Rowan

"Is that an ear?" I squint, staring down at the pink fleshy piece tucked inside a rag in Rob's hand. Or a mouse? Hard to tell with all the blood and the darkness in solitary confinement. Rob's hand sticks forward through the small window in the metal door of my cell, giving me a better look.

"Did you want their finger or dick instead? It's doable," Rob eagerly offers, his voice low, body curling forward as he glances quickly over his shoulder at the guard down the hall.

Rob's my second and I trust him. When he sets his mind on doing a job, he gets it done. Not like the two fuckwits in my cell. They touched what wasn't theirs... they touched my girl, Shaye. And well, they have no idea what is coming for them when I get out.

"There's one ear, but two assholes," I hiss.

Rob quickly wraps the body part and tucks it into the front pocket of his pants. He peers at me through the narrow window in the metal door. "Boss, Bono wasn't anywhere. I searched. So we got Theo first. But Bono ain't hiding from us for long." He sticks out his chest and chin out, the sneer on his face one of confidence he wears often. Dark hair cut inches from his scalp, and he has three teardrop tattoos at the corner of one eye, which symbolize someone close to him had been murdered and he is seeking revenge. Three tears for three losses.

Footsteps close in from down the hall, and Rob straightens. He frantically pulls something out from under his prison shirt and stuffs it through the window in my door. I take the scrunched up ball of black fabric.

"Got you something from her. I betta go." He draws away from my cell.

I nod and crack my neck, frustrated to hell and back. Adrenaline surges through me. I unfurl my fists and listen to his footfalls fade as he leaves the isolation sector. It doesn't take long for voices and bangs and whatever the hell else others do in their cells down here to escalate.

If this prison doesn't fuck you over, the prisoners will. Which is why I strike fast and remind everyone of their places. Marching to my bed, I flop down and grind my teeth. For a couple of years I've been in here doing my time, I enjoyed isolation.

Away from everyone.

Therapeutic.

Now, it fucking kills me because she's out there.

Shaye.

And I'm stuck in here when all I want to do is crush Bono and comfort Shaye. Protect her, kiss, and taste her, bury myself inside her sweetness.

The only form of affection I've felt, besides this cold rock sitting in my chest, has been when I fought and ripped someone's throat out. Now it's different. Things have changed as have my priorities.

Lying on my back, I unfold the bunched up fabric Rob handed me. It unravels into a black tank top and now I know what he means by, got you something from her.

I press the fabric to my nose and inhaled deeply. Cotton—candy sweetness. Perspiration, and a faint tingle of her feminine slick. Every inch Shaye... my cock twitches in my pants at the familiar scent I crave. The time I have spent with her has given me nowhere near enough of what I need to sate my craving.

I shut my eyes and images of her float in my vision. The way her breasts bounce when she walks, her sweet ass jiggling, and that juicy mouth.

Fuck... a groan spills past my lips as my cock punches in my pants. I slide my hand down my chest and loosen the waistband. Shoving down the pants to my hips, my cock springs out.

I picture her sliding that gorgeous mouth over my cock, sucking on me hard. I palm my dick, stroking myself the entire time. My balls grow heavier, a groan rubbing raw over my throat.

When I push her back by the shoulder, her mouth lets go of me and makes a popping sound. Without a word, she climbs onto me, straddling me. The heat from her pussy is wildfire.

I hiss, and with quick strokes, I picture Shaye pumping up and down on my cock, her pussy tightly gripping me. Her toned body slick with sweat, her small breasts bouncing.

My hand is a piss—poor imitation of me fucking Shaye, but it will have to do for now. Her defiance riles me up, her fiery personality has me bursting at the seams to get more of her. But there's more to her... so much more that I have to find out, starting with how the hell she got into this place.

Suddenly, my cock stiffens in my hand, and I frantically grab the wad of tissues from the bedside table and groan as thick streams of cum spills from the head. I want to empty myself in her, to hear her scream, to finally claim her as mine.

The climax thunders through me for god—knows how long, but I let it carry me away as my cock keeps pumping more of my seed into the tissues.

Once done, I shove up and out of bed to clean the soiled mess. I glance over to the door and know my time here is almost over. And when I get out, I have a few things I need to set straight.

By the time, I'm clean and flop back onto my bed, sleep tugs on my eyelids.

A flash of light flicks in my room, fast enough for most people to assume they imagined it, but I knew better.

Groaning, I push my legs off the edge of the bed and there decked out in Viking garb complete with a cloak stands my fucking god—dad.

"To what do I owe this visit, Father?" I don't hold back the sarcasm in my voice. "You finally felt guilty for leaving me in this shit hole that you've decided to take me out?"

A tall figure emerges from the shadows in my room. Broad—shouldered, my father wears his black fitted suit with a green shirt underneath to match the green of his eyes. With his dark hair swept out of his eyes, he grins at me.

"I am here on business not pleasure, as the humans like to say."

I grind my teeth because of course he is. Up on my feet, I stretch my arms in the air. "Why has it taken you this long to visit me? Why am I still in here?" Tension burns in my veins. Twelve years in prison for what?

He smirks, and I fucking hate the way he blows everything off with that look of, I—don't—give—a—shit—about—you expression.

"If you're just going to be an asshole, you can get the fuck out of here."

I turn away from him abruptly, wishing I had somewhere to storm off to and not remain stuck in here with him. The bastard snatches my arm, fingers like iron, and forces me back around toward him.

Face to face, I lift my chin and don't back away. For most of my upbringing, he popped in to visit me when he needed something. Not once had he come on any of my birthdays. I'd been a fucking child, desperate for my father in my life.

But when your father is Loki, a chaos god and trickster, he is so busy playing his games and hiding the truth, that getting close to anyone is out of the question.

I accepted that long ago, and it pisses me off that it still affects me now as he stands before me.

"You remind me so much of myself. Fiery nature, impatience. There is hope for you yet, son." His deep voice carries mirth, or maybe it's something else I don't recognize. But I can't tell if he's mocking or complimenting me.

"What do you want?" I ask, already exhausted of his presence.

"There is a fight coming up in the prison and I need to win the odds."

I blink at him. "So you're betting on the fights like the rest of the bored gods and what? You want me to rig it so you win?" Not a fucking chance. I'll not lift a finger for this bastard except to run a blade into his heart and make him suffer however I can.

The corner of his mouth curls upward. "There will be a sweet reward for you if you make sure it happens."

I watch him for any reaction and respond when he gives none. "Sure, I'm game." He's not the only one who can lie without any outward signs. Besides, it's better for me to find out what he's up to. If it benefits me, then I'm all about it.

"The biggest fight of the year is coming up. The god—killer will get the damn shit beat out of her, but she's stronger than anyone realizes. Her first fight was a test to see her ability. What I have planned for her will be the biggest event yet. Yet, she can't win that fight. Ensure this, and you'll get your ticket out of his hellhole."

Ice floods my veins. Shaye… he's talking about my Shaye. Even if deny him what he wants, he'll find someone else to ensure she doesn't win. I have to stop this now.

"Look, Father—"

Except, he's gone in the blink of an eye. Poof.

Goddamn asshole.

Except, my mind now races with what he's just said. He wants Shaye to lose in a fight… while my instincts scream that I need to protect her from those fights. Most inmates who lose such an important battle don't walk away. They are carried in a body bag. And to my father, she is nothing but a pawn to ensure he wins whatever game he's playing.