“What’chu readin’, cutie?”
Heaven Lewis looked up from the book she was reading, and looked over toward the opened barred door of her nine-by-twelve cell. There, leaning up against its frame, stood a light-skinned woman sporting a Mohawk and a snake tattoo wrapped around her neck—a cobra. Droplets of blood dripped from its fangs.
The women housed in 3 West affectionately called her Snake because of her venomous temper when crossed, and the way her long tongue slithered all over her lovers’ pulsing bodies whenever she crept into their cells for a salacious romp.
She had a raspy voice as if she’d been smoking cigarettes since the day she’d been born.
Heaven took in the burly, twenty-something-year-old with the handsome face and the spray of freckles across the bridge of her nose, and knew without having to say it that the stud wasn’t the least bit concerned with what she was reading. What she was interested in was tucked away between her thighs beneath two pairs of white women’s briefs and a pair of long johns. She kept her pussy triple-wrapped to stave off any easy attempts at getting to her good-good if some devious bitch tried to scheme on her pussy, that was.
“Just some book,” Heaven calmly answered, and closed her book, placing it face-up beside her on the bunk. The Power Couple. By Allison Hobbs.
Snake smirked at her, the tip of her pink tongue peeking out from between her full lips. The stud had been trying to charm her way into Heaven’s panties from the moment she’d stepped foot into Croydon Hill Correctional Facility—a woman’s prison tucked away on 117 acres in Northwest New Jersey, twenty miles from the New York state line—nearly six months ago. And so far—without much hassle, she’d managed to keep her snatch untouched by the hungry advances of wolves like her starving for fresh cunt.
But the glint in the young stud’s eyes told her that today she wouldn’t be so easily dissuaded. Of all the females here, she had to pick today to fuck with her. She fought to keep from sucking her teeth.
Snake stepped inside the cell. Uninvited. Unwanted. Undeterred.
Long legs and large breasts swept through the small space in two steps. And then she was hovering over her, an arm up on the top bunk, looking down at her, casting her a hungry, primal look. She grabbed at her crotch in the way a man would, then pulled at the whiskers on her chin.
“So how is it?”
The hair on the back of Heaven’s neck stood at attention. But she remained calm. “How is what?”
“The book.”
Heaven shrugged. “It’s okay.” She kept her tone innocuous, not interested in engaging her with book talk. But she didn’t want to be rude to her, either.
All she wanted was to do her bid. Period.
She was here on attempted murder charges. The aggravated assault and possession of a handgun—a Glock she’d used to shoot her cheating boyfriend—had been dismissed under the terms of her plea agreement. A ten-year sentence. And now all she wanted to do was her time so that she could return to her beloved Jimmy Choo stilettos and Birkin handbags. She missed all of her coveted pieces, along with her diamond studs and tennis bracelets.
But this—a one-piece stainless steel toilet/sink and a steel bedstead that held a thin mattress inside of a brick box surrounded by concrete walls and razor-sharp wire. And this God-awful orange New Jersey Department of Corrections jumpsuit—was her current reality.
The stud smirked. “So you like them nasty books, huh?”
Heaven gave her a blank look.
“Yeah, I read, baby,” the young stud said, catching the surprised look on her face. She gave Heaven a lecherous stare. Then she lewdly slid the tip of her tongue over her bottom lip. “I like that kinky shit, too. I just finished reading Vengeance by that broad Zane. Yo, she wild as fuck. Reading her shit makes my dick hard.”
Dick?
Was that what they were calling clits these days?
Dicks?
Heaven frowned. She’d never been friends with a lesbian, so she had no frame of reference to speak of—not that she was prejudiced or anything; she simply didn’t hang in social circles where bisexual or lesbian women frequented—but one thing was for certain: she wasn’t interested in becoming friends with her, or any other women who thought she had a dick hanging between her legs.
“I haven’t read that book,” Heaven simply stated. But what she wanted to say was, “Why the fuck are you in my cell?”
Snake glanced over her shoulder, then gave a slight head nod to her lookout, a tall lanky Dred about nineteen with bad acne and an overbite. The girl nodded back, then stood watch, like a faithful watchdog.
And then came the weight of the stud’s body on Heaven’s bunk. She smelled of Irish Spring soap, and Dial scented roll-on.
Heaven flinched, and inched away from her.
“I’m not here to bite you, baby,” the stud said, reaching over and running the back of two fingers over Heaven’s arm. “Not unless you want me to.” She winked at her. “You pretty as fuck, baby.”
The stud reached for the book lying on the bed and picked it up. She glanced at the cover, then she turned it over in her hand. “I bet reading this freaky shit got you real wet.” She licked her lips again. “Mmph. I love a wet pussy. I’d tear that shit up. Make you forget all about the hard dick you wished you were still getting.”
“Look, Serpent . . .”
“Snake,” she corrected her. “It’s. Snake.” She flicked her tongue out and rolled it several times for effect. Heaven tried not to look wide-eyed at its enormous size. It was six inches. And thick. It disappeared back into her mouth. “And this tongue lives up to its name, baby. Trust.”
Heaven cringed. “Well, listen. Snake. Whatever it is you’re selling, I’m not interested.” She pushed up off the bed and stood. “So go do your soliciting, recruiting, or whatever it is you’re trying to do somewhere else. Now I’m going to ask you nicely to please leave my cell.”
“Nah, baby.” Snake slowly licked the tip of her tongue along her top lip. “You fine as fuck.” She made a tsking noise. “I bet that sweet thing between yo’ legs is nice ‘n’ juicy. Tight too.” She locked her gaze on Heaven. She saw the look on her face. Fear. She smelled it slowly seeping from her pores and it made her dick harder.
She wanted to fuck. Her. But she wouldn’t take it. Not unless she really had to. She wanted this pretty bitch for keeps. Wanted to make her wifey. She wanted to hear her moan. Call out her name. And beg her for more of her good loving. She wanted to feel her nails raking along her back, breaking skin. Drawing blood. Her legs up over her shoulders as she served her ass up right. She wanted to make this sexy bitch come over and over until her whole world spun out of control.
Heaven’s tone was surprisingly strong when she pushed out, “You’ll never know. Now I think it’s best you get out of my cell. Please.”
The stud smirked. She liked her sass. She flicked her tongue. “Yeah, okay. Good luck with that, ma. I’m not leaving until you and I come to an understanding.”
Heaven frowned, and tilted her head in disbelief. “An understanding? Girl, bye. The only understanding there is between us is that I’m not interested.”
“Not today, maybe. But you will be,” Snake stated confidently. She reached over and grabbed an unopened bag of Doritos. Cool Ranch. “I’ll wait, baby—for now.” She tore open the bag, then began chomping on a chip. “But when I’m done waiting on you to get with the program,” she said as she chewed, “I’ll be coming to collect on what’s mine.”
Heaven’s mind reeled. Who the hell did this wannabe man bitch think she was?
The truth was, she wasn’t afraid of her. She was afraid of herself. She refused to be bullied, or manipulated, out of her panties. And she damned sure refused to be chased out of her own cell. No. This thug chick with the imaginary dick had to go, or one of them would have to be dragged down to the infirmary or carried out on a stretcher.
She was classy. A lady. But she wasn’t new to a good fistfight. Sadly, many females mistook her long hair, light eyes, and pretty face for some girly-type who couldn’t put in work. But her three brothers had taught her well growing up.
Still, she felt her heart banging against her rib. She’d heard the horror stories—seen the television shows—of inmates getting raped in prison. Real or not, she wasn’t interested in finding out if any of the rumors were true. Nor was she interested in being strong-armed into a sexual relationship with some aggressive female with a chin full of whiskers, and a cunt bursting with testosterone. No, no, no.
She’d never played victim on the streets. And she’d be damned if she were going to start now. Even after everything she went through in her six-year relationship with Freedom and all of his lying, game playing, and his revolving door of bitches, she hadn’t put up with any of his shit. She’d fought him—and, sometimes, them. No questions asked. And she continued to put up with his mess until she’d had enough of his bullshit.
Then she tried to blow a hole in his back when she’d walked in and found him fucking some other bitch in their bed. Missionary, her legs up over his broad shoulders, her hands cupping his muscled ass as he pounded his dick eagerly in and out of her; the white, eighteen-hundred-count sheet and comforter had been strewn to the floor. Heaven could hear his whore’s moans as she writhed in ecstasy beneath him.
She’d been surprisingly quieted by shock as she stood and watched her man slay his bitch in their bed. The fucking nerve of that bastard! Without thought, she’d stepped slowly back out of the room, then turned around and headed for the gun case they’d kept in another part of the house. She’d punched in the code, selected a handgun, loaded it, then made her way back up to the bedroom, her hands shaking, her heart pounding her ears.
The moans had grown louder, more desperate.
She stood near the bed and pulled the trigger without blinking an eye.
And she’d do it all over again.
“Listen,” she attempted to reason with the stud. “I mean no disrespect when I say this, but I’m not a lesbian.”
The stud smirked. “That’s fine with me, baby. I prefer straight women anyway; especially ones like you.”
She frowned, and felt her patience growing thin. “Um, I don’t think you’re hearing me. I said. I’m. Not. Interested. Period. Now get the fuck out my cell. Please.”
The stud’s jaw clenched.
“Bitch,” she snarled, hopping up from the bunk, nearly hitting her head. “Who the fuck you think you talkin’ to like that? Huh, bitch?” She clenched her right fist, and pointed her finger at her. Then her neck cracked as she stretched it side to side. The stud felt her temper flaring. She didn’t tolerate broads talking shit to her. She’d been running this unit for close to six years, and bitches knew their place. But this one here would need to learn the hard way.
She took her pointer finger and mushed Heaven in the forehead. “Don’t you know who the fuck I am? I’ll smack the shit outta you. I’m the King Bitch over here. I get what I want. Or I take it. You better ask ’bout me. You in my house.” She stepped in closer, her tone threatening. “You’re over here on this housing unit because I want ya stuck-up ass here.” The stud took another menacing step, cornering her. “Fact three,” she continued, gesturing toward her with one of her large, meaty hands. “When I make you mine, you’ll be mine until I say otherwise. And when I’m done fuckin’ ya conceited-ass inside out, you’d better hope I don’t whore your stuck-up ass out to the rest of the prison.”
Several thoughts came into Heaven’s mind. Screaming for help. Pushing the stud backward, out of her personal space. Spitting in her face. Clawing her eyeballs out.
But, the bitch had put her hands on her, so in the end, there was only one thing that had to be done.
She whipped out her blade and went to work, painting her cell red.