Anyone who doesn’t know Mack would think he’s being genuine.
But I know better.
An ill shiver racks its way down my spine like jagged shards of glass. Every time Mack apologizes for one of his outbursts or unnecessary instigations, something crude and disgusting always follows. Sometimes I wish he’d actually act out and put his hands on me so I could report his ass to the Warden and get him the fuck out of here, but that would involve me letting him. I don’t think I could stomach an encounter.
Sweeps and searches are bad enough as it is.
He always searches me longer than necessary, rubbing his fingers along my pussy one too many times for it to be considered normal or standard procedure.
“All’s good. We all have crappy days,” I reply curtly, nervously side-eyeing the small space between us.
We’re the only ones in this hallway right now...
Mack hums, the stack of papers in his grasp slightly crunching as he tightens his hold on them. “I know, I just get so jealous sometimes. They all get to hug you; they get to talk to you, and I can’t. It’s not fair. Birdy. It’s just not fair. You know how much I want you, how much I crave that tight, little pussy of yours.” He releases this creepy laugh, almost like a deep, malevolent Woody Woodpecker type of thing. It’s dark and guttural, bordering on maniacal, and the prison is still so quiet, the bone-chilling sound somewhat echoes off the walls, doubling back to my ears over and over again.
I’m disturbed to my core but manage to keep my head held up high and my legs moving forward, all the while breathing through the roiling in my stomach.
“You’re lucky we’re here. Otherwise, I’d be hauling you into the break room,” he continues in my silence. “I’m usually so much better about this, but my self-control is starting to give. Not sure how much longer I can hold out without feeling you. One of these days, Benni. One of these days, I’m going to rock your world. You just wait and see, baby.”
That’s the last thing he says to me with this diabolical, wicked grin before knocking on Judge’s door and slipping the stack of papers into the box hanging from it. He doesn’t follow me inside, thankfully, merely waving to the counselor through the wall of windows as he continues on his way to wherever the fuck he’s going. Judge waves back and turns his attention on me, smiling warmly.
“Miss Villanueva, so nice to see you. Sit, please. I’m just wrapping this up, and then I’ll be right with you.” He extends a hand toward the seats facing his desk.
I do as instructed, though I’m still cringing on the inside after my little walk down here with Mack. I don’t doubt he’ll follow through with what he said, which means I’m going to have to watch my back all the more now. It also means Andrés and I are going to have to be that much more careful. If Mack catches onto the slightest hint that Andrés is invading “his” territory, it could get uglier than we originally thought.
Because it wasn’t ugly and hard enough already, right?
“Sooo, is everything okay or…” I trail off, hoping that’ll prompt Judge to speak. I’ve been in this chair for less than a minute, and the silence is quickly wreaking havoc on my nerves.
“Everything is perfect.” He shoots me a knowing glance over the rim of his glasses, then refocuses on the paper before him. “Almost done here, and then I’ll explain everything.”
Nothing is alarming about his tone—literally nothing. The evenness is what’s disturbing really, making it hard to sit still. Crossing my arms, I recline in my seat—knee bouncing a million miles per hour—and force myself to take a look around the room as a distraction. That same, faded pale blue paint of the old janitorial closet coats the walls, along with all of his framed diplomas and tacked pictures of what I presume is former inmates who’ve followed up with him after serving their time. The wall behind me is a giant bookcase filled with encyclopedias and other books pertaining to the laws. In one of the corners—right beside his filing cabinets—he’s got a mini-fridge and a single-serve coffee maker sitting on top, dry creamer, and at least three canisters of sugar lined perfectly beside it.
That’s all she wrote.
Oh, and the tall fake palm under the middle of three windows that give a view of the fenced-in parking lot.
Cutting my stare back to Judge, I study him as my brain shifts back into overdrive. What does he need to tell me that he’s called me down here twice now? He can’t know about Andrés. It hasn’t even been twenty-hours for one; and two, there wasn’t a soul in sight when we went in and out of that closet. Andrés assured me the cameras don’t pick up on that corner, either.
Could Koko have opened her mouth then?
Seeing as she’s working with Franca now, I wouldn’t put it past her, but nah…it’s not likely. Mack wouldn’t have escorted me over here so breezily if he did. There would’ve been a sweep; I would’ve gotten pushed around and roughed up. He would’ve taunted me about how he knew it was mine all along or that I was involved.
“All right, here we go,” Judge cheerfully says as he goes about signing the bottom right corner of the paper. On the last flick of his wrist, he slides the sheet toward me and flips it around with the tips of his fingers. “Have a look at this.”
At first glance, it looks like nothing more than an official letter of some sort.
And yeah, that’s what it is—but what I end up reading?
To say I wasn’t expecting it would be the lightest term possible. My breath catches, stomach flipping
