Chapter Five

Angelo watched with a smirk as Milo diligently cleaned the cell. The pretty boy was on his hands and knees, scrubbing the floor with an old rag.

“Don’t miss any spots, princesa,” Angelo said mockingly. “This place better sparkle when you’re done.”

Milo nodded meekly, keeping his eyes cast down. His soft hands were already turning red.

Angelo studied him appraisingly. The way the kid moved, so careful and submissive, like he was terrified of provoking Angelo’s wrath. It was almost pathetic how desperate he’d been, begging for Angelo’s protection.

“I’ll be your bitch. I’ll do whatever you want,” Milo had promised, eyes wide with fear.

Angelo remembered the thrill that coursed through him at those words. Having this pretty little rich boy at his mercy, ready to debase himself completely. Angelo could make him do absolutely anything he wanted.

He watched with amusement as Milo meticulously arranged Torres’s belongings exactly as instructed. The kid’s hands trembled as he delicately placed Angelo’s soap at the prescribed angle on the metal shelf.

“Do you call that straight?” Angelo taunted.

Milo swallowed hard, adjusting the dish. “I think it’s right.”

His voice was so soft and feminine, like a little girl’s. Angelo sneered. “Speak up, marica. You sound like a woman.”

Milo flinched at the insult but didn’t respond. Smart move, Angelo thought. The less the kid opened his mouth, the better.

As Milo continued his chores, Angelo took in every pathetic detail—the hunched shoulders, the nervous fidgeting, the wide, fearful eyes always darting about. He was such a fucking sad excuse for a man. Weak, effeminate, helpless. Just looking at him made Angelo’s lip curl in disgust.

Milo needed to be pushed. He needed to wake up to the realities of this place. The role of ‘prison bitch’ could be many things, but ultimately it put Milo voluntarily under Angelo’s control. And that meant Angelo could do anything to him, make him do anything at all. Another man might force himself on Milo. Angelo thought perhaps it would be best if Milo believed that was what Angelo had in mind. Maybe put some fire in his blood, Angelo thought disdainfully.

He regarded Milo as the pretty boy continued cleaning the cell. He could see the way Milo’s shoulders hunched, the nervous energy radiating off him. Yeah, the kid could do with a little fire.

“So why the fuck are you in here?” Angelo asked. “You kill someone?”

“What? No!” Milo looked horrified.

Angelo snorted. “Jaywalking then?” he said mockingly.

Milo shook his head. “My father’s business…there were irregularities.” He took a deep breath and went on, addressing the wall. “I…someone had to take responsibility.”

“You took the fall? For business irregularities?” Angelo snorted. It was so pathetic. “How much money are we talking here? Hundreds? Thousands?”

Milo’s eyes flickered to him, and his shoulders seemed to hunch even further. “Millions.”

Oh, that was interesting. Angelo regarded him in a new light. “So your family is rich rich. Makes sense you’ve never scrubbed a floor in your life before.” He saw how Milo reddened, like he was embarrassed about his incompetence. “So tell me, princesa,” Angelo drawled, the nickname seeming all the more appropriate all of a sudden. “You ever even been with a woman?”

Milo’s hands stilled, his body tensing. He kept his gaze fixed on the wall, refusing to meet Angelo’s mocking eyes.

“No,” Milo admitted softly. “I haven’t.”

Angelo let out a derisive snort. “Of course you’re a virgin. Look at you.”

He watched with satisfaction as Milo flinched at the insult, his cheeks flushing with shame. But Angelo saw the way Milo’s eyes flickered up and away, as if he were hiding something.

Realization dawned. “Oh, I get it now. You’re not a virgin, are you? You’ve just never fucked a woman.”

Milo’s head snapped up, eyes wide with shock and fear. “I don’t…that’s not…” he stammered.

Angelo ignored him. “I should have known. A pretty boy like you? Of course you take it up the ass.”

He watched with dark amusement as Milo seemed to crumple under the weight of his humiliation. The kid’s gaze dropped back to the floor, shoulders slumping in defeat. He didn’t even try to defend himself, just accepted the insult in meek silence.

“Look at you,” Angelo said coldly, disgusted by Milo’s lack of backbone. “No wonder you needed someone to protect your sorry ass in here. Stand up straight, for fuck’s sake.”

Milo tried to straighten himself, but it only made him look more awkward.

Angelo shook his head. “Pathetic,” he muttered. “Can’t even stand up for yourself.”

Milo said nothing, only swallowing hard and trying to avoid eye contact.

“Won”t say anything back, huh?” Angelo mocked, leaning in close enough to hiss in Milo’s ear. “What a spineless bitch. Isn’t that right, putita?”

Milo made a weak sound, and it reverberated through Angelo’s body, running all the way to his cock.

He froze, stunned. What the hell was that?

“Yes,” Milo said softly, his eyes flickering up to Angelo’s for one fraught moment. “I’m your…your putita.”

Angelo felt an unexpected surge of arousal. His heart rate quickened, his breathing became shallow, and a rush of heat flooded through him. He couldn’t understand it—this wasn’t supposed to turn him on.

He pushed himself away and clenched his fists, attempting to get himself under control. There was no way he was enjoying this like that. It was impossible. But when he looked back, Milo was licking his lips, his cheeks pink and his hands trembling by his sides. Was he turned on by this?

Just like a maricón, Angelo thought, but the thought was strange. It felt factual more than derogatory.

Angelo’s attitude toward such things had changed from the way it had been when he joined the cartel. Back then he’d never met a man who openly slept with men. His idea of them was based in disgust—what kind of man let another man have him like that?

But lately he’d been forced to reconsider those assumptions.

It started when Bautista—El Jefe of Los Lagos cartel—had taken a male lover. Angelo hadn’t understood it, but Bautista had made it clear that anyone who had a problem with him now could get out of his sight. Angelo had been surprised and then simply accepted this as one of life’s mysteries. It wasn’t as if Bautista was softened by it, and anyway, Angelo was certain that he wasn’t the one taking it from that lily-white gringo in his bed.

So Angelo had adjusted and got on with what needed to be done. None of his business what Bautista got up to in the bedroom.

But then Carlos Hernandez had met his…partner…and Angelo hadn’t been able to ignore it anymore.

Carlos wasn’t like Bautista, a distant, untouchable icon. Carlos was right there on the ground, working directly with the men. Angelo admired him. He’d never met a man as macho as Carlos. And yet, he’d seen Carlos with his novio, up close and personal. Again, there was no question who was in charge, but still. Carlos taking a man to bed had seemed as impossible as the sun rising in the west, and yet it had happened. Angelo couldn’t deny it.

Maybe, he had told himself, it was simply a question of availability. Carlos didn’t have a life outside the cartel. Maybe his lover was just there, within reach, and Carlos was making do.

Maybe, Angelo thought.

“Lights out!” came the call from the guards passing on their rounds. Milo shuffled toward the bunks, glancing warily from Angelo to his own bunk.

Angelo folded his arms. “No.”

“What?” Milo asked, looking nervous.

“Tonight you bunk with me,” Angelo said.

He watched how Milo took this, how he reddened and ducked his head. “I…uh.”

“For warmth,” Angelo clarified, amused. It wasn’t cold. If anything, it was overly warm in the room. For a moment, it looked like Milo might point this out. His gaze hardened as Milo hesitated, the kid’s eyes flicking nervously between the two bunks. “I said, you’re bunking with me tonight.”

Milo’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, his hands wringing the hem of his prison-issued shirt. “O-okay, Torres.”

Angelo climbed into the bed. For a long moment, Milo just stood there, looking at him. Then the lights went out, plunging them into darkness.

“Come on, princesa,” Angelo said, low and insistent.

The thin mattress gave under him as Milo climbed on to the bunk. The kid lay down gingerly. Angelo grunted and yanked him closer.

“For warmth,” he said.

Milo murmured an apology and then squirmed in close, turning so his back was to Angelo. Good. That was good. Angelo could feel the kid’s heart hammering against his chest, his breaths coming in shallow, panicked gasps.

“Relax,” Angelo murmured, his voice low and dangerous. “I’m not going to bite.”

Milo’s whimper was barely audible, but it sent a jolt of electricity straight to Angelo’s groin. He could almost taste the kid’s fear, thick and intoxicating in the darkness of their cell. But more than that fear, Angelo sensed something else.

He’d seen the way Milo looked at him, and knew what Milo wanted.

If Milo was that way inclined, what was wrong with Angelo making use of him?

Angelo tried to imagine it—Milo on his knees, a wet mouth around Angelo’s cock. It sent a jolt of lust through him, stronger than he could have expected.

“Fuck,” he breathed, feeling himself harden.

“What?” Milo whispered.

“Stay still, putita,” Angelo growled, grabbing Milo’s arm to keep him in place. “You’re here for my amusement, remember?”

Milo whimpered softly, going limp in Angelo’s grip. Why was such a helpless sound so gratifying?

***

When morning came, the usual klaxon dragged Angelo out of sleep. But this time there was a warm body in his bed.

Milo had moved closer in his sleep. His ass was nestled firmly in Angelo’s lap, and Angelo’s morning wood pressed up into Milo’s cleft. Instead of waking properly, Milo simply groaned and pulled the covers over his head.

Well, Angelo couldn’t have that.

“Time to wake up, putita,” he grumbled, shoving Milo out of the bunk. He laughed as Milo hit the floor with a yelp, scrambling to regain his balance. “Come on, we’ve got places to be.”

“Jesus, you could’ve just tapped me or something,” Milo muttered, rubbing his arm where it had collided with the ground. With his disheveled hair and flushed cheeks, he looked as if he had just been thoroughly fucked.

“Where’s the fun in that?” Angelo replied, swinging his legs over the side of the bunk and standing up. Milo offered no response, only shooting him a nervous look before following him out of their cell.

In the corridor, Angelo summoned Milo to him with a gesture, and then slung his arm over Milo’s shoulders. “Don’t want anyone getting ideas,” he said, enjoying the way Milo blushed, his eyes fixed on the floor. He didn’t protest on the walk to the showers, meekly submitting to this indignity all the way to the change rooms.

They stripped. Angelo noted the way Milo’s eyes darted nervously around the room as he undressed, looking small and vulnerable amongst the hardened criminals. He also noted the looks Milo got. Some of the men looking seemed annoyed. Angelo took note of them especially.

As they entered the communal shower block, the steamy air was thick with the scent of sweat and cheap soap. Inmates lined the walls, water cascading down their bodies as they scrubbed away the grime of prison life. It was open plan, no dividers between stalls, no privacy.

“Here,” Angelo said, selecting a shower head. He pushed Milo under it and turned the water on. Milo spluttered, shaking out his hair. Angelo crowded him against the wall and bracketed him in with his arms. His voice was low and possessive as he leaned in close, murmuring into Milo’s ear. “Wash yourself. Make it quick.”

Milo’s eyes widened, fear evident in his gaze as he reached for the bar of soap. “Like this?” Milo asked, his voice barely audible over the sound of the water. Angelo couldn’t help but notice the way Milo’s nipples hardened under the lukewarm spray.

“Good boy,” Angelo purred, his eyes never leaving Milo as he washed himself. He could sense the other inmates watching them, their gazes heavy with a variety of things. It seemed they were all too aware that Milo was now Angelo’s property. Good. They’d stay away from the kid now.

“Done,” Milo announced quietly, his body trembling slightly as he turned off the water. He looked up at Angelo, seeking approval, and Angelo felt a surge of arousal at the sight of the boy’s submission.

“Wait,” Angelo said, soaping himself in a leisurely fashion. The tension in the shower block was palpable, but Angelo felt he had established something. Milo knew who he belonged to, and so did everyone in the room.

Next time, he thought, he might make Milo wash him. If the boy was good. He smirked, wondering how far he might be able to push Milo before his pretty fa?ade finally cracked.