Caught By the Convicts by Jessa Kane

Chapter 3

Klay

This cell has never felt smaller.

I’m trapped in here and the girl is out there.

I pace in front of the bars, hands on top of my head, fingers buried in my hair. It feels as though someone has hollowed out my insides with an ice cream scooper.

What the hell did she do to me?

It has been a full week since the guards carried her out of here and my skin is still clammy. To say nothing of my cock. It waits in my jumpsuit, livid over being denied what surely would have been heaven. I can’t close my eyes without hearing her whimpering. Feeling her taut ass wiggling around in my lap. Can’t sleep or eat or even sit down, because I need. I just need. And that hunger is compounded by Ruger’s.

He hasn’t spoken since they took Wendy. Just sits hunched over on the bottom bunk with his head in his hands. Ruger is a restless man by nature and I’ve always kind of laughed about it. Told him to calm down, the way only a childhood friend can do. But Wendy…the girl has done something to me. She’s reached inside my chest and fucked everything up. Now I find myself caring a great deal about my best friend’s agony. I’m awake. I’m too awake. My cells are buzzing with energy, racing through my system, but they have no outlet.

I can’t last like this.

I have to reach her.

I need to get inside of her.

There’s a part of me that is quite resentful over how badly I need her. I’m not supposed to need anyone. As an international con man, I was always happy to work alone. Who wants to share their money? Not me. Ruger insists on being my shadow, though. He fancies himself my bodyguard or something equally ridiculous. I’d finally given up on trying to part ways with him when we were caught fencing an heirloom I’d stolen. Now we’re locked in a cell together.

There’s something ironic about that.

Too bad I’m not looking to be amused.

I’m looking to stem this rampant lust inside of me. The lust she set loose. Of course I’m feeling like a caged animal. I was hornier than I’ve ever been in my life, about to sink into tight, warm pussy when she was stolen away. If I can just finish what I started, maybe this intense sense of possessiveness will go away. Maybe this urge to tear these new, overwhelming feelings out of my chest will cease. There’s only one way to find out.

Out on the prison floor, two men are holding down a third, threatening to slit his throat over him cheating at cards. How could they let that sweet girl into this hell hole? How dare they? I’d like to track down who is responsible and break their fucking jaw.

When I realize my hands are curled around the bars and I’m growling, with my teeth bared to the concourse, I swallow hard. Too much. She’s made me feel too much. I’m a tornado of emotions when I’ve always been calm as a lake.

Find her.

Put Wendy on her back and work through it.

“We have to get out of here,” I say without turning around.

I sense Ruger lifting his head. “You want to find her.”

“Yes,” I admit through my teeth, my fingers flexing around the bars. “I don’t know what she did to me, but it’s getting worse. Being trapped in this place was always miserable, but now it’s impossible to spend another day.” I turn from the bars, pretending not to notice when Ruger’s gaze slides down to my never ending hard-on, then away quickly. “I need to jack off again so I can concentrate and come up with a plan.”

His throat bobs. “You want me to turn around?”

I start to say yes. That’s our usual routine. When one of us needs to release the pressure, the other tries to give as much privacy as possible in a ten-by-ten cell. But after last week when we made eye contact over Wendy’s head while humping her like beasts, a barrier has fallen. We’ve seen each other in the fever pitch of arousal. Some of the mystery is gone and self-consciousness has been taken away along with it. “Would you…” I start to unfasten my jumpsuit, unable to look directly at Ruger while making my request. “Would you describe how it felt to fuck her while I…do it?”

Ruger’s chest heaves up and shudders down, his hands curling to fists on his thighs. “If I do that, if I start thinking about her, I might have to…beat my own.”

Staunchly, I ignore the confusing tug in my loins. The added heat that ripples through my abdomen, making me feel sweaty and agitated. “Very well,” I say briskly, peeling the god-awful orange jumpsuit down to my hips. Hesitating only briefly, I reach inside and wrap a hand around my dick, my back teeth grinding at the sensation of my balls tightening. I prop my left hand on the top bunk and begin stroking, not bothering to pull up the jumpsuit when it slips to my knees, exposing me. Exposing everything I’m doing. “Begin,” I say, hoarsely.

Ruger’s loud swallow is followed by the groan of mattress springs. I only look down long enough to see he has leaned back and reached into his own jumpsuit, the ridge of his hand moving up and down beneath the stiff orange material. “She was so pretty,” he rasps, his eyes drifting shut. “So soft. She had this…blonde peach fuzz on her belly. I wish I could have licked it. I’d never seen a pussy up close before, so I didn’t know they could be hairless. I didn’t know they could be so tight. She almost cut off my circulation squeezing me like that.”

I bury my mouth into the crook of my left elbow and moan, my cock hard as steel now. In my head, I’ve traded places with Ruger. I’m the one bouncing her up and down on my dick, feeling her cream drip off my balls. I’m the one looking into her beautiful eyes, watching her soar from one end of an orgasm to the other.

Ruger is there, too.

That’s what makes my hand pause mid-stroke.

He’s in the fantasy. Behind Wendy. Taking his own pleasure—and somehow that heightens everything. Makes my blood flow in the right direction. I’m satisfied that he is being satisfied and that is out of character for me. I’ve learned to look out for number one. That method has always served me well. Flying solo. Letting no one get inside my head, let alone pry my chest open and rearrange things.

So why am I looking down at Ruger now, watching his hand pump and down on his huge cock and thinking that…I could give him the ultimate release? Perhaps I’ve always sensed that truth and ignored it. Until Wendy. Until she dropped out of heaven and woke me from my state of apathy. I should want to punish her for this new awareness. Instead I find myself wanting to worship at her fucking feet for it. For reviving me.

“Keep going,” I command brokenly, pinning my eyes to the ceiling with determination.

Ruger’s leg moves, presses to mine. I pretend not to notice.

I pretend not to feel the moisture bead on my cockhead.

“Her tits barely fit into her bra,” he groans, the sound of wet flesh filling the cell. “I could see her nipples through the silk. They were hard. They were hard for us.”

Now I’m moaning, too, beating myself in a frenzy. And I can feel his eyes there. I tell myself I don’t care if he looks, that it makes no difference to me. I don’t acknowledge the fact that his attention is making my abs flex painfully, my skin burn. In shame? In confusion? I have no idea. I just keep my own eyes locked on the ceiling and let the climax draw closer. Closer.

“When we find her,” I say, my breath running short. “I’m going to spread her legs and ride that damp little fuck hole while you watch. I’ll be covered in her wetness and sweat and bite marks by the time it’s over. And you’re going to clean me up afterward.”

“Yes,” Ruger half exhales, half growls—and then I feel it. The pelting of his seed on my stomach. The sticky thickness of it. I look down, caught between disbelief and fascination as it slides down, down, into my pubic hair, leaving glistening trails on my belly.

I close my eyes against the fresh wave of need.

The sharp-toothed lust.

Wendy is there in my mind’s eye, but so is Ruger. With his come painting my body, it’s too much. I’m committing to something I don’t understand. Something I’m not sure I want to acknowledge. Frankly, it terrifies me how much I want to fire my seed onto his prone body, to cover him in it. Especially after pushing him over the edge by simply telling him he’d be in charge of cleaning me up. Does he…want that so badly?

Panic causes me to tear my hand away from my cock.

I stuff it back into my jumpsuit and cover myself quickly. “We’ll, um…” I order my pulse to slow down, my sensible brain to come back on line. “We’ll need to get to the infirmary. Both of us. If we have any hope of escaping.”

Ruger is silent, his complexion red. “I’m sorry for—”

“Nothing to apologize for, mate. Let’s just get our plan together, hey?”

“Klay…”

“Drop it,” I grind out.

Before I can say more, an inmate darkens the door of our cell. We don’t normally associate with anyone besides each other. Too many complications. Too many alliances in this place we want no part of. But this particular convict is the prison equivalent to town crier. He’s always got some scandalous news to impart.

Ruger pushes to his feet in a blur, inserting himself between me and the other man, as if to guard me from some kind of danger. I can only shake my head.

“What do you want?” I ask our visitor.

“Didn’t you hear?” he says, glancing back over his shoulder. “Three inmates escaped last week during the riot. Must be on the run because their cells are still empty.”

At first, this news only serves to irritate me. If three prisoners escaped recently, then security will be harder to circumvent during our own getaway. But then I start to wonder if Wendy lives close to the penitentiary. Close enough to be in danger from those escapees.

My heart starts to thump wildly in my ribcage. “Do you know which prisoners got out?”

He gives two unfamiliar names.

But the third turns my blood to ice.

James O’Casey.

Wendy’s father.

“We have to get out of here,” I growl as soon as the gossip mongering inmate has moved out of earshot. “Now.”

* * *

“I can’t do it,” Ruger breathes, gripping the shank in his shaking hand. “I can’t stab you.”

“Oy.” I grab the sides of his head, looking him hard in the eye. “Yes, you fucking can. You don’t have a choice. Wendy is in danger.”

“Wendy.” He says her name like a prayer.

“Remember, I have to stab you as well. You’re not the only one delivering a blow.”

Ruger shakes his head adamantly. “It’s not the same thing.”

I drop my hands from his head. “Why?”

“You’re not…you’re not made for violence like me.”

“Obviously not. I’m made to be sipping a pina colada on a beach in Barcelona.” That makes him laugh a little, but he goes right back to chewing the inside of his cheek, turning the shank over and over in his giant paw. “Come on now, next time we run a con, I’ll use the scar to glamorize myself as an international mercenary. Our target will eat it up.”

His brown eyes turn quizzical. “Are there going to be more con jobs, Klay?”

Wendy’s beautiful face materializes in my mind. Her sweet, husky voice fills my ears. The possibility that she’s in danger right now causes a drop of sweat to travel down my spine. As does the prospect of leaving her for any length of time to commit our usual frauds. “I don’t know, mate. I just know we have to reach her as soon as possible. We’ll figure out the rest once she’s safe. I can’t…think past that.” My heart climbs into my throat, urgency slithering through me like a serpent. “Now stab me.”

Ruger squeezes his eyes closed a moment. When they open, they’re cold and focused, like I’ve seen them before in many a physical altercation. This is my best friend, the killer. The violent offender. The bruiser who has been on the street since he turned twelve, left to fend for himself. His hand shoots out, catching me in the designated spot and I wheeze, dropping to my knees with a pained grunt. It’s drowned out by Ruger’s howl of anguish.