Of course not. All those times he sat in the cafeteria facing the corner where the killer sat, they were all coincidences—

You lie to yourself too much.

“Relax,” the killer’s deeply resonant voice rumbles over the sounds of the shower’s spray, echoing off the surfaces around them, “I’ve done a lot of . . . questionable things . . . but I’ve never raped anyone, and I don’t intend to change.”

Izz’s, in equal parts, shocked the killer respects his wishes and astounded the killers being genuinely nice.

No one else in this cage has done so, not without underlying intentions. And he isn’t including Reni or Zidie. He is thinkingof the other inmates in this Hell-hole. They have demanded and taken even when Izz says no—

Is the killer being truthful? Or is it all lies, to lull him into a false sense of security, before striking? Would he find himself bleeding out in some forgotten back room of the prison?

Izz’s aware he’s staring at the killer, with round wide eyes. But he can’t stophimself. He’s too stunned to move. To react. To think of anything to say . . .

His mind searching desperately for something to snap him out of his frozen state. He finds himself drawn to how the killer washes, like a normal person. But what did he expect? For a serial killer to wash themselves theserial killer way?

Several more moments of Izz frozen under the water’s embrace pass, his flesh starting to prune. He’s been under the water for far too long.

The killer breaks the silence, without looking over at Izz. “You can enjoy your gifts. You don’t have to keep hoarding them. No strings attached.”

Wait? What?—

The killer hums softly, rotatingto face Izz, giving him a full view of his front, “I find you . . . intriguing. I enjoy giving you things even if I get nothing in return.”

Izz has to force his eyes away from the killer’s body and look the male in the eyes—those same black irisesflecked with golden browns, intensely watching, waiting.

“That—” Izz clears his throat. “T-those were from you . . .”

He’s not sure which is worse. Levis—who got handsy-feely into Izz’s personal space without consent. Or this serial killer inmate who’s murdered hundreds of people—according to Reni.

“Who else would they be from,” the killer’s eyes bore into Izz, a question without it being a question, with the expectation of an answer.

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