Sam’s lack of fear was boring him, and he glanced at his watch. It was almost time to take Sam for his dinner, which drew a smile across his face.
Almost time to let the man know what he was in for.
With a large sigh, he sat forward in his chair, gazed around the room – which had the feel of an airport control hanger – and nudged Watkins with his meaty elbow.
‘Go on. Zap him.’
Sharp grinned, showing his coffee-stained teeth. Watkins shook his head.
‘Every use of the tag system has to be logged and reasoned with. While you might find it fun, deputy warden, there are only so many flagrant uses I can cover when we get audited.’
‘You are such a fucking wet blanket.’ Sharp stood and slapped Watkins across the back, ensuring he leant into it. The whimper of pain drew a smile. ‘Lighten the fuck up.’
Watkins mumbled something under his breath and Sharp thought about calling him out on it. It would make him feel good, but ultimately, it would just be treading old ground. The man was scared shitless, and that’s all that mattered. Reaching forward and hitting the ‘lockdown’ button, which would zap every pathetic member of the prison population, would have been fun but Sharp relented.
He had something better for his evening’s entertainment.
Without offering a goodbye, Sharp stormed from the office, nodded to his subordinate who stood guard in the hallway and they made their way to the underground levels of the structure. As they ventured through the corridors, Sharp made a mental note of which cells were open, as the staggered dinner had just begun.
No one of any real bother. Most of the prisoners were resigned to their fate and, with the opportunity of garnering drugs, cigarettes, or porn from Chapman, they towed the line.
There were no problems.
Except one.
Sharp stopped at Sam’s cell and his colleague went through the usual rigmarole of slamming his baton against the door and demanding Sam face the far wall. Watkins, hidden away in his control room, activated the door, and the guard hauled it open.
Sharp hid his fury as Sam hadn’t moved. Still sat on his bed, he arched his head up, met Sharp’s angered glare with a dismissive roll of the eyes and spoke.
‘Can I help you, deputy?’
A cruel grin spread across Sharp’s face. Sam’s insolence was only going to make this evening even sweeter.
‘Let’s go, boy scout.’ Sharp kicked the bed with his steel capped boot. ‘It’s showtime.’
Chapter Thirteen
Sam had followed Sharp obediently as he left the room, ignoring the cocky smirk of the prison guard accompanying them. After the lame attempt of intimidation after his dinner date with Chapman, Sam was under no illusion who was truly running The Grid.
Throughout the day, there had been this lingering sense that he was in trouble. A few snide remarks from the guards, the near silence that greeted his emergence during the exercise hour. It all told Sam that whatever Chapman had planned for day one had spread through Ashcroft like wildfire. It didn’t bother him.
This was never supposed to be a relaxing holiday.
As he followed Sharp to the cafeteria, a few other guards offered him a sympathetic shake of the head, as if apologising for his loss.
The doors opened and as Sharp strode in, a hush fell across the canteen.
It wasn’t for him.
All eyes were on Sam.
‘Eat up.’ Sharp smugly grinned at Sam. ‘You’re going to need your strength.’
Sam ignored Sharp, striding past him to the metal counter where he was greeted with another uninspired selection of meat and vegetables. With his stomach rumbling, Sam took a tray and turned to face the room. Everyone who had been looking at him quickly bowed their heads, returning to their tasteless meal or equally tasteless conversation. In the far corner, as expected, Chapman sat. Either side of him sat his henchmen, Glen and Ravi, both of whom were staring daggers at Sam through their heavily bruised faces.
Sam couldn’t help himself, and he gave them a polite nod. Instantly, Ravi slammed his fist on the table in anger and made to stand up before Chapman reached out and yanked him back down by his heavily tattooed forearm. It was a pathetic attempt at intimidation and Sam dropped his tray in front of the closest vacant seat and sat down to eat.
All conversations stopped and Sam looked at his fellow inmates, who refused to make eye contact. Beyond them, by the door, Sharp watched, arms crossed and a cocky grin across his face. As Sam lifted a forkful of barely cooked carrots to his mouth, he imagined the satisfaction he would have in wiping it off his face.
His train of thought was halted by the inmate to his right.
‘Yo, Sam, right?’
Sam put his fork down and glanced up. The man offered a strong handshake, his black skin coated in faint tattoos similar to Ravi. He was well built, with his hair shaved close to the scalp in contrast to the scruffy beard that framed his strong jaw.
‘Yup,’ Sam replied carefully.
‘Leon.’ He pushed his hand closer. ‘Nice to meet you.’
Sam took the handshake.
‘Not sure it should be.’ Sam shrugged. ‘I’m not too popular around here.’
‘Nah, I get that. Lotta these guys got guys you put in the ground, you get me?’ He flashed Sam a grin, revealing a solid gold tooth among his pearly whites. ‘Me, I ain’t really got no ties so as far as I’m concerned, you killin’ rapists and sex trafficking mother fuckers is more like doin’ this country a service.’
Sam chuckled. Of all the places he expected to find a charming conversation, over a tepid meal inside a maximum-security prison wasn’t top of the list. Leon flashed a few concerned glances towards Chapman’s table, immediately looking away as Ravi met his eyes.
‘You ready?’ Leon asked, not looking up from his meal.
‘For what?’
Before Leon could respond, a hand grabbed the back of Leon’s head and slammed him face down into his dinner. The
