Page 7 of From Best To Bested

“You gonna pick that up?” Roman asked, expression neutral except for the fire in his eyes.

“Figured you’d bend over and grab it, bitch.”

Roman rolled his eyes. This guy’s intimidation efforts could use some serious work, but at least he didn’t present much of a challenge to work with. The smugness on this guy’s face would be the most satisfying thing to wipe away with a few punches, but Roman couldn’t provoke a fight. He shouldn’t. He needed to spin this quickly.

“You know what, you talk a lot, but I think you’re a little too scared to actually do something about those words.”

The guy kicked Roman’s tray, knocking it into his foot.

Roman smiled, unfazed and glad to have found someone easier to provoke than himself. “Why don’t you go over there, find your daddy, and ask if he’ll help you swing a fist.”

Roman nodded to the table of men where the inmate had been sitting a moment earlier.

“Ask him real nicely, and maybe some of your other boyfriends can help you start a fight.” Roman stepped in closer, looking up at the guy with unflinching fury. “Because we both know you’re too big of a pussy to do anything.”

And with that, he swung a fist at Roman. A sloppy move that Roman avoided despite being practically pressed against the man. It didn’t take long to knock the air out of the inmate’s lungs and make him keel over, but Roman’s real targets were approaching. Four men at the table had sprung up and charged for him.

Roman lifted his fists and braced for the chaos. He needed this, desperately hungered to unleash some of his anger. He hoped the added bonus of beating down a small group of men would help secure a bit of peace in the days to come.

Half of the men had dropped before the guards were organized enough to run toward the other side of the cafeteria. Roman wanted to drag this out, really savor the win, show the crowd of cheering men what he could do even when pressed bya group of assailants. More importantly, Roman needed to wrap up this conflict before the guards did. If they won in his stead, this bravado would be for nothing.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” a guard shouted, approaching Roman, who now stood alone with cowering crumbled men at his feet.

“It’s all good.” Roman raised his hands in surrender, taking heavy breaths as the altercation had left him more winded than expected. Perhaps the sleepless nights were catching up to him. “Just a disagreement—serious disagreement, obviously—but I think we’ve got it handled.”

“You think?” The guard reached for his baton and cracked it against Roman’s right forearm. “Who the fuck told you to start thinking, inmate?”

Roman nearly took a step forward, nearly lunged for the guard, nearly got himself into a world of trouble he couldn’t backstep from. But guards weren’t mouthy inmates. He couldn’t provoke them. But he was also used to them knowing their place, understanding the hierarchy of things. Roman supposed, to some degree, they did understand how things ranked, seeing as Roman no longer held the authority he once did.

“You wanna start fights?” The guard belted Roman across the back of the head, then again in the shoulder. When he didn’t drop to his knees or submit, another guard struck Roman in the back with several heavy lashes that knocked the wind out of his lungs. “You’re not the champion anymore. No special treatment.”

With that, they carted Roman off and showed him what happened to those who instigated fights, those who provoked violence by not simply submitting to the predators who flooded this institution.

They shoved Roman inside a small room and locked the door. Roman kicked and shouted and banged on the door of hissolitary cell, unwilling to give up his rage for a second. Days would pass, and he’d scream until his voice was hoarse. Roman’s furious temper seemed to be the only thing he had left.

When he got out, Roman would kill Ezra Delgado. He’d knock fear back into the inmates who’d grown bold and the guards who’d grown lax. Roman wouldn’t surrender his title or authority without a fight.

Chapter Three

During his month of solitary, Roman dwelled on how he got here. It wasn’t that different from his fall as champion, after all. It came down to Roman’s arrogance getting the best of him; a blink of a moment and the lost footing changed the entire course of Roman’s life.

He had always been a fighter long before he stepped into Marlow Penitentiary, but outside the prison, he used to be better at hiding his ruthlessness.

While Roman had presented himself as a preppy frat boy, he came from a much different background. Joining a fraternity wouldn’t have been his first choice. Going to college, in general, had never been part of the plan. Not that his family made plans. No, they just survived, scrambled, and struggled against the tides of life. Somehow, Roman had found himself living a dream he didn’t recall having. When Stacy promised him the fraternity would always have his back, Roman almost started to believe her.

Stacy. That was a haunting name and one he tried not to fixate on as his mind reveled in memories of a former life he’d never claw his way back to.

He fell fast and hard for the silly rituals, the constant comradery, the surreal parties. But that all disappeared when Roman got arrested. Sometimes, someone would reach out.Nothing big, nothing life-changing, but a call or a card or a twenty tossed into his commissary helped remind Roman he hadn’t been completely forgotten by the outside world.

The quarterly contact from a brotherhood official felt more like a checklist than true care. Not that Roman wanted to be remembered by the outside world. After what he’d done, Roman wanted to disappear most days. He just hoped that in the darkness, he wouldn’t have to fade away. He wouldn’t have to suffer any more than he already did, but the universe seemed content.

Flashes of red and rage reminded him of what brought Roman here, how his unchecked temper had cost him everything in his life yet served as the only life jacket to keep him afloat here at Marlow Penitentiary.

One drunk night out on the town, a mouthy guy on the streets of a busy downtown while bar hopping, and Roman in a mood to show off a bit of the darkness he carried before dressing in khaki slacks and silly polos. He’d hit the man too fast, too hard, and once the violence began, Roman couldn’t stop himself. He raged against the man, slamming him onto the pavement. He’d seen blood, and he was hungry for more. Punch after punch, and nothing seemed to satiate his thirst. The cheers of his brothers fueled him for a moment, but their concern did little to temper his rage. None were bold enough to pull him off, to stop Roman in his tracks, and he relished that power, that authority he carried in a blink.

“Stop,” Stacy had snatched Roman by the arm, a pleading look on her face rivaled with the constant calm she carried everywhere she went.

Roman loved that about Stacy. She was an enigma. Everything she did put her in the center of friends, of parties, or people in general, but no one really knew Stacy unless she allowed it. Roman had been allowed to know her, truly know herbehind the veil she wore for the audience of life, and he loved the unmasked Stacy. But in that moment, it wasn’t Roman and Stacy and his daydreams about finally having a real relationship with her. No, right then, Roman’s rage won out, and he shoved her away.

---