Sam nodded and the warden patted him, before hobbling in the opposite direction, heading towards the lift. Sam knew Harris’s reprimand would fall on Sharp’s deaf ears and most likely, the repercussions would fall squarely at his cell door. After a few hours resting on his bed, he was called to stand, before being escorted to the canteen for the evening meal. The entire room fell silent as he stepped in, a wave of fear washing across the inmates after Sam’s quick and ferocious victory over Ravi.
Sam ignored it, walking calmly to pick up his tray of food before scanning the room for a seat. With Harris’s plea for survival echoing in his mind, Sam took a deep breath and strode across the room. He felt the tension rise in the room, quickly followed by a few terrified murmurs as he approached Chapman’s table.
Sat with a giant grin on his face, Chapman ushered Sam to take a seat. With Ravi in the infirmary, Glen sat silently beside his boss, refusing to meet Sam’s glare.
Sam dropped the tray on the table, the clang of metal echoing through the canteen. Everyone went back to their meals, a new sense of terror running through them. Slowly, Sam dropped onto the chair opposite Chapman and through gritted teeth, realised what he had to do.
‘You win,’ Sam said quietly.
Chapman leant forward, reached across the table, and took a potato from Sam’s plate.
‘I always do.’
In a needless show of power, he crushed the potato in his hand, before wiping it on Glen’s sleeve. Sam lowered his head, focusing on his meal.
He hated himself for doing it, but Harris was right. Sam needed to survive his stay in prison and to do what was necessary, he needed to gain Chapman’s trust.
Chapter Sixteen
That evening, Sharp had watched with glee as Harris had gingerly lowered himself into the back of his car. The driver knew the routine and rolled to a stop at each gate before taking the immobilised warden back to his house.
Harris’s health was in steep decline and it was unlikely he would be back for a few days. A twinge of guilt sat uncomfortably in Sharp’s gut, his actions clearly adding to the warden’s stress, but he would soon forget about it the next time he visited Kayla and paid her to fulfil his darkest desire.
As he bounded out of the office, he mused upon how he could reassert his dominance over Sam.
Breaking the imperious soldier down would be his crowning victory and once he’d proven to the prison that even a man as untouchable as Sam Pope feared him, they would all do the same.
The power he would wield would be unstoppable.
As he made his way back through the prison, a guard informed him of the events at dinner. Stammering his words through fear of repercussion, Sharp could feel his hand shake at the news.
Moments later, a guard informed him that Chapman had requested his presence at his cell.
On his way, Sharp stopped in the bathroom, locked the door, and thumped the glass mirror until it cracked. Despite everything he’d done, he was still not in control.
Harris, for the time being, sat in the office.
Chapman still sat on the throne.
Sharp quickly collected himself, straightened his shirt, and tried his best to control the seething fury that was jack-knifing through his body. There were no guards standing outside the cell, usually on hand to answer any of Chapman’s requests like a highly trained, armed butler.
It was just Sharp and Chapman.
To try to gain a measure of control of the situation, Sharp didn’t knock. He stepped through the door, catching Chapman by surprise. Sat at his small side table, Chapman lowered his head, peering over his reading glasses and sighed. He placed a bookmark into the novel he was reading and turned to face the deputy warden.
‘Sharp. Do come in.’
‘What the hell is going on?’ Sharp demanded, abandoning the calm approach he’d practiced on his journey.
‘I’ve just got to a really good bit, actually.’ Chapman flippantly responded, motioning to his book.
‘Not your fucking book, old man. What the hell is the deal with Pope?’
Chapman exuded menace. Every small mannerism had been carefully crafted over decades of being one of the most powerful criminals the country had ever seen. With a calm that forebode the imminent danger Sharp was in, he slowly removed his glasses, folded them, and then rested them on the book. With his only weakness being his age, Chapman groaned slightly as he stood. He was an inch shorter than Sharp, and father time had relaxed most of his body.
But he stood straight.
His eyes were fixed on Sharp.
They both knew who was in charge in the room.
‘With Ravi out of commission and the considerable damage he has done to my empire, I offered Sam a more amicable way to wipe the slate clean. Or, worded slightly differently, I don’t have to tell you a fucking thing.’
Chapman’s hand shot forward, like a cobra snapping at its prey, and he tightly gripped Sharp by the throat. Shocked, Sharp stumbled backwards and Chapman pinned him to the wall, his fingers digging deeply into the deputy warden’s throat. A trickle of blood emerged from the pressure of Chapman’s nails against his windpipe.
‘Listen here, Sharp.’ Chapman spoke slowly. ‘This is my fucking prison. So, when I tell you right now, that Sam Pope is off limits, what do you say?’
Gasping for breath, Sharp struggled to speak. Through short intakes of air, he spluttered his response.
‘Off limits.’
Chapman relinquished the hold and then gently patted the side of Sharp’s red face.
‘There’s a good boy.’ Chapman turned and stepped back to his seat. ‘Now fuck off, will you? Like I said, I’ve just got to a good bit.’
Sharp stayed pressed against the wall for a few moments, gathering his breath and calming his anger. The thought of grabbing the back of the
