Sinn'ous pushes off the counsellor, holding his hands up to display his cooperation. Johnston lies dead for a heartbeat longer, then his lungs kick into gear and he wheezes in a choked breath, coughing and choking on air.
Sinn'ous paces to the far side of the office, reluctant to leave, raking his hands through his spiked hair, the ends sitting upright in a messy mohawk. Something closer to a fauxhawk, where the sides are not completely shaved, just kept short.
He knows he will kill this man, in due time, just not today when there is a room of witnesses.
Rogers is bent over Johnston, words spoken that are drowned out by the violent coughing fit.
No way can he stay here and not lunge back in for the kill. He strides from the room, whole body one tight rod of tension. Not even the solid slam of the office door is enough to satiate his blood hunger. His skin is on fire, ants racing up and down, eating the subcutaneous tissuekeeping his bodyfrom falling apart. One wrong slip and he’ll crumple into a blood-soaked mess and litter the corridors in bodies.
He can’t get sent to The Hole, or worse yet, transferred to max. He has to stay here.
He has a doe-eyed prey to hunt.
19
SINN'OUS
His obsession is growing. What started as a need to hunt and kill has turned into a desire to obtain and own.
He wants to own Jasper’s soul.
Yes, he will sacrifice to Satan, but a little quit pro quo will be in order. He’s sure Satan won’t mind if Sinn'ous is a tadselfish with this kill.
It’s been about a week since he offered counsellorGregory Johnstonsome asphyxiophilia training, and the weak sap up-and-went on stress leave. It makes you repress the urge to roll your eyes, it wasn’t that bad. In comparison to what Sinn'ous could have done, it was child’s play.
He’d had to find other ways to pass the time. Leaning on anyone who so much as crossed paths with Jasper to gather as much information as possible. Which is why he’s in Isco’s cell having deep-seated judgment thrust upon him.
The scar-covered man is on a level adjoining Sinn'ous’s own, an inner wavelength that links them. Isco is a man of means and a willingness to take whatever he wants. An ex-Italian mafia enforcer.
Sinn'ous isn’t entirely sure why Isco split off from the Italians, he doesn’t know much about the mafia or the man who runs it, Antonio Agosti. And doesn’t need to know considering that particular mafia’s head of operations is based in the US.
Isco’s deep monotone voice drawls lazily over the space between them. “Careful. Or people might start to think you’ve gone soft.”
Now it’s Sinn'ous’s turn to lay on the thick drawl. “Spoken by someone who knows who Sinj is, yet has done absolutely nothing about it.”
Sinj is their small crack in the wall, the bird that doesn’t fit into their caged world. An undercoverfed trying to camouflage as something he’s not. And thanks to Zayne’s hacker, Sinn'ous knows the secret. A caged secret suppressed by the three of them—and possibly the warden? It’s hard to tell, and not something he’ll be asking Warden.
“I have my reasons.” Isco’s face gives nothing away, his eyes are flat and his posture is loose. This doesn’t mean Sinn'ous isn’t aware that Isco could snap in a split second. They’re a volatile mix standing together, both calculating the other in their game of death.
“And what are those? To have him accomplish what you couldn’t?” Sinn'ous may not know why Isco left the mafia but whispers speak, and he listens to them all. Neither believing nor dismissing any of them. The best way to be prepared for anything is to listen to everything.
Isco’s only response is a crude twist of scarred features into a dark grin, promises of unhinged deeds lingering below the surface. It’s enough for Sinn'ous to shift on his feet, the hint of violence and death stirring his dick behind the scratchy prison boxer briefs. It reminds him how long it’s been since he had a kill he truly relished in. One containinga sacrifice of his ideal victim, and not just another victim of convenience.
Sinn'ous leaves Isco to it, having collected all the informationthe other has on Jasper. Hanging around for small talk is not something he’ll ever do.
The walk back to A-Wing is the epitome of uneventful. The same scenery, same white walls, same grey people, same navy-blueguards living on stern expressions.
A-Wing, however, has a lot more tooffer than the corridors. In the shadows of the ground floor Sinn'ous can see his prey in the top cell, eating what he provided.
Sinn'ous has taken to leaving food nearly every meal, he tells himself he does it to gain trust from the skittish doe. But he has yet to tell his prey he’s the one leaving it. And he can’t say why.
Perhaps it’s time for him to provide answers for the boy?
Sinn'ous purses his lips, and is thrown a waryside eye from some passing inmates for his troubles.
He’ll ignore the fact that he has left ajoint, and lean on the fact that he feeds the boy so he won’t starve to death. It serves a purpose. It’s not him going soft. He doesn’t go soft, for anyone or anything. He just needs to ensure the boy stays alive.
Sinn'ous is the only one who gets to kill Jasper. And he’s not yet ready. He’s only just beginning to have his fun.
