Marcus prison back story

Marcus thought about the six years of prison he survived while he laid on his bunk in county jail. It was like déjà vu all over again. He thought about Harry day in and day out. He never dreamed that he'd be in love with him, but it'd never work because there were a lot of secrets that would destroy them if he tried. Secrets Marcus Johnson told himself he'd never tell Harry...

Not only did Marcus know Harry's biological father, he tormented the man in prison. And not in a good way...

He never thought that he'd be facing yet another trial that may send him right back to a prison he though he escaped forever....

But nearly seven years before this very moment, the State tried to give him life without for beating his father to death, literally, but because of a plea bargain and turning in a few cops that banged Ginger in his father's bed, Marcus agreed to the shorter sentence. Ten years, with early release for good time, if permitted.

There was no way he was staying in prison all of his natural life.

MARCUS JOHNSON'S PRISON BACK STORY:

Marcus, deeply angry about what he did to his father, immediately made allies. He got to know the most feared Man in prison, the downlow booty bandit nigga, Square, that ninety percent of the inmate population wanted to bone because he had a banging body and a natural phat ass.

Square could fight like a lion tamer, so no one fucked with him after word traveled that certain inmates paid top dollar to fuck the men he knocked out in fights. Square always fucked them first. Shooting his load deep in them.

Square was on the weight pile, needing a spotter while he did squats, but no one obliged. You couldn't automatically help a 55 year old killer that has knocked out the toughest of the toughest behind the walls and cut deals with horny inmates that paid him commissary, envelopes, cash (contraband he stored in empty potato chip bags and mailed to his children's mother on the streets.

"So, no one is gonna spot me," said Square and Marcus walked up behind him, pressing his bulge against Square's delicious cakes without making it obvious.

Grinning, Square said, "You must be new here, dude." Square did fifteen squats, lifting three hundred pounds. His ass poked out every time he squatted. His abs were like butter and he looked like a thirty-year-old.

"Maybe," said Marcus. "Maybe not, Square."

"Feisty," said Square. "I like that in a verse nigga."

Spotting him, Marcus pressed his erection on Square's ass, licked his earlobe and said, "I'm a top gunner, bruh. I plow for oil with this Sweet Dee. I'll make that ass cream on my dick if we can become, you know, allies and cell mates."

Replacing the weights, Square turned to face chocolate decadence. He was weak in the knees, looking over his mouthwatering nipples.

"I'm Dime, but they call me Square."

Dime had a son outside of the prison walls named Harry...

"I'm Sweet Dee, but they call me daddy or the dick assassin in the sheets."

"I only fucked with verse niggahs, bruh."

"I only fuck with winners and clearly you on that small-time shit."

"You talk shit and think you're gonna walk away without reprimand?"

"Don't you see me walking away?"

Angrily, Dime ran up behind him and tried to sucker punch him, but Marcus was much too fast.

Pivoting, Marcus punched Square's fist and footed him in the abdomen, sending him crashing into the dumb bell rack.

A few inmates snickered. Dime hopped up and knocked them unconscious.

He faced Marcus.

"You ain't no spring chicken anymore, Dime and I am. I came in peace. You ready to win, bring in some serious dough, move me in your cell and let's get this thing started. My father is dead, and I don't have nobody. I'm sure you remember what that feels like."

Marcus held up a newspaper, a dated one. On the front was Officer Dime, a sergeant, gunned down his sons lover at his high school championship game.

The son name was Harry.

Dime lowered his head in shame.

"You have until eight tonight to decide, Square, or the gay population finds out that you killed one of their own, depriving your son of happiness."

Marcus walked off, just as line movement was called over the speaker system.

During dinner, chow, Square was sitting at a back table, inconspicuous. Marcus sat at the empty table behind him, putting his tray down next to his water.

"So, we can make this money together?"

"Yes. Or. No? It's seven fifty-eight pm. Four measly minutes determines your fate."

"It's handled. Yes."