"You need to eat."

That fag was in his room again, and Rick ignored him as he lay on his bed. It was dark in the room, and he hadn't moved in weeks. He didn't want to. There was no point. No matter where he went, he'd always be a pariah. If he stayed in here, he didn't have to face Maggie.

Phantom pains flared up all over his chest now and then from his old wounds. They'd been small punctures because the blades Maggie used were tiny, but there had been so many of them. They'd healed by now, mostly, but in his mind, she was still gutting him every moment.

He shouldn't have hit her, but she'd gained pleasure from his pain. Rick couldn't even feel pleasure, and that bitch had the gall to throw it in his face in the worst way. The woman had gone ballistic and tried to murder him. That was what was running this place? Under fear of death for any small infraction against her rules, he was supposed to live?

That wasn't life. It was torture.

How could he make it all go away?

"Hey, Fag." Rick sat up, and the man glared. There was at least one person here whose eyes weren't hollowed out.

"Ian," the man corrected, and Rick had little patience for him, but he wanted something.

"Ian, do you know where I can get a drink?"

The man rubbed the back of his neck and tilted his head, saying that he did, but they both knew that drinking was against the house rules.

"If I show you a place, will you come out of your room?" Ian asked, and Rick hopped to his feet.

"I don't see why you care," Rick went to the bathroom and washed his face.

The other man waited while he shaved, put on cologne, got some new clothes, and then they headed downstairs. At the top of the stairs, Rick stared down and swallowed his racing thoughts about what he would do if he ran into Maggie. Alone in the darkness, it was easier to forget her, but he really needed to get smashed right now. Ian left him behind and he quickly caught up, almost running into him at the bottom of the steps.

Maggie was there, of course she was, with that huge ass guy from before. When she looked at him, he physically moved Ian in the way and used him for a shield as they headed down the hallway. Thankfully, she was silent as he slipped out the door and headed down the sidewalk.

"What are the odds of me escaping this place?" Rick asked, and Ian looked at him and then laughed.

"Literally zero. You can't move in this city without the crime family following your every action, and there is no way to get out without notice." Ian stuck his hands in his pockets as they headed down the street.

"There has to be somewhere they aren't looking," Rick argued, and Ian sighed.

"Don't I wish. See that car there." Ian gestured to a darkened car on the street. The sun was low so he couldn't make everything out perfectly, but he saw someone sitting in it that he hadn't noticed at first. "They're everywhere, and they watch anyone who leaves the pen. From there, they communicate with each other and keep a watch on us until we go back in. Sure, there are places they don't watch, but none you could get to without hitting their net first."

"Fucking shit," Rick growled as they hit the edge of the suburbs.

"Pretty much. We live in a prison in a prison. They won't even kill you. They'll shoot your knees out and drag you back here. Their leader is chummy with the big guy we passed, Tanner, so he makes sure no one jeopardizes his safety."

"Wonderful." They turned down an alleyway and past a few darkened windows before they reached an unmarked door.

"It's better for us really. Any normal Joe could come up and pop us, but they're frightened of the mob, so we can come and go in their territory as we please. Plus, they run the bars." Ian chuckled as he headed in.

The place didn't have many people in it and they gave them pointed looks as Ian dragged him to the counter to sit. There were round tables here and there but this place was really empty and sketchy. The floor boards were long wooden slats and the walls were painted white but yellowed from cigarette smoke. Rick was pretty sure there were a few bullet holes in the wall. With all his rich girlfriends, he'd never been to a place this gross.

"I come here when the things in my head get to be too much, but I always sober before I go home," Ian said, sliding cash onto the table. The bartender came up, took it, and handed them two bottles of liquor.

"Bacardi?" Rick stared at the bottle with a sigh.

"They have vodka, whiskey, rum, whatever really, but you strike me as the person who wants to get drunk quickly and not kill yourself. Bacardi isn't as hard as the vodkas they have here, and I know you haven't had a drink in a while. Start it easy." Ian pulled out a cigarette and lit it at the counter, puffing it and leaning on his hand.

Rick had never been much of a drinker. He wasn't a stranger to drinking with women, but he didn't like to be inebriated when he had sex. It dulled the sensations, and he liked the only thing that made him feel. In high school, the guys liked to get wasted, but he'd only pretended to be a guy with them, always drinking less without letting them know. One couldn't be on the top of their intellectual game when compromised, and he liked to know what was going on.

Right now though, he didn't want to know his name.

Downing a shot of alcohol, he didn't even feel it, and he sighed, grabbing a larger cup from the counter and some ice from a bin the bartender gave them. Eventually it got to him, and by the time he looked at the second bottle and realized it was a higher percent vodka, he was swimming. Why hadn't he started with that one?

Rick teetered in his chair, and Ian grabbed him by the back of the neck and pulled him forward. Steadying himself, he looked at the man and Ian was a little tipsy by now if he had to guess.

"No way to find a woman around here, is there?" Rick slurred as he asked, and Ian laughed so hard it had to be liquor induced.

"Better get used to your hand, bud. The mob is hospitable, but not that forthcoming. You don't want them to bed you and take pictures to blackmail you with. Any woman can step forward and say you banged 'em wrong and have us all off to the chopping block. Maggie's not even human, if you haven't noticed, so no luck their either."

"Fuck that bitch." Rick growled, and Ian downed another shot of vodka.

"Amen," Ian said with a smirk. "The mob doesn't like her either, so they don't care if we break rules and give her shit, as long as we don't compromise their precious Tanner." Ian eyed him, and Rick considered breaking his jaw if he didn't get his fucking fairy eyes off of him. "So, why did you kill those girls?" Ian asked.

Rick let out an aggravated breath and took a swig of vodka that he probably shouldn't have. "Fuck you and fuck the penitentiary," Rick said. "Why do you fuck men?"

"I don't know. I just do. That's like asking why you fuck women."

No it wasn't. Rick didn't know emotion like love or attachment. All he knew was the physical pleasure it gave him, and he'd be downright flaccid around a dude.

"Mags says you claim you're innocent." Ian tilted his head toward him, and Rick drank again.

"Never said I was innocent, just that I didn't kill and rape the bitches." Rick's tongue was too loose when he was drunk, but it didn't matter. Even plastered, he'd never utter Mel's involvement.

"Doesn't that make you innocent?"

"No." Rick needed release, but the fag would have another thing coming if he thought he'd ever be drunk enough to let him put his hands on him. "I'm ironically the only person in that shithole who isn't depraved, and that's saying something. You're wacked if you think that Maggie hasn't killed before. The bitch was desperate to do me in, and I never did anything to her."

"Tanner said you slapped her," Ian countered, and Rick turned his shot glass upside down over Ian's lap. The man didn't even move, just sat there and rolled his eyes as the alcohol soaked into his pants.

"I slapped her because she's a fucking cunt. I was as kind as I'm capable of being since I arrived here and never gave her any problems, and then she just up and tells me I have a black soul. Bitch wears a face better than I do. Fucking conned a con artist, she did. Unsure how she sleeps at night."

"I wonder if she isn't fucking Tanner some times. Those two are so close all the time that it's hard not to connect close hanging dots. Tanner is straight with me and swears he's never touched her like that, but I don't know."

"With her pent up rage, I doubt she's had a good fuck in years." Rick's head was too heavy and he laid it on the counter. How long had it been since he'd slept without it replaying those dead eyes as she stabbed him. He'd have to drink more often. The world blurred into clouds and he passed out.

~

It had been months now that he'd been at the pen. After drinking himself drunk all the time, he'd melted his fear of Maggie attacking him again. All he did now was make her life a living hell because she deserved it. It wasn't in him to say he enjoyed it, but it gave him satisfaction to know she was miserable.

Drinking consumed his nights, and during the day he made sure to fuck this place up as much as he could. Maggie'd had her chance at peace, and she'd chosen to be a soulless cunt. They'd even brought a kid here, and Rick didn't know how to deal with kids, or the gays. The fag was nice to him all of the time, no matter how much of a prick he was, so he had to give him points for that.

After a while, he'd calmed down a lot, and was just living his day to day life. If he brushed the damn bitch off and focused on something else, maybe he could find a way to still live here. At least that's what he thought until that god damn night when someone was following him.

"Who's there?" Rick called behind him in the alleyway. Oliver's goons were much stealthier, so whoever was following him wasn't one of them. Plus, the goons were getting lazier. As soon as they saw him heading home of late, they stopped their tail. All of his being quiet and agreeable was giving the less devoted members more time to goof off.

At least someone was happy with him.

"Shhh." Someone crawled out of the connecting alley.

Rick connected with a pair of chocolate eyes and wanted to throw up.

"Mel? What are you doing here?"

"I've been here a while, bro." She patted him on the arm with a smile, a fake smile, the one she used when she wanted something. "It took me some time to figure out the camera layout here, as well as the common paths of the Moceris. Quite a tight bunch, but they have blind spots."

"What do you want?" Rick asked, anger flaring up inside of him.

Why the fuck couldn't things just be boring?

"Well, I sort of need your help again." There they were, the words he couldn't hear right now. "Come this way, but don't stray. I have to weave in and out of surveillance and avoid the neighborhood watch.

As they headed to a broken down part of town that was primarily barren of life or light, Rick knew where this was going. It had been foolish of him to think that Mel could survive without her urges. The door creaked and the scent of liquor and stale cigarettes wafted to his nose.

Mel skipped along like this was a school field trip and ended up in the center of the room over her work. Lying there, with eyes wide and a belt still around her neck, a woman was dead and mangled to all hell. The long break from killing had caused Mel to have a little more fun with this girl than she usually did.

"I found someone that no one would miss, who travelled outside of the cameras and I couldn't contain myself. I just don't know what to do about the body. I'll never get it out with all this surveillance and I don't have a good way to clean physical evide–"

Rick punched her–straight across the face–and she fell to the floor. Mel picked herself up, and the bruise was already forming on the side of her face as she looked to him with astonishment. Rage built in her as well. It was the only thing either of them could feel.

"Leave!" Rick rasped, clenching his fists so hard that his nails cut into this skin to avoid hitting her again. "Get the fuck out of here! I'll take care of your fucking body, but if I ever see you again, I will kill you." The end was a deadly promise, but she didn't know fear.

"Richard, why are you being like this?" That stupid smile curled on her face and he reached over the counter to grab an empty bottle.

Throwing it at her feet got the response he wanted, and she jumped back from him as glass splintered everywhere. The fake smile of hers fell for a scowl, and he punched the table next to him to avoid going after her.

"I'm done with your shit, Mel. I pay for your crimes and I'm done doing it. If you ever show up here again, I'll make sure they put a target on your head and shoot you in the back of it. Do you hear me?"

"You were always so weak, Rick. Such a shame."

He took a heavy step toward her, and she fled.

Scrounging around the place, he found a cabinet that still had some old liquor in it. It was wine, aged, but it was better than nothing. Plopping on the counter, he popped the cork and took a swig. It was better to let it air, but he didn't have time for that shit. Pulling out his phone, he texted Maggie. They all had her number programmed into their phones if they had them.

He'd never texted her before, so he knew she'd come running.

He was going to need a lot of alcohol before she got here, and he needed to look like he'd killed this girl. His hands were too clean, and his clothes too neat and pressed. A little blood and grime would take care of that.

Fuck Mel to hell, things had just gotten quiet.

Word count: 2612 -- Edited July 15th, 2020