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Taking a deep breath to steel myself, we enter the room.
Two
Axle
It’s been a strange transition since I named Ana the new boss. I’ll admit, in many ways it’s been a relief. A stress and burden I didn’t realize I carried was lifted, along with it, my addiction to cutting. What I didn’t realize was this would bring an entirely new set of stresses directly resulting from watching the woman I love get into pissing matches with inmates, and dealing with constant power struggles. Not to mention I still catch many of them leering at her when they think I’m not looking.
Fuckers.
Lucky I don’t castrate all of them. When I suggested to Ana we turn the entire prison population to eunuchs together she told me not to be ridiculous, but I still see merit in the idea.
Despite the added anxiety though, it’s amazing watching Ana come into her own. I keep having to remind myself she isn’t my mother, she can handle this place. She was practically raised for it. Regardless, I have to say this to myself daily on repeat to keep from losing it. She tolerates most of my bullshit well, and calls me out on it too.
Another reason I love the infuriating woman. She doesn’t take crap, even from me.
To see her standing proudly and walking through The Tomb like she owns the place…well, if I’m being honest, it makes me want to toss her over my shoulder, run back to our room and fuck her until she can’t walk, but it also makes me so fucking proud I want to burst. I never thought I’d have a woman by my side period, much less one I’m proud to walk beside.
I’m broken from this train of thought by a familiar, and not entirely welcome, young inmate coming toward us.
“Hey, Ax!” Ciaran says, out of breath and red-faced. “I just wanted to ask you about….”
I shake my head, interrupting him before pointing to Ana.
“Ask her your questions,” I tell him with a raised eyebrow. The boy flushes and turns to her and I see her trying to keep a straight face at his obvious discomfort.
“Umm, ma’am…” he begins, and Ana can’t hold it in, letting out a short laugh.
“Ana, please,” she corrects with a smirk. “I’m hardly a ma’am.” The boy turns even redder as he begins to stumble over his words.
“Are you coming?” a voice calls from the office ahead and I see Emilio standing by the door waiting for us. Ana turns back to Ciaran.
“Come find us later,” she tells him, not unkindly, and the kid’s eyes widen before he runs off the other way. She watches after him with an amused look.
“What was that about?” she muses and I chuckle.
“Probably nothing important. Kid’s a bit overdramatic.”
Straightening her face once more, Ana leads the way down the last of the corridor and into the old administration office where the others are waiting. I step into the room behind her with Brutus, as she calls him, only a step behind me. I don’t fail to notice how she doesn’t greet them, nor offer apologies for her lateness, and I’m sure they notice too. Her back is straight and tall as she walks up and takes her place at the front of the room. I have to hide a smirk. She’s new to it, but damn if the woman doesn’t understand how this game is played.
“Gentlemen,” she begins without preamble, “let’s get started.”
I should probably be paying attention, but I’ll admit I’m more focused on her as the men begin to talk. Same old shit. Her eyes glance around the room and I follow them, taking in the strange array of prisoners present.
Emilio is here, of course representing the Italian faction of the prison. There was minimal struggle with getting him onboard early, and he actually admitted to me that Ana reminded him of his own daughter, who took over a section of the Italian mafia family prior to his incarceration. He knows the brutality of women and supports Ana. I give him a curt nod when he catches my eye.
Luis is present too, and was also no trouble for us. He’s a small man and not particularly violent, at least compared to most of us here. I still remember when he joined us a few years ago and quickly became well-liked by many of the occupants. When he arrived, he was an addict, opiates. Now, he is known for some of the best hooch in the prison. He speaks about a dozen languages on top of his native language, Spanish, and has acted as translator to me many times. His light-hearted attitude and appearance make him easy to get along with, and he has few enemies to speak of.
Then there’s John, one of the resident skinheads, though he prefers “Aryan Brotherhood”. He was a member of Cole’s crew and I don’t trust him, but so far, he’s been relatively amicable. I intend to keep a close eye on him though.
Theo is also here, looking a bit uncomfortable and out of place among the other warriors sitting at the table. Ana decided he would speak for the other “Theo’s and Brutus’s’” of the prison, despite my arguments against it. The damn woman has all sorts of foolish notions, and I’ve yet to dissuade her. Everyone here knows Theo, so luckily it wasn’t questioned.
The last man here is one I don’t know as well personally. I do know his reputation. He joined us only about eight months ago, a baby in Tomb years, who goes by Desmond. He’s amassed a small group of followers, random men who don’t fit in elsewhere. I know little about him or why he’s here today, which makes me nervous. The fact Ethan was supposed to be here also brings forth questions but those will need to be saved for later.
“We lost another last night,” Luis says, bringing me back to the conversation. “Another bad batch of hooch.” Mutters around the table. It’s not uncommon, but usually, the addicts have their own poisons. With a lack of drugs flowing right now, they are turning to alternatives.
“We have a lot of addicts on our end too, unfortunately,” Emilio adds. “We’ve only lost one to withdrawal, but the others are getting difficult to manage.”
“Have you heard anything about shipments?” Theo asks hopefully. All eyes turn to Ana and though she does a commendable job not showing her discomfort, I know she’s feeling it. We were supposed to get a new shipment from the outside almost a week ago, and for the first time, it didn’t arrive. No supplies, no food, and no word from the outside.
