I willslaughterthemall.His mind bellows, snarling to the growls of a beast unleashed.
He’s never felt this before. The stutter in his heart. The cold sweat. The single-minded tunnel vision. The pinching in his lungs. The ache in his finger tips around the razor he can’t recall pulling out.
B-Wing is equal parts packed and empty. Everyone is studiouslyminding their own business, and when they see Sinn'ous they slink into their respective cells.
It takes a fraction of a second to see it. One cell that is closed off by a sheet hung from its bars.
Full body turn. He charges it. Razor in hand, hands up and ready to kill.
A singular thought racing.
Kill. Kill. Kill.
As much as he wants to drag this out, they will be killed swiftly. An undeserved mercy of a quick and clean death.
His priority is Izz.
He damn near pulls his shoulder from the socket with the strength he uses to tear the sheet from its tether. It flaps open, but doesn’t come down, folding in on itself and tangling in the bars.
All the information inside the cell crashes into him. The placement of every blood sack. The number of soon to be dead. The threat level of each individual. And the positioning of Izz.
It’s only a split-second pause, yet his brain burns every detail into sharp focus. Fixating on the four men. And his boy.
Izz’s on his stomach, pressed down into the mattress by a man who has his cock in hand, hips rocking in to press closer to Izz’s exposed ass. Another man is standing by the head of the bunk, where Izz’s head hangs off, held in tight hands, hips flush to Izz’s face, cock down his throat. The man’s head is thrown back, mouth open and eyes pinched closed. The other two men in theroom are openly observing, twisted smiles on their faces, one with cock out stroking, the other rubbing himself through his pants.
He can’t hear anything over the screaming of his own heartbeat in his ears.
The scene implodes in on itself when the man—closest to Sinn'ous—eyes snap over, the hand on his cock freezing, mouth opening to yell something. He doesn’t get the chance. One step brings Sinn'ous to him, and one swift jerk of the razor splits the man’s throat open. At the same time Sinn'ous’s other hand grabs his hair and reefshim bodilyto the side. Dumping the blood sack onto the other bunk to bleed out alone.
No break in momentum, the next step is followed by both of his hands grabbing the head of the man kneeling over Izz. Nothing in them except for the matted greasy hair—he either dropped the razor or left it in the other one’s neck. It matters not, a heave and twist sends a reverberating crack up his arms and the body in his hold goes limp.
Sinn'ous drops the dead weight when the fully dressed inmatewho’d been groping himself, makes a beeline for the cell’s door. He gets two steps and then his arms flail when Sinn'ous hauls him back by the hair. Body crashing into Sinn'ous’s chest, he pulls another razor and slashes fast under the jaw, gaping the throat to a torrentof blood, it splatters across the tangled sheet in a wide arch. Hanging there, the white fabric now looks like the omen of death it is. Sinn'ous jerks the head down, contorting the spine and snaps the neck for good measure.
An animalistic snarl breaches Sinn'ous’s throat.
The last man is wide-eyed, frozen in a daze, hands still in Izz’s hair. Still touching what doesNOT belong to him. Using the man’s ruffled shirt—gripped by the collar—Sinn'ous drives him backwards until he hits the sink, bowing backwards over it. Andthe momentum coupled with the angle makes snapping his neck as easy as cracking a twig.
Sinn'ous is back at the bunk, grabbing the dead-fuck’swrist, and pulling the body off of Izz. His adrenaline is so wacked he does it one handed, where it lands in a heap of tangled limbs on the floor. Then he’s crouching on his haunches in front of Izz, right in the boy’s line of sight. He searches bloodshot dimmed eyes for any clues into the boy’s wellbeing.
“Izz? Let me know that you’reuninjured?” Even to his own ears he can hear the waver in his voice. When no response comes he presses on. “Can you stand for me? We need to leave?”
Shit. Why does everything sound like a question?
Sinn'ous’s anger manifests into a seething rage with teeth, snarling to rip out throats. It burns his blood, boiling his innards into a stew he will melt every man who dares think he can touch what BELONGS TO HIM.
How FUCKING DARE they touch what is MINE.
The boy isn’t responsive, and is giving no indication he is hearing any of Sinn'ous’s words. “Are you able to move? Do you need me to moveyou?”
And then it’s as though a dam bursts, and Izz’s tears come crashing in, arms reaching out. Sinn'ous goes to him, wrapping him up into his arms and dragging the boy off the bunk into his lap.
“I’ve got you. I’ve got you.” He’s not sure who he’s reassuring, the boy or himself?
I nearly lost you.
Sinn'ous’s voice breaks, it isn’t a sob, it’s just a crack. Never a sob. Never that.
He pushes the sweat slicked hair back off of Izz’s face, lightly cupping his cheek to turn his green eyes up. The vibrant green is stark and faded, glazed over in a way that brings concerns.
