Misfit(196)

“Think you’re a big man, huh, Caldwell?” Troll-motherfucker asked, directing him to Gargoyle.

“Ask your fuckin’ ma. Her ass’ll tell you how big I am.”

It was low, throwing slurs on a woman he’d never met. For all he fucking knew, she might’ve been pushing up her tits six feet under. But these motherfuckers worked on his ass.

Gargoyle shoved him, barely moving Christopher.

“Walk,” Troll-motherfucker ordered.

He did as instructed, aware of Gargoyle behind him. He trusted the guards as much as he did the other inmates. The corridor was long and dim, leading to the showers. He’d been avoiding those fucking showers like the plague. He’d be vulnerable. More importantly, he’d be near a fucking drain, where he could bleed to death and not make a fucking mess.

The showers. Right the fuck where he ended up. The area was quiet right now, perfect for murder without witnesses.

“Strip,” Troll-motherfucker said.

Sure he’d misheard, Christopher frowned. “You out your fuckin’ mind.”

Gargoyle drew his gun and trained it on Christopher. “Actually, we’re not.”

Troll-motherfucker gave him a triumphant look. “Do it or we shoot you down like a fucking dog.”

Megan’s face uppermost in his mind, Christopher followed their directions. He’d be a lying motherfucker if he told himself he wasn’t uneasy, and a little afraid, about their intentions.

Once he stood with not a stitch of clothes covering his ass, he looked between Troll-motherfucker and Gargoyle. “What the fuck now, fuckheads?”

A moment passed before he received an answer. The assfucks were too busy cataloging the bruises on his body, received during his fights.

“Get in the shower,” Gargoyle directed, then smiled. “You can always beg me for mercy.”

“That ain’t ever fuckin’ happenin’.” Without waiting for a response, Christopher turned and went to the shower, keeping his back to the fuckheads so he could get control of his fucking fear.

“Turn it on and step under it.”

Christopher growled in frustration, hating the drawn out bullshit. They must fucking know John Boy. He was a fucking master at psychological torture. Based on this experience, he saw that it had its benefits.

“Do it, Caldwell.”

Gargoyle. Troll-motherfucker. He wasn’t sure who’d gritted that to him. Their voices were fucking blurring in his head.

Aware of their weapons poised to shoot the fuck out of him, Christopher drew in a deep breath, then started the water. It hit him in ice cold waves. He gritted his teeth and turned in the direction of the two fuckheads. They were enjoying the fuck out of themselves.

Gargoyle whistled. The motherfucker who’d been pegged as the leader of their cellblock stepped into the room. His nudity didn’t bother Christopher. But the motherfucking blade in his hand did.

He made kissing noises at Christopher. “Hey, pretty boy. I owe you one,” he told Gargoyle.

“The best man walks away,” Troll-motherfucker chortled. “Though my bets on you, Doogie.”

Christopher weighed his options. If he didn’t do anything, Doogie would fuck him and then fuck him up. If he did do something, it would be in front of those two fucking guards. Witnesses, who could finger him for murder.

Suddenly, he was out of time and the motherfucker was there in the shower with him, the desire in his eyes chilling Christopher. He acted on instinct, head-butting assfuck, without warning, satisfied when the motherfucker reeled back and grabbed his nose.

“We can fuckin’ go the fuck our separate ways now.” Water still rained on Christopher, not much warmer than it had been when he’d first turned it on. He remembered the time he’d surprised Megan in her shower, while he’d still been fully dressed. Just as quickly, he pushed it to the back of his mind. He needed to survive this, to remember that. “Forget this shit ever fuckin’ happen. Or I can fuckin’ kill you. Take your goddamn pick.”

Shaking his head, Doogie tsked. Blood dripped out of his nose, covering his mouth and chin. “You really want me happy.”

“Wrong. I really fuckin’ want you dead.”

“Take that motherfucker out, Doog,” one of the guards yelled.

Raising his weapon, he lunged at Christopher. Unarmed and with the wall at his back, he was at a disadvantage. Christopher caught Doogie’s arm, the knife just inches from his throat.

Motherfucker was fucking strong. Christopher didn’t have the patience to continue the struggle. He had to risk being fatally stabbed to gain the advantage.

Turning his body a fraction, he eased up on holding motherfucker’s arm. The knife sliced his shoulder and Christopher grunted. His resistance lessening, Doogie allowed Christopher the chance to grab his hand and twist it until the knife dropped to the stall floor. He rammed his head against the tiled wall over and over.