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“You’re bugging, you know that, right? There’s no—”
She cut him off. “Please, baby. I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.”
He huffed. “I need you to tell me what exactly you need with a Taser?”
“I need justice,” she’d whispered.
Silence greeted her. Then Rawlings said, “Let me see what I can do,” and ended the call.
Batting her eyes a few times, Heaven took in the last three stalls and cringed. She leaned her mop up against the wall, and stretched. This was her fifth day sweeping and mopping bathroom floors and cleaning dirty toilets, all which were a part of her punishment orchestrated by the sergeant and that fat-fuck Alvin.
She hadn’t had Struthers’ dick in her mouth again since that night she’d been dragged out of her cell in handcuffs, but she’d seen him a few times in the corridors. Twice, she’d caught his gaze on her and she’d rolled her eyes at him, which only caused him to smirk at her.
He’d gotten under her skin, and she’d let him. And it pissed her off. She’d done this to herself, and yet she blamed him—Struthers—for her current predicament. Hustling for snacks and personal hygiene items was not a good look. She wasn’t a begging bitch. She wasn’t used to having to barter for shit. But here she was—thanks to that motherfucker—eating prison slop and washing her ass with soap that they gave out to the poor bitches. Her skin felt scratchy because of the harsh chemicals.
Without canteen privileges for another few weeks, she had to mooch off Sabina, who had very little her damn self. Nevertheless, she did what she had to do, knowing that this too would pass. The only bright spot in this fucked-up situation was the fact that she
still had Struthers’ cock hairs.
What she planned on doing with them, she didn’t know. But what she did know was, somehow they’d become, along with the condom wrapper, very useful. So she had his coarse hairs tucked away in between the pages of her Bible—King James Version, Psalm 105:15.
Blasphemous, yes . . .
But she’d purposefully hidden his pubic hairs there because he had disrespected her. And, she twisted the context, “Touch not mine anointed, and do my prophets no harm” to suit her own sick need for payback. And, make no mistake. He was going to pay dearly. She believed she was one of the chosen ones. Chosen to shut his motherfucking ass down.
She planned to run this prison if it were the last thing she did. And when it was time to swoop in and snatch her throne, these motherfuckers wouldn’t know what hit them. She smiled.
Oh how sweet it would be.
But before she gave that scandalous six-foot-six motherfucker a taste of his own medicine, she wanted another go at his enormously fat dick without the handcuffs, and without that Neanderthal twat, Clemmons, window-watching.
She closed her eyes for a brief moment and took a deep breath. She needed to not allow emotions, particularly her anger, to take control of her. Whatever she did from this point forward, it had to be done methodically. It had to be well thought out. And it had to be dirty.
Period.
Her lashes fluttered open and she looked at the yellow “Wet Floor” sign and sighed. Thank God, this shit is almost over, she thought as she glanced up at the wall clock. She turned to one of the row of mirrors along the wall. She looked a hot mess. This manual slave labor was aging her.
Irked, she reached for her mop again, then tightened her grip on the handle and swung the mop wide across the floor, back and forth. She had another hour before she could break. And then she’d have to come out again second shift to clean another set of toilets. She was assigned to clean one-and-a-half hours in the morning, and another one-and-a-half hours in the afternoon.
Three hours a day.
Fifteen hours done, and too many more to go!
She hated it. But she was almost at the proverbial light shining at the end of the tunnel. She was one day closer to being finished with this ridiculous bullshit. She’d never seen so many pissy, shitty, or bloodstained toilet seats in her life.
And someone had gone as far as shitting in one of the showers.
Her knuckles began turning red from squeezing the mop’s handle so tightly as she mopped over the floor in wide figure-eight circles.
These bitches were filthy. Half wiping their asses. Not properly disposing of tampons. Not flushing toilets. The whole ordeal was nothing short of humiliating. And it made her contempt for Struthers and Clemmons that much deeper. It churned inside her like a river of battery acid.
She wanted them both to pay for trying to fuck her over. It was all she thought about since walking into her cell and finding all of her shit gone. Stolen.
The thought aroused her. Made her wet. And if she had the opportunity to place her finger on her clit, she’d mewl out.
And come.
TWENTY-NINE
