FIN-012 Behind Bars

FOREWORD

Young Mike wasn’t the type who was usually scared—of anything. But at the moment, his balls were sweating a cold, steady stream of beady little sweat droplets. He could not tell how many of them there were, but he knew that there were a lot.

The absolute blackness of the isolation cell did not allow him to see—but he could hear.

“Let’s get that little mother fucker’s ass,” a voice in the blackness said.

“Yeah, I’ve been watching those hot little buns of his for months now—this is our chance.”

Mike was scared.

The horny men in the prison had been after his Cherokee ass since the day he walked into the place, but he had managed to stave them off—until now.

The guards had, all gone home—or were on a break—the night guard was reduced to a single man—and he was nowhere to be seen—even if he had heard what was going on, would he have done anything to stop it?

Mike knew the answer to that one.

There was no saving his ass now. The men had him where they wanted him—and he was going to get it—but good.

“Get his ass, man,” a voice said.

“I’m going to get it,” a rough male voice said. “Whatever’s left over when I’m done with the smart assed punk, the rest of you can have. But I’m first.”

Mike recognized the voice. It was Harley Dunscott, the meanest bastard in the whole fucking prison. He knew he was in for it now.