Jailbait:A Secret Baby Bad Boy Romance(3)

By: Alexis Angel



I notice a shadow above me blocking out the sun. A voice says, "It's time you let the real men have a turn."

A shirtless man looks down at me. His eyes dare me to react. He's young, maybe 26. He thinks he's invincible—they all do in this fucking place. A spider web is tattooed across his shaved, bald head and he spits into the dirt next to me. This guy must be new. People know better than to talk shit to me like that. I rest the weights back on the stand and get up off the bench. I stand inches from his face with my fists clenched and my tightened muscles swollen from the bench presses, defying the unsaid rules of personal space.

"Says who?" I challenge.

"Says me."

"Yeah, well, you can go fuck yourself."

The man's eyes flash hatred at me. He doesn't blink, but instead moves closer. "What the fuck did you just say?"

"You heard me."

"If I heard correctly, you've just signed your own death certificate," he taunts.

"Right or wrong. It doesn't fucking matter," I say. "The only thing that matters in here is winning."

I notice he is clutching a sock in his right hand. I wasn't born yesterday. I know what he's planning to do. There's a lock buried in that sock, and I'm not going to let him have the first swing. Without thinking or saying another word, I strike my right-elbow into the bridge of his nose and I hear it crack. It's like turning on a faucet because a river of blood runs down his face, across his lips, and under his chin.

"You fucking bastard," he growls. He is beyond pissed now. He swings the sock. Predictable. I bend my knees and dodge it, and when I come back up, I bring my fist into his temple. He stumbles and I notice a small crowd has formed a ring around us. Some men are laughing. Some cheering. Some are even making bets.

He charges me like a ram and slams his head into my collarbone. A sharp pain radiates down my chest but this spurs me on. He may be big, but he doesn't stand a chance. I put him in a headlock and we tumble into the dirt. He head butts me and I feel a hot cut form on my cheek. His neck is now in the crease of my arm and I squeeze harder. I'm on top of him and I put my knee into his jaw and pummel his ribs with my fist. Our brawling is kicking up a cloud of dirt and I blink rapidly, trying to keep it out of my eyes.

My anger is boiling over and I deliver blow after blow. Finally, I release him and he stumbles back. His face looks like a child has used it as a finger painting canvas. Red smears are everywhere.

Two guard rush in. They get between us. I see one guard has a can of mace on his hip. "There's a zero tolerance policy for violence boys," the first guard says. "This is going to land you both in solitary."

The second guard adds, "But seeing as you've gone and messed yourselves up pretty good, we're getting you examined first."

They grab us both and march us to the infirmary in handcuffs. Having my hands behind my back causes the pain in my chest to flare again. The bald-headed man is taken into another room while I sit in a hard plastic chair and wait. My anger has subsided but my head is throbbing something awful—like a marching band of pain. It's intense. I've always heard that the best way to combat pain is to face it head on. So instead of trying to ignore it, I visualize it as a small man with a spear, and I mentally tear him limb from limb. Just as I'm getting my pain under control, a woman walks in. She's a part of the medical staff. I read her badge: Kerri Curtis.

She's standing in the doorway. Her body is nearly silhouetted against the fluorescent overhead lights. If I would've known what kind of women they employ in the infirmary, I would've injured myself sooner. Her fiery red hair cascades down her shoulders in waves big enough to engulf me. I tell myself that if her hair was a halo of fire, I'd gladly be scorched those flames. My eyes travel down all of her perfect curves. I can't help but watch the way her thin gold necklace nuzzles in between the secret crevice of her breasts, or the way the gold matches the brightest strands of her hair. I find myself swallowing involuntarily. My cock twitches in my pants and I realize it's been a while since I've fucked a woman.

She looks at my scrapes and makes notes on her clipboard. She sees the cut on my face and grabs a square of gauze. She squirts an antiseptic ointment into the gauze, leans in close, and gently applies it to my cheek. She's so close to me now that I can pick up the faint smell of laundry detergent on her uniform. Mountain fresh.

A strand of hair falls into her face and she pushes it behind one ear. "We'll need to do x-rays," she says. "I'm concerned about your limited mobility in your arm."

"Anything you say."

"I'm glad you agree."

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