Prisoner 409

1. Prisoners Talk - 4 - 0 -9

A/N: Hi babes! This novel is being edited for self-publishing, so if you're a rereader you may notice some things are different! 

Disclaimer: This novel only has 10 chapters up, the rest is available for reading on Dreame, and You can also purchase from me. Hard copies will be available soon!

I definitely recommend reading the edited versions, they'll make a lot more sense.

Hope all is well loves!

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"I am so sorry I'm late," my red woolly hair flopped onto my face as I quickly pace into the room. With a huff, I throw my bag on the chair, pulling an elastic band over it and tying my hair. I hadn't noticed the prisoner as I adjusted my skirt, and took a seat.

"And you are . . . my therapist," a deep mocking voice questioned and I clear my throat, finally meeting the black eyes of prisoner 409.

My mouth ran dry at the sight of him, my head now covered in cold sweat. A slow smirk grazes his face. The handcuffs remained stuck to his wrists as he slowly rubbed his bare chin.

"Behave Four- O- Nine," The prison guard slapped the table before leaving, but I was still in awe.

"Why wouldn't I," he chuckles, his eyes dragging all over my body, "chocolate just happens to be my favorite flavor."

"Good morning, excuse my manners," I try to speak confidently, clearing my throat, "I'm Ocean and I'm your 'check in' therapist."

"Pleasure to meet you, Ocean," my lips part as I hear him say my name, the way he looks at me . . . . His hair was cut short and faded on the sides. Tattoos dared to run up his muscular, strong arms and for a prisoner, he was very well kept.

"So I'm just going to start off today with an introduction, I wanna get to know you," I swallow hard as he lazily stretches out his long legs, his form reeking of dominance.

"Likewise, ma," he licks his lip before take a deep breath, "what would you like to know?"

"Let's start with your name?" I reach into my bag, removing the paper I had already written some notes on.

"Trevor Vatore." He says, his eyes stuck on me.

"How old are you?"

"Twenty-six."

"Okay," I cross my legs, leaning back in my chair, "why are you in prison?"

"I was in the Mafia," he explains and I awkwardly avert my eyes to the wall so he wouldn't see or think that I was judging him

"I kidnapped and killed people, I trafficked drugs, I've committed fraud . . .," he shrugs it off while I try to prevent my jaw from falling off my face.

"Alright. . . " I clear my throat again, shifting in the chair, "it says you're about to leave in two days. . . do you feel prepared for the outside world again?"

"Why not? No one wants to be afraid to shower," He jokes and I let out a small laugh.

"And what are your plans when you leave?"

"You know, I haven't thought about that too much. I do want to find a job, maybe at a tattoo parlor or something."

"So art must be something you enjoy."

"All these tattoos on my skin," he motions to his arms, "I did them myself. Well except for the ones on my back, but my arms and legs were reachable."

"Oh wow . . . that's really impressive," I look closer at the designs. Raindrops trail across his wrist, slowly forming into a vine filled with thorns and the huge rose disappeared into his orange sleeve.