He takes his usual place at the table he unintentionally cleared his first day in. Killing the local gang who resided here had awarded him a free table. Keeping the nice piece of real estate had been a result of the manner in which the locals had ‘moved’out.
His morning only gets worse, when his prey does the opposite of what he wants. Of what is considered normal for someone who has just arrived. Instead of sitting alone like any regular newly incarcerated man does—outside of organised crime groups—the boy parks his ass right next to Isco, the scarred inmate regular folks avoid.
Reni and his damn intervening. Can’t he leave well enough alone? Find another conquest to wet his dick in.
Sinn'ous’s prey is a lost puppy trying to fit in, and inadvertently in doing so has saved itself from the wolf wanting to take a bite.
Narrowing his eyes at his own food tray does nothing to resolve his dilemma. But watching the boy’s wide doe-eyes running around the room is amusing enough to calm his boiling blood. Especially when those lost eyes skim over Trevor’s bruised eye and split lip, then skitter away like the bruises personally insulted him.
The soft fear is written in every intake of breath, every shift under prison orange. Sinn'ous has no doubts he will have his prey under his blade within a week. Bleeding all over the floor while his doe-green eyes beg for a mercy that will be denied.
He has missed this. Choosing who he wants. Planning the kills. Stalking his prey. A perfect apple plucked from the many for him to slice into. To carve out a name for himself in the fearfulflesh of another.
It’s unbeknown to him if his lack of empathy is something he always had or if it burned its way into him at the hands of his father. His adoptive father wasn’t a man to be trifled with, and Sinn'ous can’t remember much of who he was when he lived with his biological parents. Being three when he was taken put a strain on the memories. He’s not even sure if the faces he remembers are of his parents or of a young mind needing something to cling onto.
The sight of his latest obsession cuts off for a moment by a man in the prison blues of an anaphylaxis inmate. One who is just asking to have peanuts stuffed into his pillowcase alongside his head, and given a little shake to season the fucker into the afterlife.
They move on and Sinn'ous continues the studies of his prey. Whatever discussion is going on at Reni’s table is far too soft to hear. He can, however, feel the eyes of Isco boring into him, andhe makes the mistake of rolling his own over to that scarred face. A knowing smirk is on Isco’s thin pressed lips for a fraction of a second, enough time to have Sinn'ous bearing down into his thighs to prevent himself from vaulting the table and planting his fist through Isco’s face.
His violent thoughts fizzle out the moment doe-green eyes drift back to him. Their eyes clash in an open exchange where two creatures look their fill while trying to decide what happens next. His prey is trying to sort through whether it should approach him. The open expression is as obviousas it is naively pitiful.
And then everything crashes around them.
He can see the moment someone tells the boy who he is. The fear that crushes the spark behind those soft eyes. It sends the world constricting in on all sides until the pressure grows into white noise.
His knuckles turn white against his grip on the table’s edge. Aggression raising his blood to boil, like a volcanic eruption under his skin. Reni’s loud mouth over sharing what he should not. Sticking a wedge into Sinn'ous’s plans and hammering it in place. Taking away his prey’s cluelessness, and stamping irreversible damage into his plans of manipulation.
If he is to stand a chance of succeeding in his game of cat and mouse Reni will need to be out of the picture. And the boy will need to see that he can’t survive in here without help. Assistance Sinn'ous will be there to offer him.
He’ll weave himself into the tantalising safety net his prey foolishly steps into.
3
SINN'OUS
Information gathering is easy when you know the right people to squeeze it out of. Like a sponge compressed until every drop is wrung out.
First stop on the list would be someone close to the prey in question. And Phelix is just the man to see. Someone who will cough up information without any push back.
The raised voices drifting from the cell in question give Sinn'ous pause. Often the best facts are those others’ think they kept hidden.
“Why are you so hostile about him?” Phelix’s laid-back tone is something you can pick out of a room of hollering men.
The second voice is deep and ringed in by uncheckedhatred. “I don’t know, I don’t like his face.”
“His face?” The slow drawn-out words are followed by a laugh that’s tinted in humour.
“I just don’t like him. Why the fuck does he have to sit with us?”
“Did you not see Reni? That man is crushing hard.”
“Whatever. I’m telling you, he is bad fucking news.”
“You sound jealous.”
“I’m not fucking jealous.” The long pause is a telling one, Sinn'ous can see the faces being exchanged like he’s standing right in front of them and not tucked in the shadows of a neighbouring cell. “You know what, screw you.”
One of the newer additions to Reni’s clique storms out of Phelix’s cell—what’s his name? Davis? David?—fists clenched by his side, his jaw clenching under the tattooed scripture on thesides of his face. The stomping power walk past Sinn'ous is taken without a single glance over. And following in his retreat is Phelix’s obnoxious laughter.
