Chapter Six

The clang of metal trays and the noise of chattering inmates filled the canteen as Angelo walked in, his hand gripping Milo’s shoulder possessively. Around them, the other prisoners eyed them with interest, sizing up their dynamic. Angelo pretended to ignore them all, but kept his senses sharpened as he approached the table the Latinos had claimed for themselves.

“Go get our food.” Angelo said, giving Milo a shove.

“Y-yes, Torres,” Milo stuttered, turning to weave his way through the crowded room to fetch their breakfast. Angelo watched him go, knowing everyone else in the room was watching too.

He glanced at one of the junior Latinos. “You. Follow him and make sure no one fucks with him.”

The guy started to protest, but Angelo fixed him with a glare until he went, bristling with resentment but obedient enough. Rafael relaxed, turning his gaze back to Milo, standing nervously in line with a tray clutched in his hands.

“So you decided to bitch him,” Rafael Medina said dryly. “Looks like he’s learning fast.” He raised his coffee cup in a salute.

“Damn right.” Angelo said as he took a seat.

“You know,” Rafael said quietly, “everyone’s gonna think you’re fucking him.”

Angelo glanced at him and met his dark, level gaze. “And?”

“I know you’re not,” Rafael said, still quiet. “It’s just for show, right? To keep those animals from running train on him.”

“Pretty much,” Angelo said, something shifting in his gut.

Rafael shook his head. “Look out for the Aryans, hermano,” he said, jerking his chin in the direction of the corner where the white boys sat. “They don’t like the idea of a brown man making one of them bend over.”

“They’re just going to have to get used to it,” Angelo said with more confidence. He wasn’t afraid of the Aryans.

He watched as Milo carried the food back to the table. “Here,” Milo said, placing the tray on the table. His eyes were downcast, avoiding meeting anyone’s gaze.

“Finally,” Angelo drawled, forking up a bite of his shitty, powdered eggs. “You forgot the butter.” He glanced up at Milo, who flinched.

“Sorry, Torres,” Milo murmured, sinking back into his seat.

“Do better next time,” Angelo growled, his eyes locked on Milo’s. The younger man nodded, swallowing hard. He looked browbeaten, but Angelo saw the way he glanced up, the pink in his cheeks. Something about this situation appealed to him. Angelo wondered what exactly it was.

After breakfast, Angelo grabbed Milo’s arm and manhandled him outside.

The prison yard was a harsh landscape, filled with the sounds of clanging metal and aggressive posturing. Angelo led Milo by the arm, his grip firm and possessive. He could feel every tremor that raced through the pretty boy’s body, and it gave him a weird thrill.

“Stick close, putita,” Angelo growled, pulling Milo just a little bit closer. “I don’t want anyone else getting their hands on you.”

Milo nodded, his face flushed and eyes downcast as they navigated between groups of hardened criminals. The power dynamics were never more evident than in this open space. Angelo needed to make sure everyone was aware of Milo’s status now.

“Keep your eyes down,” Angelo murmured, letting his free hand glide over Milo’s ass, giving it a firm squeeze. “Don’t look anyone in the eye. You’re with me.”

Milo’s breath hitched. Angelo could see pink in his cheeks.

“Relax, princesa,” Angelo murmured, leaning in so that his lips brushed against Milo’s ear. “No one’s going to fuck you.”

He slid his hand up Milo’s shirt in a show of possession. Milo whimpered and Torres found it somehow pleasing. He stepped in behind Milo, pressing his body against Milo’s back while allowing his hand to drift lower, cupping the bulge in Milo’s pants. The idiot was getting hard.

“Seems like you enjoy this, huh?” Angelo taunted, giving the growing hardness a gentle squeeze.

“Please, Torres,” Milo whispered, his voice trembling with need and fear. “Don’t do this here…not where everyone can see.”

“Maybe I want them to see,” Angelo countered, his voice dark and dangerous. “Maybe I want them to know that you belong to me, and only me.”

He tightened his grip on Milo’s dick, relishing in the gasp that tore itself from the younger man’s throat.

“Remember, putita,” Angelo said, finally releasing his hold on Milo’s body. “You’re mine now. You need to act like it.”