Kid wondered why Jerry had taken this guy in. Most everyone was like the Brazilians—hot model types who’d been conned into coming to this rat hole by some less than scrupulous street entrepreneur. Some came because this was their way of paying off a debt to a dealer. Others, because some junkie eagerly sold them for quick cash. Regardless of how they ended up there, they were usually in pristine condition, unlike this new guy. At the same time, Kid had to acknowledge that he had been less than pristine when he'd arrived.
Despite Fresh Meat's rough appearance, Kid recognized that he was still a very attractive man. Broad shoulders and thick, curved biceps filled a white T-shirt. His tight ass looked hot in the jeans he wore.
Fresh Meat’s eyes, brown and sparkling in the fluorescence, scanned the room until they came to Kid.
Kid avoided his glare.
Fresh Meat stumbled to a tray of dumbbells, picked up two fifty-pounders, and headed to a weight bench by Kid.
Kid lay back on his bench, grabbed the barbell, and started another set.
“Look a little young to be here,” Fresh Meat whispered.
Kid gritted his teeth. Didn’t respond. Kept working on his reps.
Fresh Meat planted the dumbbells on the floor before him. He picked one up and started doing reps. The veins in his forearm pushed forward. His bicep flexed, inflating and deflating in sync with the muscles in his jaw.
“My name’s Kinzer.”
Kid’s body tensed, more from anger than the tension of the weights.
This idiot is gonna get us both in trouble.
Among Jerry's myriad of rigid rules was the “no talking” rule. The boys weren't allowed to fraternize with each another. Kid imagined this was to prevent them from conspiring to overpower Marzo or Clive or from plotting an escape. This rule wasn't something that Jerry took lightly, either. Jerry's guards would usually tase or beat for infractions, depending upon the severity of the transgression. It was easy to slight Jerry, and he wasn’t fair with his devised punishments. They were severe. Talking could result in punishments serious enough to prevent a guy from working for two months.
“How long you been in here?” Kinzer asked.
Kid lifted the barbell and set it back on the rest. Sweat rushed down his face. He panted, his bulky chest rapidly rising and falling. His erect, pink nipples shimmered in the light.
“Shut the fuck up,” he muttered through his teeth, “or you’ll get us both in trouble.”
Kinzer set his dumbbell on the floor, picked it back up with his other hand, and started a set.
Kid lay on the bench, gripping his hands against the barbell.
“Listen, I need to—”
Robb stepped between them, squinting and puffing out his already chubby cheeks. “Kid,” he fussed. “You know the rules.”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a Taser.
Kinzer’s sparkling brown eyes grew twice as big. “What the—”
Kid sat up. He scowled, the look in his eyes full of indignation. “What?! He was the one—”
He didn't know why he was fighting it. Something in him was just so infuriated, so pissed off. He was always so good. Always followed the rules. Surely, Robb knew that it was Kinzer’s fault.
Jerry’s other boys paused their workouts to watch the confrontation.
“It’s the rules,” Robb insisted.
Kid resigned himself. There wasn’t any way Jerry was going to let his transgression go unpunished, and better a Taser than something worse. He clenched his jaw and pushed his sweat-soaked chest out. Robb pressed the Taser between his pecs.
Zzzz.
Kid convulsed.
He fell off the bench. Robb stepped over it and knelt, continuing his assault.
