Chapter 5
Morning hits like a slap. A buzzer screams through the walls at six sharp, ripping sleep from my bones. I sit up fast, heart pounding, jumpsuit twisted around my thighs from the restless night. The corridor lights snap on, yellow and mean. Doors clang open down the line. Lena is already standing at her bars, stretching like a cat that's used to cages. She glances over. "First day, pretty. Don't be late. They hate that."
A guard appears, older guy with a gut and a clipboard. He unlocks us one by one. When he reaches my cell, he lingers a second too long, eyes dropping to where the jumpsuit gaps at my chest. "Laundry duty for you, sweetheart. Move." I stand, smooth my hair, walk past him close enough that my arm brushes his. He stiffens. I don't look back.
The laundry room is down two flights of stairs and through a heavy steel door that groans when it opens. Steam hits me first, hot and thick, smelling of soap and wet cotton. Huge washers rumble like distant thunder. Dryers tumble with steady thumps. Piles of gray sheets tower on carts. Women work in silence, heads down, folding, sorting, feeding machines. Men stand at the edges—some guards, some inmates—watching. Always watching.
I step inside. The heat wraps around me like a second skin. Sweat beads on my neck instantly. The jumpsuit clings tighter now, outlining every curve. Heads turn. Not subtle. A low whistle comes from the doorway. Another laugh follows. I keep walking, chin up, straight to the folding table where Lena is already working.
She hands me a stack of towels without a word. I take them. Our fingers brush. She mutters, "Keep your eyes open. They're circling already."
I look up. She's right. Three men peel away from the wall almost at the same time. First is Jax—young, lean, dark hair falling into his eyes. He's a runner, low on the ladder, but quick. He stops near the dryers, pretending to check a load, but his gaze is glued to me. Second is Rico. Cocky. Gold tooth flashing when he grins. Gang ink peeks from his sleeve. He leans on a cart, arms crossed, staring like I'm dessert. Third is the guard from intake yesterday—the younger one with hungry eyes. He's posted near the door now, clipboard forgotten, watching me fold.
I smile at the towels in my hands. Three already. Perfect.
Jax moves first. He walks over, casual, like he's just passing by. "Need help with those?" His voice is soft, nervous under the bravado. I look up through my lashes. "Maybe. If you're good at carrying heavy things." He swallows. Nods fast. Takes the stack from me. Our fingers touch longer than necessary. Heat sparks up my arm. He blushes. Cute.
Rico isn't far behind. He saunters over, shoulders rolling. "Yo, new girl. You fold like you're dancing. Bet you move even better without all this." He gestures at the jumpsuit. I tilt my head. "Bet you talk bigger than you deliver." His grin widens. "Test me sometime." I laugh, low and teasing. "Earn it first."
The guard steps closer next. He clears his throat. "Inmates aren't supposed to chat on duty." But his eyes are on my lips, not my face. I turn to him slowly. "Then maybe you should give me something else to do. Something… quieter." His Adam's apple bobs. He glances around, then mutters, "Break in ten. Storage room. I can get you extra water." I smile sweet. "Water sounds nice. Thank you."
They don't leave. They hover. Jax keeps stealing glances while he stacks sheets. Rico cracks jokes to the other guys but keeps looking back at me. The guard pretends to write on his clipboard but stays close. Three men. Three offers. Three sets of eyes that say they'd fight each other just to touch me first.
Lena watches from across the table. She folds faster, lips pressed thin. "You're playing with fire, Zara."
I pick up another towel, fold it slow and neat. "Good thing I like the burn."
A bell rings for break. Most women shuffle out for water or the bathroom. I don't move. Jax lingers. Rico does too. The guard checks his watch, then nods toward the back hallway. I set the towel down. Walk past them both, hips swaying just enough. I feel their stares on my back like hands.
At the doorway to the storage room, I pause. Look over my shoulder. Jax and Rico are watching. The guard is already inside, waiting. I blow them a tiny kiss—three of them at once. Then I step through the door.
The storage room is dim, shelves stacked with detergent and spare linens. The guard closes the door behind me. "You're trouble," he says, voice thick.
I step closer. Close enough to smell his aftershave mixed with sweat. "I know. But trouble tastes so good, doesn't it?"
Outside, I hear footsteps. Jax and Rico haven't left. They're waiting. Listening. Hungry.
I smile up at the guard. Let my fingers brush his chest. "Let's see how much trouble you can handle… before the others come knocking."
The game isn't starting tomorrow.
It's already on.
And I'm winning.