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Ben didn’t flinch at Mack’s shout. “I know. I been your cellmate for a week and you ain’t even looked at me sideways.” He took another step closer. “I thought I just got a lucky break. Till I ran into Bone in the yard this afternoon.”
Bone. Mack’s back went rigid at the name. Danny ‘Bone’ Jones. The sadistic fuck who had been Ben’s previous bunkmate.
“He said you must have traded in all your markers to get me reassigned to your cell.”
Mack’s jaw went rigid. “What else did that fucker say?”
“A bunch of other shit, but for the first time in nineteen months, he didn’t lay a finger on me. ‘Cause of you.” Awe was clear in the kid’s voice. “He’s afraid of you.”
“He’s afraid of Pres,” Mack quickly bit out.
“Same thing,” Ben said, and he wasn’t wrong.
Mack had spent the first two years in lock up working out and bulking up until he was the biggest, baddest motherfucker on the block. The President of the Devil’s Spawn MC had noticed. Offered him protection in exchange for pledging.
Considering his only other option were those Aryan motherfuckers, Mack had agreed. He spent every day of the next year enforcing for the Devils. Well, at least he did when he wasn’t in the hole for fighting. No one knew it but he looked forward to his time in solitary. Meant he didn’t mind busting up whatever motherfucker Pres aimed him at. Gained him the nickname Torpedo. Pres pointed and boom, whoever it was wished they’d never gotten in the Devil’s shit.
Mack had never asked for a thing in return. Until last week when he requested Pres make Ben’s transfer. Pres hadn’t even blinked. Even though as vice president, Bone was way higher up than Mack, and Pres had to know that stealing his favorite toy would piss Bone off, he still made it happen. Mack asked for the transfer last Tuesday and by Wednesday night, Ben, skinny, shivering, and eyes full of terror was escorted to his cell.
“What I don’t get is why. You ain’t even looked at me sideways,” he repeated, shaking his head.
“Ever heard the saying don’t look a gift horse in the mouth?”
Ben’s eyebrows furrowed. “Naw, I ain’t heard that.”
“It means just be happy and don’t question shit.”
Ben went quiet at that. Mack turned toward his bunk and yanked down the ratty blanket.
“You could, ya know.”
“Could what?” Mack looked over his shoulder.
“I wouldn’t mind if ya… ya know.” Ben’s head lowered but he kept his eyes on Mack. “If ya wanted somethin’ in return. Like I said, I’m real grateful. I can tell you’s a different sort than Bone. I wouldn’t mind it if ya wanted to—”
“I don’t.” Mack’s voice was sharp.
But over the next weeks and into the second month, Ben didn’t let up. He’d take any opportunity to touch Mack he could. He stayed right on Mack’s heels whenever they left the cell. Tried to give him half his food every day.
“Everyone already thinks you’re husbanding me,” Ben said one night, sitting on the edge of Mack’s bunk.
“Well I’m fucking not,” Mack bit out, not much passion behind it. He was tired. So goddamned tired of all of it.
“I wish you was,” Ben’s voice sounded wistful and Mack glared at him.
“Plenty folks go wolf when they’re inside. Don’t mean you’re gay or nothin’. Just that you got needs.” His voice dropped even quieter. “Everybody got needs. Even you. I hear you at night taking yourself in hand when you don’t think anyone else’s awake.”
“Get the fuck off my bed,” Mack said, shooting to his feet.
It was already lights out but he could see by the dim glow from beyond the cell when Ben dropped to his knees in front of him.
Mack shoved him so hard he toppled backwards, head cracking on the concrete.
Shit. He hadn’t meant to hurt Ben.
He stopped himself right before he could apologize. Maybe Ben would finally get the fucking message.
Still, Mack listened anxiously and only breathed out in relief when he heard Ben shuffling across the floor to his own bed.
