Therapy Session (Mac Prison)

Four: Rick

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Mac left Trisha's office feeling... unchanged. He wasn't satisfied that he had seen Trisha's bra and panties, he wasn't pleased with himself. He just felt casual, like it was something he did every day. Hell before prison it was his every day. He was walking down the corridor towards the recreation room when he heard more footsteps coming his way. He stiffened slightly, bracing himself for whatever was going to round that corner. Earlier there had been a big confrontation between the Saints and the Heathens, and he just knew that those damn Saints would be out for blood.

He clenched his fists, just as two guards and the man himself came around the corner.

Jesus fucking Christ.

He smirked at Mac. "Morning." He said.

"It's noon, ya dumb shit." Mac growled, stepping off to the side so that Jesus and the pigs could walk past. Jesus chuckled as he past, and Mac growled quietly. "Fuckin' prick." He stuffed his hands in his pockets while muttering under his breath, walking in the center of the hallway. He hated Jesus with a burning passion. Since they were both sentenced for life, one of them could rule the prison until his last breath. Sure a lot of the guys here would spend at least 50 years, but no one had the balls to challenge one of the great leaders. But despite the threat of Jesus one day taking over and knocking Mac down, he didn't want to kill his competitor. Jesus had only been there for a few years, and at one point, he and Mac got along pretty well. Until Jesus wanted some of Mac's power. Then their friendship went downhill. Mac still didn't know what Jesus was in for entirely, other than that he killed a bunch of people, and no one knew what Mac was in here for. Not the whole reason, anyway. Just that he murdered a few cops and civilians before getting caught.

Mac entered the recreation room, which was filled with entirely Heathens. That meant the Saints were either in the courtyard of the library. The two gangs rarely hung around each other or mixed. The Heathens preferred Heathen company, and the Saints preferred Saint company. The two gangs haven't had a full blow war yet, because Mac didn't want any fatalities. He could only assume that Jesus was the same.

"How'd the therapy go?" Rick asked, strolling beside Mac as he entered. Rick was a tall man with mousey brown hair and blue eyes. He was working on a beard that he'd been growing to try and look tough. He was also sort of a right-hand-man to Mac, which he was thankful for. If Mac ever got sentenced to isolation or went to medical, Rick would be here to keep things in check. Plus, he and Rick had been friends for the last couple years. Rick had his back in a fight, and in return Mac would have his. They'd even proved it, too.

"Like shit. Damn woman wanted to know everythin' about me." Mac muttered, taking a seat at what was basically his throne. It wasn't special, except that it had a view of the entire room. Plus it was right next to the AC vent.

"Was she hot?" Rick asked, taking is seat beside Mac.

Mac scoffed. "Not really." He muttered. Sure she looked like someone he'd bang, but he didn't want to bang her.

"Shame. I see her tomorrow." Rick said, leaning back until the back of the plastic chair leaned against the wall.

"Prepare to give her the story of your life." Mac chuckled, earning a laugh from Rick.

"Oh, before I forget, I got ya somethin'." Rick mumbled, leaning forward and glancing at the camera on the far side of the room. Then he stretched casually, resting an arm over Mac's shoulders. Mac held still as he felt something cold and metal slipping down his back from under his shirt.

After the devise was slipped into his shirt, Mac shrugged Rick's arm off and glared at him. He had to put up an act in front of the camera. Rick glanced at Mac and smirked. "What? Don't wanna cuddle?" He joked.