Cell 109 was loud.
Not the bad kind of loud. The celebrating kind — which was almost worse, honestly.
All three of them were trying on their new dark blue uniforms at the same time, bumping into each other, holding the fabric up, talking over each other with the energy of men who had just won something and needed everyone within a hundred metres to know about it.
Bandaged Arm was the worst of the three.
He had his new uniform on already and kept looking down at it like it might disappear if he stopped checking. He was grinning. Actually grinning, doing a small unnecessary spin near the centre of the cell.
The gate creaked open and immediately, all three of them stopped.
They watched Ruaan walk in.
He didn't look at them or slow down. He went straight to his bed, lay down on his back, and stared at the ceiling.
Silence.
They looked at his face. The bruising. The dried blood under his nose. A cut near his jaw.
That was it.
They looked at each other.
One of them leaned toward Bandaged Arm and whispered, "He looks... fine. How does he look fine?"
"Cullen went easy on him," the other one whispered back.
"Cullen never goes easy."
"Then someone stopped it early."
Bandaged Arm said nothing. He was looking at Ruaan with an expression that wasn't quite guilt but something similar.
"Apologise to him," Split Lip muttered.
"What?" Bandaged Arm's voice went up. "I'm dark blue now. I can't apologise to a grey."
"You were grey this morning."
"That was this morning."
Bruised Jaw folded his arms. "You became dark blue because someone helped you. Who was that officer we found standing next to you after the game?"
Bandaged Arm's jaw tightened. "Go to sleep."
"That's not an answer—"
"'Go. To. Sleep.'"
.
.
Ruaan heard all of it.
Every word. He was facing the ceiling with his eyes open and he heard every single thing.
He thought about the officer.
He already knew. He didn't need to think about it for long — there was only one officer in this facility who would get involved in something involving Ruaan specifically. Only one who had a reason to.
Harolin.
Harolin had helped Bandaged Arm expose him. He had set the whole thing up, fed the information through, and then — what? Stepped in halfway? Made sure Bandaged Arm got his dark blue while Ruaan still ended up at the bottom?
'He wants me to suffer,' Ruaan thought. 'And he wants to control how.'
He thought about Mara. About the women's prison somewhere, more than two years ago. About whether it looked anything like this. About whether someone had grabbed her hair and introduced her face to the floor the way Cullen had done to him today.
He thought about what he'd said in that cell.
'I choose... to be yours.'
The words had come out before he could stop them. Not because he wanted it. Not even close. But he had looked at those broken bodies on the floor and his throat had finally opened and that was what came out.
Cullen had smiled like Christmas had come early.
And just like that, Ruaan Calder — who had never submitted to anyone in his life — had become Cullen Ray's property.
He clenched his fist against the mattress.
The thought made his skin crawl. Cullen hadn't touched him yet. He had just looked at him with that wide easy smile and told him he'd collect later, like Ruaan was something he could pick up whenever he felt like it. Like he had all the time in the world.
Because he did. He fucking did.
He was Top One. This was his prison.
'From now on, you're mine,' Cullen had said. 'Don't you dare go anywhere.'
Ruaan stared at the ceiling.
He had seven hundred and twenty-seven days left.
Something wet ran down the side of his face into his hair and he clenched his jaw so hard it hurt and told himself absolutely not. He was not doing that. He was Ruaan Calder and he did not—
The wet kept coming anyway.
He didn't sniff. Just lay there and let it happen silently and hated himself a little for it and hated Cullen Ray more and hated Harolin Crowe the most.
Snoring started. One, then two, then three.
Ruaan sat up.
He looked at the three of them. Out cold. Dark blue uniforms still on because they'd been too excited to take them off before sleeping.
He looked at the gate.
'If I can't find him tomorrow,' he thought, 'I'll find him today.'
.
.
He had never been to the officer's quarters before.
He had no idea where Harolin's office was. He walked through the corridor with his bruised face and his grey uniform and the dried blood that hadn't fully flaked off yet. He looked completely fine. This was a normal time to be walking around.
He found it after ten minutes.
A door. Plain. Dark wood.
'H.L. CROWE'
He didn't knock. He pushed it open and walked in.
Harolin was standing behind his desk, phone pressed to his ear, one hand in his pocket. He looked up when the door opened.
His expression didn't change.
He looked at Ruaan — at the face, at the uniform, at all of it — and looked back at whatever spot on the wall he'd been staring at during his call and kept talking like nothing had happened.
Ruaan closed the door behind him.
He stood there and waited.
It took a few minutes. He spent those minutes looking at the clean and small office especially a single notebook on the desk, and trying to organise the sentence he'd been building in his head since he left the cell.
Harolin ended the call.
He set the phone down. Looked at Ruaan. "Why are you outside at this hour?"
Ruaan pressed his lips together.
He had rehearsed this. He knew what he was going to say.
"You win," he said.
Harolin didn't move.
"I'm surrendering," Ruaan said. "Whatever you want. Whatever this whole thing was supposed to be. Fine. You win." He held Harolin's gaze. "But you have to get me away from Cullen Ray."
Silence.
Harolin tilted his head slowly, folded his arms and then the corner of his mouth moved in a way that Ruaan already knew meant nothing good.
"Why would I do that?" he said. "If I want you to suffer, Cullen Ray does an excellent job." He paused. "Are you scared of getting fucked by him in public, Ru?" Another pause. "I wanted you to be Finn's replacement. I'm actually glad Cullen picked you. He has good taste."
Ruaan's jaw tightened.
Harolin stopped talking.
He looked at Ruaan's face and something moved behind his eyes and he opened his mouth like he was going to say something dismissive.
Ruaan reached down and pulled his grey uniform shirt over his head.
Harolin's mouth closed.
The shirt was stained — blood along the collar, dirt on the hem. Ruaan turned to set it on the small sofa near the door and the tattoo on his left side caught the light. 'R-U-A-A-N' in dark ink, curving with his ribs.
"What are you doing?" Harolin asked. His voice was flat but something underneath it wasn't.
"You're attracted to my body, right?" Ruaan said, turning back around. "You've seen it. You know you are."
"I'm not—"
"I'd rather submit to you," Ruaan said, "than Cullen Ray."
Harolin looked at him for a long moment. "There's nothing I can do. Cullen is the Top One. The officers don't interfere with the hierarchy. That's how this place runs."
The tears came again. Ruaan couldn't stop them this time.
Harolin stared at him.
Then he moved. He crossed the office in a few steps and his hand closed around Ruaan's shoulder and the door was suddenly against Ruaan's back and Harolin was in front of him, close, looking down at him with those pale grey eyes.
"Let me ask you something," Harolin said quietly.
Ruaan didn't answer.
"Are you here because you think I'll be softer on you than Cullen?" Harolin's eyes moved across his face. "Or—" a pause, slow, deliberate "—are you a virgin, Ru?"
Ruaan flinched.
He couldn't help it. It was automatic... A single, full-body flinch that he felt before he could stop it.
Harolin looked at him.
And smiled.
"Bingo," he murmured.