Joe was taken down the stretch of hall passing cell after cell until they came to the next to the last one. The door was open since prisoners were not allowed in their cell during the day except during lockdown, an event that happened an average of once a week. Joe looked at the small room. He had seen the prison cells on television but those had bunk beds attached to the wall with a toilet and a sink in them. This cell was nothing like that. There were two cots and at the foot of each was a small metal locker which, of course, had no lock.
The cots were made with gray blankets on top and pillows in gray pillowcases. The wall was a ghastly dull green and looked incredibly dingy in the dim light. The only sign that Joe would be sharing this cell with anyone was the spare set of clothing lying on top of the metal locker at the foot of one of the cots.
"Put your things in your locker," Joe was ordered. He hurriedly did as told and was then escorted down the hall into the prisoner's recreation room.
Joe saw roughly twenty cons gathered around a television set that was chained to the wall. It was one of the old fashioned kind with a knob to turn the channel. The guard who brought him in left, leaving only one guard on duty in the room.
Joe swallowed a bit nervously. If the guard weren't here, he knew he would be killed immediately. He recognized four of the men in the room as being men he and Frank had sent here. Two others he recognized by sight as men his father had sent here recently.
He closed his eyes for a brief second and swallowed again. This was what he wanted. To get in here were he knew it would all end. No more guilt; no more pain. He supposed it was a form of suicide but since he wasn't actually killing himself and he hadn't really done anything deserving of being arrested in the first place, it shouldn't count.
He opened his eyes in time to see one of the prisoners sidle up to the guard and say something. Joe watched as the guard left the room at once. Almost immediately, he was surrounded. His arms were pulled behind him and Joe groaned as he felt them coming close to being yanked from their sockets, but the men's movements came to a stop although the pain remained.
One of the men, a man of the same height as Joe with thick black hair and dark brown eyes, came to stand in front of Joe. His nose was too big for his face and his lips were curled back to form the most vile smirk Joe had ever witnessed. Joe's nose twitched as the smell form the man's underarms accosted him as he lifted his arms and put one hand on each of Joe's shoulders.
"You know," he said, his voice gruff and his eyes shining with malicious delight, "when we heard you had been arrested for attempted murder, we figured someone was just trying to frame you."
Joe gave an almost imperceptible snort. Here his own family thought he was guilty right off the bat and these criminals had believed him innocent.
"But when you admitted to doing it, well, we couldn't contain our excitement. I mean, you, Fenton Hardy's little boy, going to prison for attempted murder. We laughed our asses off. How the mighty had fallen and all that, you know," he said, laughing at the memory as the others in the room snickered. "At first, I wanted nothing more than to kill you. Pull you limb from limb. I mean, it's obvious I would have help with the deed," he added, looking at the men gathered around them. "But then, we saw you on television while you were being led out of the courthouse and we talked it over. We decided to have a little fun before we offed you."
Joe turned a pale green. This idea hadn't occurred to him. He thought they would just hate him and his family so much they would want him dead, but now, it looked like he would have to suffer first.
Joe swallowed again. He wouldn't scream. He wouldn't shout or beg. Whatever they were going to do to him couldn't be avoided so he might as well give in and let them get it over with. His life wasn't worth living anymore anyway. Any hope he had fled when his own mother, the last person who he thought he knew believed in him, the same as admitted she didn't.
Some kind of response had been expected since it was almost a full minute later before Joe's hair was grabbed and his head forced forward. His lips were pushed open as the man plunged his tongue into Joe's mouth. Joe felt his clothes being removed by the multitude of hands. Tears of humiliation seeped from his eyes as he felt hands touching him where no one had.
"Stop!" ordered a deep voice. The voice had no effect on Joe but the movement of hands ceased immediately as the pressure on his mouth vanished.
"Let him go," the voice continued. "He's mine." Joe was released at once. His knees crashed to the floor and he caught himself with his hands.
He looked up, his breathing ragged, his vision a little blurred, and saw a large man with mocha skin and bulging muscles standing before him. "Get up and put on your clothes," the man ordered Joe.
Trembling, Joe scampered to his feet and snatched his clothes from where they had been thrown. Huddling in a corner, he put them back on, his skin on fire as he felt everyone watching him dress.
"Here," he was ordered by his rescuer. Joe moved to his side and sat down in the chair pointed to. Everyone sat back down and resumed watching the telly. Two hours later, the guard returned. He looked at Joe with a worried frown on his face but said nothing. Minutes later, the television was shut off to the grumblings of the inmates and they were ordered back to their cells.
After their cell had been shut and locked, Joe turned to his roommate, the man who had saved him from being gang raped hours before. "Thank you," he said, his voice raw for some unknown reason.
"Don't thank me kid," he was told. "You obviously don't know me, but I know you. My name is Dan Pearson. Pierce to everyone who has ever crossed my path. Your old man sent me here for life sixteen years ago." He watched Joe's eyes darken as he thought about that statement. "That's right pretty boy. I'm the first bust your old man made after he went private."
"Then why...why did you save me?" Joe asked in confusion.
"Save you? Yeah, right," Pierce guffawed. "I didn't save you. I just changed the rules a little. I know a good thing when I see one and you, Kid, are a good thing. Besides, I don't go in for the gang bang funk," he continued. "One on one is much more to my style," he added, grabbing Joe by his neck and pulling him close.
"Let me make it simple for you to understand," Pierce told him. "You belong to me. You're my property. No one touches you unless I give my permission, and don't worry, Blondie. I will give my permission if the price is right. At night, when we are locked up, you will immediately take off your clothes. You will do everything I tell you the first time I tell you. You will do everything in your power to please me because if you make me angry, I will give you back to them on the condition they don't hurt you but so much at a time. After all, what fun would any of us have if you died?"
He shoved Joe back into the wall and sat down on one of the cots. "Now," he said, leaning back on two hands and smiling at Joe's discomfort. "Strip."
The cots were made with gray blankets on top and pillows in gray pillowcases. The wall was a ghastly dull green and looked incredibly dingy in the dim light. The only sign that Joe would be sharing this cell with anyone was the spare set of clothing lying on top of the metal locker at the foot of one of the cots.
"Put your things in your locker," Joe was ordered. He hurriedly did as told and was then escorted down the hall into the prisoner's recreation room.
Joe saw roughly twenty cons gathered around a television set that was chained to the wall. It was one of the old fashioned kind with a knob to turn the channel. The guard who brought him in left, leaving only one guard on duty in the room.
Joe swallowed a bit nervously. If the guard weren't here, he knew he would be killed immediately. He recognized four of the men in the room as being men he and Frank had sent here. Two others he recognized by sight as men his father had sent here recently.
He closed his eyes for a brief second and swallowed again. This was what he wanted. To get in here were he knew it would all end. No more guilt; no more pain. He supposed it was a form of suicide but since he wasn't actually killing himself and he hadn't really done anything deserving of being arrested in the first place, it shouldn't count.
He opened his eyes in time to see one of the prisoners sidle up to the guard and say something. Joe watched as the guard left the room at once. Almost immediately, he was surrounded. His arms were pulled behind him and Joe groaned as he felt them coming close to being yanked from their sockets, but the men's movements came to a stop although the pain remained.
One of the men, a man of the same height as Joe with thick black hair and dark brown eyes, came to stand in front of Joe. His nose was too big for his face and his lips were curled back to form the most vile smirk Joe had ever witnessed. Joe's nose twitched as the smell form the man's underarms accosted him as he lifted his arms and put one hand on each of Joe's shoulders.
"You know," he said, his voice gruff and his eyes shining with malicious delight, "when we heard you had been arrested for attempted murder, we figured someone was just trying to frame you."
Joe gave an almost imperceptible snort. Here his own family thought he was guilty right off the bat and these criminals had believed him innocent.
"But when you admitted to doing it, well, we couldn't contain our excitement. I mean, you, Fenton Hardy's little boy, going to prison for attempted murder. We laughed our asses off. How the mighty had fallen and all that, you know," he said, laughing at the memory as the others in the room snickered. "At first, I wanted nothing more than to kill you. Pull you limb from limb. I mean, it's obvious I would have help with the deed," he added, looking at the men gathered around them. "But then, we saw you on television while you were being led out of the courthouse and we talked it over. We decided to have a little fun before we offed you."
Joe turned a pale green. This idea hadn't occurred to him. He thought they would just hate him and his family so much they would want him dead, but now, it looked like he would have to suffer first.
Joe swallowed again. He wouldn't scream. He wouldn't shout or beg. Whatever they were going to do to him couldn't be avoided so he might as well give in and let them get it over with. His life wasn't worth living anymore anyway. Any hope he had fled when his own mother, the last person who he thought he knew believed in him, the same as admitted she didn't.
Some kind of response had been expected since it was almost a full minute later before Joe's hair was grabbed and his head forced forward. His lips were pushed open as the man plunged his tongue into Joe's mouth. Joe felt his clothes being removed by the multitude of hands. Tears of humiliation seeped from his eyes as he felt hands touching him where no one had.
"Stop!" ordered a deep voice. The voice had no effect on Joe but the movement of hands ceased immediately as the pressure on his mouth vanished.
"Let him go," the voice continued. "He's mine." Joe was released at once. His knees crashed to the floor and he caught himself with his hands.
He looked up, his breathing ragged, his vision a little blurred, and saw a large man with mocha skin and bulging muscles standing before him. "Get up and put on your clothes," the man ordered Joe.
Trembling, Joe scampered to his feet and snatched his clothes from where they had been thrown. Huddling in a corner, he put them back on, his skin on fire as he felt everyone watching him dress.
"Here," he was ordered by his rescuer. Joe moved to his side and sat down in the chair pointed to. Everyone sat back down and resumed watching the telly. Two hours later, the guard returned. He looked at Joe with a worried frown on his face but said nothing. Minutes later, the television was shut off to the grumblings of the inmates and they were ordered back to their cells.
After their cell had been shut and locked, Joe turned to his roommate, the man who had saved him from being gang raped hours before. "Thank you," he said, his voice raw for some unknown reason.
"Don't thank me kid," he was told. "You obviously don't know me, but I know you. My name is Dan Pearson. Pierce to everyone who has ever crossed my path. Your old man sent me here for life sixteen years ago." He watched Joe's eyes darken as he thought about that statement. "That's right pretty boy. I'm the first bust your old man made after he went private."
"Then why...why did you save me?" Joe asked in confusion.
"Save you? Yeah, right," Pierce guffawed. "I didn't save you. I just changed the rules a little. I know a good thing when I see one and you, Kid, are a good thing. Besides, I don't go in for the gang bang funk," he continued. "One on one is much more to my style," he added, grabbing Joe by his neck and pulling him close.
"Let me make it simple for you to understand," Pierce told him. "You belong to me. You're my property. No one touches you unless I give my permission, and don't worry, Blondie. I will give my permission if the price is right. At night, when we are locked up, you will immediately take off your clothes. You will do everything I tell you the first time I tell you. You will do everything in your power to please me because if you make me angry, I will give you back to them on the condition they don't hurt you but so much at a time. After all, what fun would any of us have if you died?"
He shoved Joe back into the wall and sat down on one of the cots. "Now," he said, leaning back on two hands and smiling at Joe's discomfort. "Strip."