Page 97 of Caged In

Izz washes up after relieving himself and walks over to the bunk, perching on its edge. He hates this feeling, like he’s letting Sin down. Not good enough. Not what Sin needs him to be.

Sin is facing the wall, broad back bare to Izz’s eyes—

Whoa, Sin has a pentagram tattoo behind his ear, Izz can’t believe he’s never noticed it before. Maybe because he’s always too busy staring at Sin’s hair? Or into his dark eyes . . .

He wants to touch, to run his hands over Sin’s smooth skin. He’s not sure he’s allowed, not confident in whatever it is they have between them. He would like to call it a relationship. But what does Sin call it?

In the end he keeps his hands to himself. Deciding to play it safe. Especially if he’s done something wrong and Sin is displeased with him.

“Why? I um. Did I . . . Did I turn you off me, ‘cause I stopped it?—” he rushes to add on to his own question, “—I mean I’d like to try again. It was just a lot all at once. But I—”

“I wasn’t with you for my own satisfaction.”

Wait . . . What?

“What? What do you mean—Oh. Can you like not . . .” Izz does a few vulgar hand movements to indicate cumming, even though Sin can’t see him.

Sin chuckles in the way he does, deep with little to no emotion in the sound. Rolling over to face Izz. His smile isactually warm. Well, warm for him. “I can’t ‘get off’ without certain aspects being met.”

“Like?” Izz’s curious to know. He wants to know everything there is to learn about Sin. All his likes and dislikes. His desires. Favourite colour. Everything.

Sin doesn’t answer. Rising to his full naked glory, drifting over to pee in the toilet. Izz stares without apology—not at him peeing, ‘cause that would be weird. But his eyes eat up the body on full display before him. All the tattoos, smooth skin, and scars here and there.

The killer’s triple six tattoos on both his wrists match exceptionally well with the whole Satanic vibe the male’s ink is portraying.

The black tattoo coating one side of his abdomen is a circular figure eight cross of a solid black design—Leviathan cross?—with animal skulls and barbed wire interwoven throughout. A similar-looking design covers the back of one calf, from the look of it the skulls are human, and the solid black design is more a triangular Satanic witchy thing. This one Izz’s sure is the mark of Lucifer, he remembers it—from back in his rebellious school years when researching dark things was popular.

The word written at the small of Sin’s back is a larger version of the one on Izz’s own hip. Only Sin’s are thicker, bolder—the complete opposite to Izz’s more feminine curvy piece.

He’s disappointed to see Sin doesn’t have any bruises or anything from their time together. He would have enjoyed seeing those left behind. To signify their first dip into the waters of their relationship. To show others they are together.

I like calling it a relationship. Makes it sound . . . real. And not a figment of my imagination.

“Come on,” Izz whines. “I won’t blab to anyone or laugh at you or anything. I promise. Tell me . . . Please,” Izz adds on the last plea as an afterthought. Trying to sway the male to divulgethe information. Divulge any information. He will take anything, any small snippet of who Sin is as a person as opposed to a serial killer. And all the fearful rumours. Rumours he has yet to prove factual.

He didn’t actually see Sin kill those inmates who had attacked him. For all he knows Sin may not have been the one who did the deeds. He was so out of it, he can barely remember what happened. A memory lapse he is grateful for.

Sin hums, cold eyes locking on Izz. Contemplating his answer, “I need blood—”

“What, like a vampire?” It’s blurted out before Izz can think it through—he clamps a hand over his mouth as Sin’s eyes narrow. Opening his fingers to mutter, “I’m sorry. I wasn’t poking fun—a stupid joke—ahh, you were saying?”

Man, great way to get Sin to shut up and never reveal anything about himself.

Sin pivots back to finish up with the toilet. Washing his hands. Brushing his teeth.

Izz’s sure Sin is done with their conversation. Let down he’s wrecked his opportunity to know Sin a little better. His heart sinking with disappointment the longer the silence stretches out, with no answers forthcoming.

Good job. You screwed that up.

Sin’s voice drifts over to Izz. Calm, deep. “Blood is my thing, I’d have to draw blood from you to find my own satisfaction.”

Izz pales, half aware of how fast he stands up. “I . . . umm.”

He isn’t sure why he’s freaking out. Or surprised. It’s not as though he hasn’t heard all the rumours, and he knows everyone fears Sin.

Izz has nowhere to go, Sin is right in front of him, the cell is small. And locked. His mind reeling with the bombshell a serial killer dropped on him. Heart racing so loudly it has its own echo in his skull. He’s sure Sin can hear it.

“Have you heard of knife-play, Gorgeous,” Sin drawls, stepping in closer. A predator moving in for the kill.

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