Chapter 3

The pathetic excuse for a man falls at my feet.

A spineless, disgusting werewolf.

Bronson has a large hand around the man’s neck, keeping him in place. I narrow my eyes into thin slits, enjoying the way the man—Jean—quivers. There’s something very, very satisfying about instilling fear in a dangerous prisoner such as Jean. Does it make me fucked up? Probably. Do I care? Absolutely fucking not.

“Jean, Jean, Jean.” I tsk, shaking my head slowly. The man’s eyes widen almost imperceptibly, his terror evident. I know I can be intimidating as fuck. I’m large, larger than the rest of the freak shows around here, with muscle upon muscle. Tattoos and scars line the length of my body. There isn’t a spot of me that isn’t covered, including my dick—though no one in this shit show has seen those particular tattoos.

As one of the last remaining dragons, evoking fear is ingrained in my very genetic makeup. One piercing glare, and I have men falling to their knees. One strident word, and I can take over this godforsaken world.

Unfortunately, this “world” only exists in the basement of a maximum-security supernatural prison.

“Blade, do you have to toy with your food?” Damien drawls from beside me, using the nickname given to me by the other inmates.

Damien, as always, is impeccably dressed in a form-fitting suit and shiny loafers. It’s the outfit he wore when he first arrived at the prison, nearly two years ago, and one he has stubbornly refused to get rid of. As a powerful mage, he is more than capable of washing the suit every night before bed. I imagine wearing it gives him some semblance of control—a reminder of the life he once had before it was brutally ripped from his hands.

Currently, his pants are undone, cock on display, as he fucks one of the prison whores. Their words, not mine. He barely seems aware of the panting girl beneath him, her eyes closed in bliss. As always, Damien’s hands are firmly by his sides, not even touching the girl’s waist. It’s one of his rules: get your cock wet, but nothing else.

The girl, Teegan or whatever, begins shouting inarticulate praises as Damien increases his speed. I just barely resist the urge to roll my eyes. She—like so many other females who offer themselves to my gang—probably thinks she’ll be the one to tame his beast. The mere concept is laughable. Damien is a psychopath, through and through. If I wasn’t a continual benefit to him, I had no doubt he would kill me.

“I’m not playing,” I huff, crossing my muscular arms over my chest. I cast a side-eyed glance at the simpering wolf. Pathetic. I’m not usually one to judge an entire species based on one man—Bronson is ten times the werewolf this man could ever be—but come on. This is the third shifter I’ve dragged into my “office” in the past week. They’ve been getting restless, volatile, and I know it’s only a matter of time until they snap.

Abruptly, Damien pulls out of Terry—Tasha?—and stalks forward, ignoring her cries of protest. His dick is still hard and bobbing as he steps in front of the werewolf. Bronson, after a quick look at me, steps away with barely veiled disgust.

“I’m a lot of things, Jean, but a rapist is not one of them. Do you know what I do to rapists?” Damien, almost methodically, tucks his cock back into his pants. I swear the sick bastard is harder now than he was a minute ago, balls deep in his whore.

Jean trembles pathetically, ducking his head in what I would almost describe as a submissive gesture.

I want to scoff.

If he thinks kissing my ass now will save his life, he’s sorely mistaken. I didn’t become the unofficial leader of the Labyrinth through my good looks alone. For the most part, the warden and his slimy guards leave us alone. We’re the forgotten monsters. As long as there’s no obvious dissent, we don’t have to worry about a visit from the big man above.

Thank fuck. I’m not one to believe urban legends, but if the rumors are true, the warden stalks through the shadows at night and devours parts of your soul. Creepy shit, if you ask me. I prefer my soul intact, thank you very much.

“I don’t like you, Jean. I never did. And not just because you’re a disgusting rapist,” Damien says coldly. The man is always cold, though, his eyes sky blue and frosty in an arresting face. I swear he scares me more than anyone else in this prison.

“You going to let Dam take the reins?” Abel asks dryly. His back is against the wall as a girl kneels before him, sucking him off. While his eyes are fixed firmly on the scene before him, his hands are in her hair, guiding her movements.

“He’s going to kill him,” Cain, Abel’s twin (yes, I see the irony), points out. Unlike his brother, there are no girls fawning over him. They learned their lesson the hard way when he practically ripped off their heads. There are two people in my gang the girls know not to touch: me and Cain.

“I don’t care,” I reply, turning back to the scene at hand. Damien has unsheathed a long, keen blade and is holding it millimeters from Jean’s throat. Don’t ask me how the psychopath got the blade. I’m pretty sure the man has connections outside of the prison…and inside. “You know I have a zero-tolerance policy for rapists.”

Jean had been discovered by a lower gang member of mine—not a part of my inner circle—with his cock inside a struggling, terrified female. There are very few things I don’t tolerate in my prison, and rape is one. Even thinking about it makes me see red.

I’m a murderous asshole, and even I know consent is necessary.

So, no. I don’t feel bad about whatever Damien plans to do to him. I hope he burns.

As if privy to my thoughts, Damien abruptly lowers the knife to the man’s groin. With one swooping strike, the man’s dick falls to the ground, and blood stains his pants.

Jean’s cry of agony? Music to my fucking ears.

“According to my source,” Damien begins in a slow, dangerous voice. The man practically exudes power. If I was into guys—or anyone, for that matter—I would totally be sporting a boner. “You had your dick inside an unwilling female. Is that true?”

Jean releases a pained gasp, pressing his face into the blood-soaked floor.

“Is that true?” Damien repeats, gripping the other man’s hair and holding his head up. Bronson, now hovering near the wall, covers his junk with a wince.

Same, man. Same.

“Yes!” Jean explodes at last, his voice a sob. It always strikes me as funny how some men can act like big, macho badasses when confronting unwilling women, but the second the tides are turned, they’re simpering fools. If you have to assert your dominance over people weaker than you to feel like a man, then I feel sorry for you.

“And did your hands touch this female as well?” Damien queries dangerously. The only answer is a snot-filled sob.

One hand and then the other drop to the ground beside the severed dick.

I have to give Damien credit: he’s a classy motherfucker.

Cut the hand that did the deed and all that crap.

I turn away from the gruesome sight and survey the room. Our base of operation always changes, depending on the Labyrinth’s needs. I swear the building is a living entity. Still, we’ve been here long enough to understand how it works.

This room in particular has drainpipes on the wall and puddles on the ground. Probably piss, if I am being honest. Not that I would test it. Hmmm. Maybe I should ask Jean to take a lick…?

The only people present are my inner circle (Bronson, the twins, and Damien), the prison girls, and Jean. The rest of my gang is probably traipsing through the ever-changing halls in search of the cafeteria. It’s a pain in my ass to never know where the food will be on a day-to-day basis. We dragons need to eat.

A shrilling cry has me glancing back at Damien and Jean. The werewolf has lost both of his hands, his dick, and now his legs. He’s trying futilely, desperately, to crawl toward the door, blood trailing behind him in his wake.

Damien just laughs, the sound sending—admittedly—shivers of terror down my spine. If Damien ever chooses to betray me…

The next swing of the knife proves to be fatal. Jean collapses on the ground, his head dismembered from his body. I stare impassively at the head as it rolls to my feet.

Disgusting prick.

Damien, with a smile capable of making angels cry, turns towards me, blood coating his entire body. With a whoop, he runs towards his discarded female, whips out his dick, and begins to pound into her earnestly.

Fucking psycho.

Turning towards Bronson, I gesture at Jean’s body…errr…body parts. “Take care of that.” It’s not a question.

Bronson grunts, not even hesitating before he picks up one body part at a time.

Abel chuckles—actually fucking chuckles—as Bronson wraps one of the severed hands in Jean’s discarded shirt. “Do you need a hand with that?” the twin asks, laughing even harder at his own joke. Cain gives a disgruntled snort, rolling his eyes to the heavens. Unfortunately for him, he should be looking the other way for help with his brother. As Bronson grabs a strand of Jean’s black hair, hefting his head up, Abel adds, “Next time you’re going to get all murdery, give me a heads up.”

“Good lord,” Cain mumbles, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You’re a regular old comedian, aren’t you?”

“I wouldn’t say old…” Abel retorts, elbowing him in the stomach. “I’m technically a few minutes younger than your ugly ass. And thanks, sweetheart, I’m done now.” Abel extracts himself from the swollen-lipped female and moves to stand beside me, tucking his now flaccid dick back in his pants and zipping it up. Whatever he’s about to say is interrupted by a red-faced, sweaty warlock (different from a mage) running into the room. He pants, placing one hand against the wall to steady himself.

“Gary, what’s the meaning of this?” The men know not to interrupt us when we’re having a “meeting.” Read as: murder spree. I’m not pretending to do anything I’m not.

“New prisoner,” he huffs. “Female. Young. Beautiful.”

My lips purse into a frown.

When a new inmate arrives in the Labyrinth, they’re usually unconscious in order to not see the entrance and exit. When they wake up, they’re confused and terrified, especially the females. I have taken it upon myself to ensure no harm comes to these women—unless they deserve it. I’ll never hurt a female, but the other men here? They kill indiscriminately. I can’t save every asshole.

Turning toward Terry…Tallia …Terrance—shit, I need to remember her name—I nod towards the door.

“Find the female and make sure no harm comes to her.” Smiling darkly, I crack my knuckles. “When she wakes up, bring her to me.”