Page 139 of Sweet Sin

I hold back my chuckle. The only pretty boy here, other than Tommy, is fucking Zion himself. Trying to be the tough guy. Keeping muscle on that tiny frame so people take him seriously.

If he’s thinking about raping anybody in the cellblock, he’ll be sorry.

And he sure as hell won’t get anywhere near me.

“You show Savage some respect,” Larkin says.

“How about I show your ass my cock?” Zion taunts him.

“Make all the threats you want,” I say. “You mark my words. You even try to carry any one of them out? You won’t see the light of the next fucking day.”

“Big words.”

I lift an eyebrow. “You think you know what big is? Think again.”

That gets him. His eyes go wild, as if he’s mad. “You watch it, Savage. Yeah, I know who you are. Falcon Bellamy. And I know you ain’t in for no murder.”

“You did your homework,” I say. “So fucking what?”

“You think you’re so fucking tough. You don’t know what it’s really like to be a criminal. What it feels like to shove a knife into someone’s flesh, watch them bleed out. After you’ve fucking taken their pussy and ass in every way possible.”

So he’s a rapist. Good for him. He won’t get along well here. Not in my cell block. We don’t take kindly to rapists.

They’re only above child molesters on our totem pole of who are the worst degenerates of humankind.

“Keep talking,” I say. “You’re close to signing your own fucking death warrant.”

“Big words,” he says again.

“Original words on your part.”

The irony seems lost on him.

He finally backs away, standing straight and tall, still meeting my gaze. “You need to watch it, Bellamy.”

“You call him Savage,” Larkin says through gritted teeth.

“The only thing I’m going to call him is fresh meat.” He grabs Tommy’s arm, yanking him toward him. “And I’m taking you.”

“Maybe I didn’t make myself clear.” I stalk toward Zion, force him to let go of Tommy, and then lead him to the concrete block wall, where I grab a fistful of his orange jumpsuit. “You don’t touch any of my men. Have I made myself clear now?”

With his right hand, Zion grabs my wrist.

And I’ll give him one. He is fucking strong.

But I’m stronger. And meaner.

I wasn’t always mean like Zion, but you learn to be mean on the inside. You do it for survival. You do it to protect those who are too weak to protect themselves. And you do it to put shitheads like Zion in their place.

“Quite a grip you’ve got,” I say. “But it won’t get you anywhere here. Stay away from all of them…or I’ll fucking kill you.”

My words aren’t even menacing. I say them matter-of-factly. I’ve found they have more effect that way.

Let them think I’m a little off my rocker. Let them think whatever they want.

All I need to do is watch my back, and the backs of the rest of the men on my block.

Not too difficult.

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