Warden’s glare hardens further, nostrils flaring as he sits back in his chair. Rogers steps to the side, allowing space in front for Sinn'ous. And hoping to have some of the heat off his own neck, which is hanging dangerously close to the guillotine.
“Just the inmate I wanted to see.”
Sinn'ous’s face gives nothing. No shock, no twitching. Nothing. Just smooth, cold, calculation.
“You sleep well?” Warden staples the question into the very foundationof the room.
“Yes. Very.” Sinn'ous smiles in a warm way that creeps Rogersthe fuck out. It would be less nerve racking to see him smirk or glare or throw something.
“Uh-huh. I’m sure you did. I’m sure you weren’t out of your cell.”
“Not at all, boss.”
Warden’s lips purse. “What are you doing in my office? A heartfelt confession?”
“Request for a job transfer.”
“You don’t have a job.” Warden waves a hand at Rogers, a dismissal he takes and flees the tenseoffice to linger in the corridor.
One of these days the warden is going to realise Rogers is at the heart of so many if these fuck-ups and he’s going to find himself in some spanking new prison orange.
17
SINN'OUS
“For Jasper Marcelo.”
“No.”
“No?” Sinn'ous drawls in a way that moves the air, danger crackling in the wake of the refusal.
Warden narrows his eyes, screaming in every way how much he detests Sinn'ous. “You heard me. No. You don’t get special privileges here. If he wants a transfer he can put in the paperwork, and it’ll get added to the pile.” His old eyes crease at the corners, in joint union to the creaking of the chairs protest when he leans back in an obvious attempt to feign an unruffled attitude.
Sinn'ous deliberately stretches the silence, flexing his hands where they are cuffed in front of him, his arms bulging. Taking the time to scan the room.
The office is cramped by furniture that looks like it was designed to sit in high rise office buildings. As though the rich government buildings had an upgrade and they passed down their used furnishings to the less fortunate.
Silence stretches, and tension rises. He can smell it, can taste it in the back of his throat. He is the only one in control here and they both know it.
“I’m doing you a favour.”
“Are you now?” Warden humours, his body language screaming that he wants to throw Sinn'ous out of his office, while simultaneously howling infake bravado. And fearful unease—if the beading sweat is anything to go by, running down his hair line to trickle past his ear.
“You have enough dead bodies, do you not.” He doesn’t phrase it as a question, he cares not for the answer. They both know the body count.
He can remember them all like he just killed them. The scent of blood. The begging cries for mercy. The crack of bones or tearing of flesh. The sound of misting blood splattering over walls. It’s all ingrained into his memories, livid and vibrant, full colour images in a movie he can watch at will. Rewinding, fast-forwarding, freezing. It’s at his disposal to rewatch over and over and over again.
“That a threat?”
“Not at all.” Sinn'ous leans in, cuffed hands cluttering on the wooden desk. “A friendly warning. Levis and his. . .entourage. . . overstepped. Tried to rape an inmate. You know howbadthat makesyoulook when human rights activists get wind of these scandals. Especially when nothing is done about it. All that bad press, and right when so many bodies have dropped. A board reviewwould come back very lacklustre wouldn’t it? Can’t imagine they’d keep you on after everything that has happened.” His words are a laced mix of sarcastic sympathy, and dark threat.
“You mean everything you’ve done?” Warden’s words are clipped, chewed off and ground into dust.
Sinn'ous smirks.
His smirk only grows the longer Warden glowers at him. The disdain and impotent rage he can see in the other man has his spine tingling, his fingers twitching. What he wouldn’t give to sacrifice to Satan right now. The hatred he can see is fuelling his hunger for blood. Helovesthat Warden hates him so much so that it’s written for all to see, it stirs his primal desire to demonstrate how right they are about him.
“Why don’t I just have you transferred?”
