Home > Pride (The Elite Seven #2)(4)

Pride (The Elite Seven #2)(4)
Author: J.D. Hollyfield

I’m gonna fucking kill her. If I have to spend the rest of my life behind bars, so be it. I’ll find a way out. I’ll seek counsel. Riot until I’m heard. They can’t keep me here. The second I’m out, I’ll get Evelyn and Dahlia and start a new life.

“Oh, honey, you’re certainly not thinking about a plan B, are you? There isn’t one.”

“Fuck you.”

“Ah, that would be fun. You certainly have become a man in here. But…speaking of fucking, I have a present for you.” She leans to the side and reaches into her purse to pull out her phone. A few pokes at her screen and she turns it to face me.

A video plays, and I watch in horror and disbelief at the reel: two people fucking behind bleachers. Some dude taking the girl from behind while her pleasurable moans spew through the phone speaker. He pulls out, and the girl turns, and I get a view of Dahlia as she drops to her knees, placing his dick in her mouth. I don’t take my eyes away as she bobs up and down on his cock like a fucking slut taking him deep into her throat. Her moans become louder as slobber and semen begin to dribble down her chin.

“So, you see, my little pet. I’m all you have. You’re not the white knight at the end of this. I am. Your sister can still be saved. Can’t say the same for your whore girlfriend.”

My heart turns stone cold. Ice drips from my words as I lean forward. “Fuck you, bitch.” I spit in her face, and satisfaction settles inside me as my saliva drips down her cheek. Her disgusted expression gives me pleasure as she takes a handkerchief from her purse to wipe her face.

“You’re going to regret that, Mason.” She stands and tosses the silk towel into the trash. “I’m sorry we couldn’t come to an agreement. Enjoy rotting in here. Maybe I should do my civic duty and adopt your sister too. She’s still under age. She can come back and live with us where she’ll be properly looked after. I’m sure my husband would enjoy that.”

No cuffs or guards are strong enough to hold me back as I leap across the table and catch her by the shoulder. I manage to take her down and bust her nose with my forehead. Her screams enrage me even more, thinking about my sister’s cries as she’s hurt by strangers, let alone that sick fuck.

“Get this animal off me!” she gurgles, choking on the blood spewing from her nose. I’ve gone completely mad with hatred and revenge. I bare my teeth, ready to rip the veins out of her neck and watch her bleed to death. But it seems today is her lucky day. A baton strikes against my back, over and over. I hear the snapping of the wood, then two Tasers strike me, paralyzing me. Lillian is freed from under me and carried away, and I’m left on the floor, numb and beaten within an inch of my life.

Six months later….

“You got it?”

“You got that extra bun?” Jinx, aka Jimmy Henson, asks, side-eyeing my hand hidden inside my jumpsuit pocket.

“You know I do, brother,” I reply, anxious. I pull out the bread bun from dinner, along with a pack of smokes, and slide it under the lunchroom table. The day Lillian walked out, she took any sort of freedom I had left with her. She fucked me. She made sure I knew exactly who she was to me: the puppeteer pulling at my strings. If she wanted me to go without food, it happened. If she wanted a fight to break out, causing me to go underground for weeks, it happened. Every single privilege a normal inmate received, I was denied.

That was just the start. Phone usage, internet, even visitors—she took it all. I thought there was no way she could have that much control over me, let alone a huge prison facility. That turned out to be so far from the truth. Left and right, guards, wardens—they all turned a blind eye to my allegations, the abuse. I acted out in frustration, but just got more time in lockdown. It’d been six months of hell. No word about my sister, or a peep from Lillian. I couldn’t spend another fucking day in a dark, cold cell, so I came up with a plan. A smarter one. When I was brought back up to General Population, I started making allies. Other inmates—lifers, as they call themselves—who didn’t give two shits about breaking protocol. It wasn’t gonna change their sentence. So, in return for the shit I got my hands on, they did my bidding.

Food, smokes, clean laundry. That was my deal. They get what they want and use their computer to do my research, no questions asked. Secret societies. Underground clubs. I didn’t believe Lillian when she went off about running a secret elite group, but I need to finally acknowledge how much power she holds. I changed hands every other day so the warden wouldn’t catch on to the fact that I was smuggling info under his nose. There’s no doubt he’s also deep in Lillian’s web of deceit.

I had inmates research everything under the sun about secret, elite clubs. Did they exist? I didn’t believe that shit to be real, but per the big bad web, they did. Elite universities, holding secret societies, thriving in conspiracies. All were only rumored to be of existence, because no one could prove any real one existed. But they did. The whispered rumors and lavish stories of what really happened behind closed doors at these ivy league clubs were nothing but sinister. They didn’t create these for scholars to rise above the rest educationally. They were created to build a dark path to the forbidden side of evil: hazing, law breaking, bizarre traditions that went back centuries of disorderly conduct and destruction. These clubs weren’t for the innocent, the good faith and good hearted—no, they were built and constructed for warriors. If you’re searching for an ivy club, turn around, this ain’t it.

I did my usual search on Lillian. She was still the headmaster counselor, and an outstanding member of society at the St. Augustine University—an elite school right here in Louisiana. It would make sense, the secret clubs taking place at elite universities. Lillian running the show. Not to mention her scumbag husband was the dean. But why the fuck would she want me? These things were run by rich scholars. Passed down from generation to generation. Definitely not someone like me—which just further confirmed Lillian had plans other than sticking to tradition. And I seemed to be at the center of it.

Jinx grabs the bun and shoves it into his pants.

“All right. Let’s have it,” I say, looking around for guards.

“Yeah, yeah. Nothing new on Evelyn Blackwell.”

My stomach drops, just as it always does when they come back with no new information on my sister.

“Did you try the different spellings on Facebook? Any of those other social pages?”

“Yep. Nada. Plus, them computers are slow as fuck. Only got to print out the—”

“Just fucking give it to me.” I snatch the tightly folded piece of paper from his hands, and he gets up and takes off out of the cafeteria. I get up and dump the rest of my untouched food. Heading back to my cell, the small piece of paper burns inside the palm of my closed fist. My muscles strain, driving me to walk faster, but I know I’m being watched. I always am. I turn the corner and get stopped just before I enter my cell.

“In a hurry, Blackwell?” Asshole Berringer, the daytime guard, asks, smacking his baton against my cell bars.

“Yeah, gotta get my daytime jerk off in before my daily prayer session.” His baton thrashes against the metal, inches from my face. I don’t flinch, which only pisses him off.

“You think you’d learn. Outside.” He stands there, waiting for me to obey.

“Yeah. Like I said. Busy. Unless you wanted to help me. You look like a guy who enjoys a good fat cock in your mouth—”

The blow hurts, but the pain isn’t unfamiliar. His baton strikes me across my cheek, jerks back, then hits me behind my kneecaps. My legs collapse, and I drop to my knees. The taste of blood fills my mouth, and I raise my hand to my lip. “Sorry, did I read you wrong? I’m not really into ass fucking, but if that’s your—”

He lashes out again, hitting my neck, and I stumble forward, losing my balance. My fists hit the concrete, scraping my knuckles. Fuck. That one hurt.

“Get up.”

“Make me, assh—”

“Fuck,” I grunt as he kicks me in the side, hitting a still mending rib.

“Boy, you’re gonna learn to show some respect. Get up.”

I want to fight him more. This ain’t my first rodeo with an unwarranted guard beat-down. But my eyes catch my still closed fist, and I remember. He can’t see what’s in my hand. At least not before I’ve read what’s on it. I do as he says and pull my sore body off the ground. I do it slowly, so he doesn’t panic, thinking I’m gonna revolt on his ass, and force my flat hands to the wall, the paper smashed in-between.

“That’s right. Fucking pussy boy. Where’s that mouth now?” Clutching the note, I turn around and give him my blank face, even though my body’s on fire. “Now, why don’t you give me what’s in that hand of yours.”


My fists tighten, my nails digging into my palms.

“Did you just go mute, boy? I said hand me the piece of paper before I make it so that hand don’t work.” Every muscle in my body tenses, preparing for the fight. He isn’t getting this paper. I take a menacing step toward him. With my height and build, I could do quite a bit of harm to him. He may have to fucking shoot me. “You back off, boy!” he hollers.

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