Asher sat at the cafeteria table like a terrified cat, refusing to move his hands or head. He was paralyzed by the fear that his eyes might accidentally drift toward the scary, towering man who had sliced off that prisoner's finger.
Even though it seemed the man had rescued him that time, Asher couldn't bring himself to trust him fully—especially not as an Omega. Thank goodness his heat wasn't due for another three months, leaving him temporarily safe, but his scent was a different story. Surely they must have noticed his nature by now; he felt utterly doomed.
An Omega alone in a prison filled with sick, deranged Alphas—what could be worse than that? His new companion hadn't arrived yet, leaving him isolated at the long table.
Strangely, no one had bullied him yet. Instead, all he felt were weird stares and a constant hum of gossip. People were pointing and whispering incessantly. He was a mystery they were desperate to solve, but the news of what happened in the "yellow corner" had spread like wildfire. The warning was clear: the infamous Mafia Lord of the nine formidable clans had claimed this gorgeous, graceful beauty as his mate. To say the others were told to "fuck off" was an understatement.
Asher didn't understand the politics and wasn't brave enough to go get food. He was terrified of who might touch him this time, and he didn't want to be the reason more people were killed before his eyes.
He was still shivering when a familiar face towered over him and grinned.
"So, here you are, Asher. It's nice to meet you. Now, will you stop shivering? You're only drawing more attention to yourself," the man reprimanded. When Asher looked up, he almost staggered back and fell off his chair.
Every prisoner in the room was gawking at him, unable to look away from his beautiful eyes and a face that seemed like a blessing in such a cursed place.
"You see? Pull yourself together if you want to last here. I am Jack 'The Bulldog'." The name caught Asher by surprise, making him choke on his saliva.
A Bulldog? Who names themselves after a dog? It was so incredibly weird.
Without explaining the nickname, Jack sat opposite Asher and ordered a plate. Being one of the respected personnel in the prison, he could have his food brought directly to him without standing in line. Asher was speechless; the favoritism in this place was loud and undeniable. Some people received special treatment, and his seatmate was clearly one of them. He didn't know if he should engage or speak his mind. In a place like this, honesty could get you killed in the worst possible way, and he couldn't fathom pouring his heart out to the hunk before him.
"Nice to meet you, Jack... The Bulldog," Asher faked a smile, but Jack scoffed.
"Don't pretend. I can see you're not blind, and I'm not dumb. Why aren't you eating, Asher? And stop looking around like a trapped fish. We both know they haven't seen a type like you in their disgusting lives, so don't be surprised."
Asher arched an eyebrow. That was a lot to take in. What did he mean by "pretending"? Of course he was scared! What was a softie like him supposed to do—dance because he was in this mess? Being exposed so quickly hadn't been on his agenda.
"I will eat, but I'm just not hungry..." Asher lied. He didn't want to touch the watery soup he saw the others taking. The sight nauseated him so badly he feared he might vomit. Since he didn't have special privileges, he figured it was better to avoid it entirely.
"Oh, Asher, the food here isn't to your taste? Well, you're in luck. You aren't on the same level as them; you'll be eating a much higher meal than the trash these wretched scums eat," Jack revealed before beginning his own meal.
Asher looked around, and just as before, all eyes were on him—scrutinizing him from head to toe, lingering on his ass. It made him feel exposed and spooky, as if their eyes were undressing him. His mind was still triggered by his experiences, and he struggled to find any sense of peace.
He remembered waking up after falling unconscious to find this same man taking care of him, giving him bread so he wouldn't collapse again. He had tried to run, only to be reminded of the terror that trapped him in this real-life hell. Looking at Jack's smirk, Asher reached for a piece of bread, not ready for another scolding. He had come to the cafeteria hoping for a real meal, but the reality of the underworld destroyed his appetite.
"I can't stand it, Jack. I don't know why..."
Before Jack could reply, a heavy, suffocating silence fell over the entire cafeteria.
What took Asher's breath away was a knife that flew right past his face and Jack's, whistling through the air until it buried itself in the eye of a prisoner who had been leering at Asher and licking his lips. The man screamed in agony as his eyeball was destroyed, and Xavier's bass voice thundered through the room.
"Take him to the solitary room."
An even more dreadful pause followed. The solitary room was a place no one prayed to visit—an empty darkness that drove men insane. Those who went in rarely made it out alive. Cops rushed in, dragging the bleeding, wailing man away, his cries completely ignored as he was tossed into the room of no return.
The Devil himself kept his brooding gaze on Asher, his face still hidden behind that mask. Since he was the shadow of the prison, no one had seen his true face except his right-hand man. Seeing those poisonous eyes, Jack knew his time was up. He stood up respectfully and grinned at Asher.
"You're on your own, kid. Good luck," he winked and hurried off.
The masked Devil began walking forward. The sound of his boots was like a bell of doom. The crowd scampered, clearing a wide path; failure to give him space usually resulted in an instant beheading. Asher saw the man heading his way and felt his breath hitch. It was as if an invisible force was drawing them together, making him uneasy.
He didn't know if it was his imagination, but he thought he saw a smirk behind that mask. Nothing prepared him for what happened next. As Asher sat there, shifting in his seat and dying of hunger, the man turned abruptly and took a tray from a guard.
The prisoners held their breath, terrified of sparking his anger. Their eyes followed every step as the Devil did the unthinkable: he sat in the newbie's seat. He had never shared a table with anyone but his second-in-command. It was like a movie playing out before them. Not only did he sit, but he faced Asher directly.
Asher froze, the scent of powerful cedarwood filling his nostrils. Then came the command.
"Let's eat, Jewel. Since you aren't eating, I am feeding you."
Asher thought it was a dream. The underworld demon—the Devil himself—was proposing to feed him? The shock intensified when the man reached up and removed his mask. Asher's jaw dropped at the sight of his face. Then, a spoon appeared mid-air, held right to his lips.
"Jewel... you're not eating."
The masculine voice vibrated through the air, and around the room, lookers began fainting one by one. Their Devil was on an entirely new level, and they didn't know if they were in more danger than ever before.