Convicted: A Mafia Romance

ConvicteD

By Jacee Macguire

Copyright

This is a work of fiction. Any names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons – living or dead – is entirely coincidental.

Convicted © August 2015, Jacee Macguire

Cover Image © Can Stock Photo Inc. / konradbak

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations used in articles or reviews.

Chapter One - Sebastian

“Prison robs me of my dignity, my pride; it robs me of my privacy and of my freedom. Prison robs me of anything a man can enjoy in life.”

- California prison offender

The high-security transport chains binding my wrists and ankles clanked as the white bus sped down the highway heading for Huntsville. Transporting prisoners at various times of the night had long been a custom law enforcement officers had deemed safe. They made sure to keep dates and times hush-hush in an effort to thwart any possible rescue missions criminals might have in place if they wanted to save their buddies from a long stint in prison. That would not be happening. Not yet anyway.

Outside, it was pitch-black. Thunder rolled, crackling in the distance, as lightning arced across the blackened sky like white-hot daggers. The metal coverings on the windows blocked visibility to the outside world, further removing the occupants within from society. The silence surrounding me was deafening. The smells were much worse, though. We’d been traveling for hours now and the smell of sweat and urine had long since began to agitate my senses.

From the visible conditions in the poorly lit intestines of the bus, I could tell it hadn’t been cleaned in ages, if ever. No surprise, really. A prisoner’s comfort was pretty damn low on the list of important things in the eyes of the State of Texas. No matter what the officials said in the media, they didn’t give a rat’s ass about the convicts in their care. This bus ride was just a small part of a much larger picture that was stained with blood, sweat, and tears.

As bad as the long ride from Austin was, I was in no hurry to get where we were going. Who the hell would look forward to bunking in a small cell with another man, anyway? A woman sure, but not a man. Not me; that’s for damn sure. I too had heard the bubba jokes about becoming some large man’s bitch… but I was not going to be that guy. Not that that was even a possibility of that happening for a man like me. I’d walk out of that damnable prison with a virgin ass, same as I walked in. Just the mere thought of someone being stupid enough to try had me clenching my fucking ass cheeks tight enough to hold a penny.

The other men on the bus were sleeping. They might seem to be at peace with their surroundings and where they were headed, but that was a fucking lie. I couldn’t sleep. My mind was in overdrive. Don’t get the idea in your head that I was afraid, because I’m not. Men like me didn’t fear anyone or anything, but I couldn’t help but rehash everything that had happened over the last six months; from the night my life spiraled out of control to the court case that followed, solidifying my fate and ultimately putting me on this fucking bus with a bunch of damn idiots too stupid not to get caught for whatever their crime was.

I’ve broken a shit-ton of laws over the years. I’m a bad man. There is no question about that. Some would say I’m the devil in an Armani suit. I wouldn’t disagree with them.

But the reason I was sitting here shackled to the floor, bound in chains, was not of my own doing. I’m guilty of much, but I’m innocent of the crime I’ve been convicted of. Some men look at prison as a vacation, but I do not. I see it for what it is. This wasn’t the average road trip to visit a relative. No. It was a forced vacation of sorts, one I had zero fucking control over. Control was – and still is – my thing. I need it. I love it. I have to have it.

Murmurs from the front of the bus, just beyond the caged door, caught my attention as the bus began to slow in preparation for taking an upcoming exit. The whispered conversation between the driver and the armed guard standing watch over us was grating on my nerves. I wanted to know what was happening. I wanted to know which unit would be my home. There were so many cages around here for a man like me, and I had connections in all of them. Men that would do my bidding men that owed me favors. I had always known what was happening so this new life would take some getting used to. But no matter where I ended up, I would be feared by all.

My name is Sebastian Christakos. I’m the boss of the Greek mafia. I’m a god among men. I am the darkness, the very air that you breathe. I am a dealer of death and a giver of pain to those that oppose me. I am a murderer and this is my story.

Chapter Two - Sebastian

“Nobody can give you freedom. Nobody can give you equality or justice or anything. If you’re a man, you take it.”

- Malcolm X

The bus came to a screeching, grinding halt at the front gate of the prison. I watched the uniformed officers go through their routines, the gate clanking along its track as it slowly opened like the mouth of the devil swallowing me whole as the bus crept through the entrance. Bright lights lit the area, leaving little to no shadows to hide in. The door to the bus opened with a sharp snap and a short, chunky, balding man waddled up the few short steps, pushing past the armed guard. His cold eyes skipped from one prisoner to the next, as if he was having his own personal pissing contest. I had wanted to laugh – to challenge him – but now wasn’t the time. Within minutes, I, along with my fellow occupants, filed out of the rickety old bus in a single file line, chains rattling with each shuffle of our feet.

For the next several hours, I was put through the ringer. We were led into a small crowded room, paint peeling from every wall, and commanded to strip butt-ass naked. I had nothing to be ashamed of, but having to follow someone else’s orders really pissed me off. I removed my clothes, tossing them into a pile before me as the guard demanded. The young man next to me did so slowly with shaky hands and tears in his eyes. He wouldn’t survive without becoming someone’s plaything. Poor guy.

The next order was the one that had me seeing red, though. Of all the things I had been through in the last six months, spreading my ass cheeks for another man would have to be the most humiliating of all. A low growl began in my chest, slowly scratching and clawing its way to the surface. I ground my teeth together, fighting like hell to control the dark side writhing within me. Thankfully I managed to control the wickedness residing inside me. But I knew it wouldn’t always be so easy; not in here.

I received my dingy white uniform and rubber shoes, an emaciated mattress and pillow, and a few toiletry items I was certain were barely a step up from using nothing at all. The next week or so were medical checkups and shit that, from what I gathered, helped in placing each of the new arrivals in a permanent home.

TWO WEEKS LATER...

Every day is the same here. It doesn’t matter if you’re innocent or guilty, black or white, rich or poor. Everyone – and I do mean everyone – is treated the same. There were ways to get around the piss poor treatment, though. The guards walk around in their used grey uniforms, heads held high as they do whatever they can to make you feel lesser than them. I do not fall for their shit. Never will. Giving in to them only shows weakness, and that is not the kind of man that I am. Each day, I follow the same sad-ass routine: sleep, eat, work… and then I do it all over again, without complaint. I long for the freedom I lost, doing my best to hide the emotions toiling away inside me.

During my first week at the Wayne Unit, located deep in the heart of a pine tree jungle, I had my first fight; my first prison fight, at least. The man had done nothing to me. He just happened to be big, so he was the one I used to show everyone I was a man to be feared. It had worked like a fucking charm.

I knew there would be consequences for my actions, but I didn’t give a shit. The broken jaw I dealt out to that poor convict earned me a week in solitary, but once that week ended, my reign of power over my new cellblock wasn’t questioned. I met with my contacts and slipped into a routine, as all made men do.

Today, I was to meet with my attorney and share my plan to prove my innocence. If all worked out according to plan, I’d earn my damn freedom back.

While sitting in the confines of my cell in solitary confinement, I realized a fresh set of eyes on my case was needed. Now that didn’t mean I didn’t trust my pricey attorney because I do. He’s a loyal son of a bitch if ever there was one.

But I knew we had missed something somehow, and whatever that something was, it had earned the District Attorney an epic win that sent me here, and even though I could easily run my operation from my tiny little cell, I preferred the life I had outside these prison walls.

There aren’t many people in the world that can handle living a life like mine; a life smothered in blood, death, money, sex, and vengeance. And the money was damn good. I had more than I could spend in a fucking lifetime… but a great mafia boss always wanted more. And I was a fucking great mafia boss.

The thunderous steps of a guard’s footfalls on the metal walkway outside my cell echoed against the concrete walls of my new jungle, catching my attention instantly. Smiling, I kept my eyes downcast, flipping through the pages of the month-old magazine in my hands. Sports Illustrated was as close as a man could get to seeing a near-naked woman, and I was starving for a hot wet pussy to feed my immense appetite.

I didn’t want to alert the guard to my eagerness for my visit because that was never a good thing. Guards had their ways of torturing us by picking fights and removing what little rights or privileges we had during our stay here. Bastards.

Sweat trailed down my back as I looked through the magazine, adhering the thick material of my shirt to my skin. I glanced up quickly to the air conditioning vents, wishing some dumb fuck would flip the switch and turn on the air, but that was wishful thinking. The state would save every damn dime they could, even refusing to turn on the AC during the hellishly hot summer months.

I almost wanted to offer to pay their fucking electric bill myself just feel more comfortable. Lack of cool air in this humid Texas heat was insane. Men were dropping like flies from heat strokes all over the prison due to triple-digit temperatures. I wanted cool air almost as bad as I wanted my goddamned freedom, but I wasn’t a pussy so I’d stick it out. For a while, anyway.

The guard stepped in front of my cell. “Christakos! You know the drill. Back to the gate and hands behind your back,” he growled, a smirk crossing his young face.

The little bastard had a god complex that I was sure had been taught during his meager training. The look in the boy’s eyes showed me just how weak and scared he was… and he should be. In a different situation, I’d laugh in his face, but not here. The cocky prick didn’t know who the hell he was dealing with. Maybe he didn’t care. He should, though. If he knew what was good for him. My patience would only stretch so far.

“Sure thing... boss,” I grumbled. As if any of the men around here was capable of being the boss of me.

I slowly walked across my cell and turned my back to the bars, placing my hands behind my back just as he’d asked me to. I wasn’t looking for trouble today.

The cold steel of the cuffs bit into the flesh of my wrists and I couldn’t help but smile. This insolent prick’s luck would run out sooner rather than later if he didn’t learn manners.

A few seconds later, I was led out of my cellblock. Trading my crisp Armani suits for this stained dingy white prison uniform drove me nearly to insanity – the scratchy material was far from comfortable – but what really tested the limits of my sanity was the infuriating sameness of everything. All the guards wore grey. All the inmates wore white. And the building itself seemed to be a lifeless husk, with barely a hint of color anywhere to be seen.

Before me was a long institutional white hallway, sectioned off with barred gates. Up ahead, several inmates were lined against the wall, their uniforms in piles on the floor as the guards strip-searched them all. Averting my eyes, I kept my mind on my meeting. A small part of me felt sorry for the guys spreading their ass cheeks for a couple of jackass guards fresh out of training. Sometimes it was the luck of the draw – or just being in the wrong place at the wrong time and gaining unwanted attention from the pricks. Either way, it sucked.