Page 5 of Endangered Species
“They shipped Rodriguez out this morning.”
That slowed Cyrus down a little, causing him to throw a look at Rogers. Rodriguez had been Cyrus’s roommate for five years. Kind of a squirrelly dude, usually off his meds, but he kept to himself and didn’t cause no trouble, so he and Cyrus were good. Rodriguez spent most of his days coloring in a sketchbook and ranting about the second coming of Christ. The worst Cyrus had to worry about with Rodriguez was the younger man trying to eat his crayons and then puking all night.
“They sent him to the ding wing,” Rogers said.
Cyrus rolled his eyes at the slang term. Rogers wanted to be an inmate so badly. Or he wanted to be accepted by them at any rate. He wanted the street cred without having to earn it. It was never going to happen, though. Nobody cozied up to the COs without getting a beatdown. Still, Cyrus thought it strange they’d sent Rodriguez to the psych ward. He was a little off his nut but not as batshit crazy as the glue sniffers. “Oh, yeah? What’s that got to do with me?”
“He was your cellmate. Just thought you’d want to know that you’ll be getting a new roomie.”
“I don’t give a shit about that. It’s none of my business,” Cyrus reminded him.
“I don’t think you’ll be saying that when you see who it is. I hear you guys had big beef,” Rogers said around a laugh.
Cyrus shook his head. “Man, I don’t got beef with nobody. I do my job and mind my business.”
Something about Rogers’ slick smile made Cyrus uneasy. He’d take a no holds barred brawl with the entire B pod over one shady ass guard with an agenda. “Nobody, huh? Weird. ‘Cause I would have thought you’d be chomping at the bit to get at the kid who put you in this place.”
That stopped Cyrus in his tracks. “What did you say?”
Rogers’ black eyes glittered like pieces of obsidian, hard and shiny, like he was getting off on whatever it was he knew. Cyrus didn’t have to wait long for the answer. “Yeah, our new fish… Seems he’s the tyke who put you away. Nicholas Webster. Still minding your own business?”
Cyrus didn’t answer, but Rogers’ words were like a kick to the balls, sucking the breath out of him. Nicky? In prison? There was no way. Cyrus tried to picture it, but the image of six-year-old Nicky in prison orange just seemed ludicrous. Nicky was forever a child in his mind. A kindergartner swimming in a hand-me-down suit while a grown ass man made him cry on the stand.
How could Nicky, sweet little Nicky, be doing time? It just wasn’t possible. Or maybe it was. Nicky would be…what, twenty-seven now? Who even knew what happened to the kid after his mom got done tying him in knots. That crazy bitch could make a Tibetan monk homicidal.
“Bet I got your attention now, don’t I?” Rogers said, tone smug.
“New fish ain’t my problem,” Cyrus managed. “I’m just doing my time. I’m out of here in less than a year. I doubt he and I will see much of each other. It’s a big place.”
Rogers shook his head like Cyrus was stupid. “You really don’t get it, homie. The warden is giving you a gift. The fish is your new roomie. He’s all yours.”
That caught Cyrus’s full attention. He turned to stare open-mouthed at the prison guard with his too big smile and his high and tight haircut. “What the fuck does that mean?”
Cyrus didn’t know what kind of face he was making, but it caused the guard to take a step back, his hand floating over his gun. Cyrus turned back towards Rosie, petting his hands over her, hoping the dog’s warmth and energy would calm his throbbing rage.
“Listen, I know you’re not normally one of the wolves, man, but your boy…they say he grew up pretty. Real pretty. And he’s gay. If you don’t want to take a crack at him, I imagine others would. It’d be a shame if the others in the yard found out the new fish don’t eat fish. It might even be open season on him. You got a lot of clout out there. Wouldn’t be nothing to start a few rumors and let the laws of the jungle take its course. Keep your hands clean.”
Jesus. What the fuck was this dude talking about? Was he trying to encourage Cyrus to paint a target on Nicky’s back? Why? Like, there was always shit going down between the COs and the inmates, but that was the kind of shit that got you jumped in the fucking shower or sent to solitary. The COs didn’t hand over other inmates on a silver platter. This wasn’t Oz. Cyrus kept mostly to himself, but even he knew that. But he couldn’t say as much. Not to Rogers.
“What’s in it for you?” Cyrus asked, trying his best to act uninterested.
“Aw, don’t be like that, Cy. You’re one of the good ones. The warden likes to reward good behavior.”
Cyrus snorted. “Bullshit. That man still cuts a hole in his sheet to fuck his wife. He sleeps with a bible in one hand and his dick in the other. He thinks we’re all animals. What the fuck is he playing at? Are you all trying to get me thrown in the hole or something?”
This time, it was Rogers who rolled his eyes. “Man, you’re paranoid for a guy who’s just been given a huge fucking gift.” When Cyrus continued to stare him down, Rogers shrugged. “Fine. He just pissed off the wrong people. That’s all you need to know. Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth. If you don’t want him, I’m sure the AB would love that shit. He’ll be holding Thor’s pocket before chow time tomorrow. Either way, your boy’s not long for this world.”
Cyrus’s brain rejected the idea of his little Nicky holding the pocket of a nearly seven foot tall Nazi sympathizer. “Stop calling him that. I haven’t seen him since he was six. Like, I don’t beef with toddlers, man.”
Rogers lazily pulled his nightstick from his belt and started to tap out a pattern against the bars of the kennel beside Rosie’s. Cyrus side-eyed him as he continued to work, never trusting any guard enough to keep his back to him. He could tell Rogers was fuming. He clearly thought this information would endear him to Cyrus. If he was trying for a seat at the cool kids’ table, he was barking up the wrong tree. Cyrus kept his head down and his nose clean. He’d earned respect based on his size and his ability to navigate the yard without getting involved in the drama.
“If you’re not interested, I’ll put him in the C pod. It might be fun to watch the Mexican mafia and the white boys fight over him. Though, I’m not sure what’s left would be any prize.”
“No.” Cyrus was shocked by the venom in his voice. He shook his head. Fuck. This was such a bad fucking idea. “No. Leave him with me.”
Rogers floated closer. “You sure? I mean, you seem kind of torn. It’s okay if you don’t have the stomach for it. Hell, you’ve been jerking off to your own hand for so long, maybe you don’t even remember what a tight hole feels like.”
Cyrus took a deep breath and let it out again, and Rosie looked at him with her wide blue eyes, letting out a whine, her tail wagging like she was afraid the anger she smelled might be directed at her. Cyrus rubbed the dog’s face and neck while he tried to contain the raw aggression coursing through him. “He’s mine. But in my own time. I have a plan.”
