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How convenient.
What the hell was going on inside her prison?
The whole compound was shut down. All movement, all activities shut. The. Hell. Down. And she’d shake this motherfucking prison upside down, and inside out.
With so many women with diverse backgrounds, criminal histories, and personality clashes, there was bound to be violence. It was inevitable and—yes, a daily occurrence on some level. But that still didn’t make the shit acceptable. The warden knew that for many of these women, solving problems with fists and weapons was all they knew how to do.
She sucked in her breath and snatched her desk drawer open and pulled out her flask, frantically twisting off the cap and taking a long swallow. Truths or not, she was sick of rationalizing and making excuses for these wild-ass boorish women.
If they couldn’t find a way to get along and coexist instead of acting like a bunch of barbarians, then she would make their lives a living fucking hell in here. She’d make it a living hell for any of them to jail in her prison.
Try her.
She slid the opening of her flask to her lips again, and swallowed a mouthful of her most trusted friend. Belvedere. She inhaled, then exhaled, savoring the way the alcohol spread warmth down in her chest, then fanned out into her stomach.
She couldn’t let these unruly hyenas get to her. But, with the commissioner now breathing down her neck, they’d really fucked her nerves raw with this most recent shit.
Oh, those bitches were going to suffer. And suffer well!
So far, with the water shut off since the prison yard attacks, no one had been able to shower or flush their toilets—to prevent anyone from flushing drugs, weapons, and any other contraband. And many of the women were starting to feel the effects.
As far as the warden was concerned, it was unfortunate—but if inmates wanted to act like wild animals, then they could stay locked in their damn cells in filth, funk, and squalor, inhaling their shit and piss.
She needed to sort through the drama, and clean out the trouble-making trash. And fast.
The search teams were in full force, turning every housing unit upside down—with explicit orders to not destroy any inmate’s personal property. Any cell found with contraband would result in both inmates being charged, and sent to solitary.
So far, over the last several days, the raids had confiscated a number of cell phones, weapons—ranging from shanks to hammers, and drugs; lots and lots of drugs from weed, cocaine, heroin, and hundreds of ecstasy pills.
Her damn prison was a damn drug den.
These junkie bitches probably been attending NA meetings higher than kites. She took two small sips from her flask.
“I’ll tell you what. I want this situation handled. Now either you get this mess under control,” the commissioner had warned her, “or I’ll find someone else who will.”
Then he was up on his feet, heading out her door, leaving her at her desk with her jaws slack.
She shook her head in disgust.
She had plans to retire in another three years, and she’d be goddamned if she was about to let any of them fuck over her pension—or her plans.
Period.
There was a knock at her door.
She sighed.
“Give me a sec,” she called out, quickly twisting the silver cap of her flask back on. She reached for two cinnamon mints and tossed them in her mouth, then walked around her desk to open her door.
“Yes, Susan?”
Her secretary blinked, startled by her brusqueness. “You have your ‘Do Not Disturb’ on.”
“Oh, right. Yes. I forgot. After having my ass chewed out and handed to me, I needed to steal a moment to myself.”
She nodded knowingly. Susan smiled to herself. Good for her ass. Ever since she’d gotten promoted to warden, she’d become this moody, snappy-mouth bitch. And Susan didn’t appreciate the level of disrespect and disregard she suddenly tossed at her.
“So what can I do for you?”
