The Prison (Book 1)

Prologue

Warning: This story contains strong, mature themes like violence and non-consent that some may find disturbing or triggering. Read at your own discretion.

Prologue

Once the prison's rusty iron gates fully opened, the old bus lurched forward. Looking over my shoulder, I saw and heard the gates closing with a horrible metal-screeching sound, sealing away with it any chance of exoneration and freedom that I might have had, sealing away my dreams and ambitions, and sealing away my former life. A renewed sense of dread and terror filled me. The fear of being forgotten, lost within this hellhole, never to return to my loved ones, was making my mind spin.

The image of me drowning, suffocating and fighting for breath while being pulled into the center of a deadly whirlpool floated in and out of my mind.

I stared out the window as the bus drove through the prison yard, my eyes meeting the eyes of other prisoners and criminals dressed in orange uniforms doing chores outside the prison, their smirks and mocking stares frightening, chilling, as if to say, "Welcome to Hell. Welcome to oblivion".

I was far too aware of what occurred in prisons, too knowledgeable of the corrupt laws that were enforced, the negligence, the injustice, and just how easy it was to get raped, or worse. I inched away from the window, relieved that no one sat next to me. I wanted to run and escape somehow, maybe jump out the window, but it was barred and my hands were handcuffed.

Feeling like I was in a moving cage, I shifted nervously in my seat, despising the world for putting the guilt on me when that bastard was the one to blame. He was the wife-beater. He was the one who'd pointed a gun at her in that damned alleyway.

If it wasn't for me, she'd be dead.

And if it wasn't for me, he wouldn't be.

But killing him really was an accident. Midst my attempts of prying the gun out of his beefy hand, it went off and the next thing I knew, he was lying on the dirty alleyway's floor, blood oozing out of a small hole in his chest, forming a puddle in which he soaked. The sight of his eyes, lifeless, as glassy as an empty vessel, would forever haunt me, imprinted into my brain matter. The thunderous sound that echoed from the gun, followed by that lowlife's final pained cry would forever torture me.

The road to Hell is paved with good intentions.

The bus came to an abrupt stop. Before the bus towered the prison, a gigantic, dull structure designed to intimidate even the bravest of hearts, guard towers erected at every corner. I squinted at one of the closest towers and saw about three guards, one of them carrying one of those black sniper guns. I watched it with horrified attention as it reflected the sun's rays.

"Move it, you filthy vermin!" One of the police officers who had escorted us here barked, glaring at everyone on the bus. I winced when his eyes fell on me, harsh, judgmental and as cold as ice. His mouth formed a silent sneer of disgust at me. Since he was an escort, they had to have filled him in on all the details about what I did and who I killed.

Andrew Stevens was one of the richest men back in my town and a valuable asset to society, or so people claimed. He was known throughout for his countless charities and for donating millions of dollars to homeless and sick children worldwide. Everyone saw him as a hero, but that was because they had only seen the façade. Before that wretched night, I used to think he was a benevolent philanthropist too.

Vividly, I remembered the way he pushed his wife, a beautiful blonde, against one of the alley's walls that had moss growing on it and smelled like cat piss. Her terrified expression flashed once again in my mind. I could never forget that mortified face. Her pleas and cries had gone unheard by the evil sadist as he produced a gun out of his pocket, a calm, cold and collected expression plastered on his hard face. It was as if he was about to shoot a deer, not his wife.

How could someone be so heartless and cruel toward his own wife? Why the heck did he marry her if he planned on putting a bullet in her head in the first place?!

A sour taste filled my mouth as I rose from my seat and headed toward the bus's open door. Accidently, I bumped into the Hulk himself, only he wasn't as green, smelled like cigarette smoke, and this one's visible parts of his body were covered in tattoos and scars.

His eyes locked into mine. I had no doubt that this man deserved to be here from the evil and malice in his eyes. He snarled at me like a monster about to pounce on its prey.

"Hey, watch it, twink!" He shoved me aside into the seat in front of mine with unnatural strength. I fell straight onto a warm lap and banged my head on the barred window behind me hard enough for a bump to develop seconds later.

I held back a hiss of pain and instead growled back, "What the hell's wrong with you?!"

It probably wasn't the smartest thing to do considering I was told to practically be invisible, but I had the unfortunate habit of a quick temper. When I was angry, nothing could stop me, not even common sense, and I was definitely pissed.

"Hey, you two! Wanna get zapped?!" A cop threatened us both with an evil smirk. He revealed a Taser which he swiveled from me to my assailant like a gun. It seemed to scare off the Hulk, but before the huge man headed to the bus's open door, he gave me a look promising retribution. I tried not to show it, but I was terrified. That guy could beat me to a pulp all on his own and I wouldn't be able to do a thing to stop him.

When I tried to get up, I felt a hand pressing down on my chest. I looked up to see a man probably in his late thirties with a scar running down his left cheek that had been recently stitched up from the looks of it.

"You're cute. I think I'm going to make you my bitch," he purred in my ear.

I immediately jumped off him only to bump into another prisoner. His only response –fortunately- was to glare daggers at me before moving along toward the door. The only people that remained in the bus were a busy officer talking through his walky-talky, the scarred prisoner and myself.

Staring at Mr. Scar, I grimaced in disgust at the suggestive look he was giving me. I fought back the urge to punch his lights out when he licked his lips in a gesture of lust and promise.

I wasn't gay! Did I come off as gay? I didn't have a problem with gays, but I wasn't one!

Then he winked at me and revealed two sets of yellow and black teeth. I blanched.

Whirling around so fast my head spun, I hurried toward the door and literally jumped out of the bus.