I can't help but click my pen as I watch the clock click slowly. The day has been relatively quiet since I broke Nixon out of solitary, and I'm now stuck watching the clock, hoping for myself to get out of here soon.It's growing close to 6 pm, and I still haven't got the call from Roman to excuse me for the night. Roman hasn't talked to me at all after we arrived.
I yawn and wiggle the mouse to see if I've been given anything since I last checked 3 minutes ago. As expected, there isn't. I try and find something to do on my desk, by shifting some of the papers around, attempting to sort them, but when the amount is too daunting as well as not knowing where the move them, I stop. Roman always has something for me to do, so I feel at a loose end sitting here all day without any requests.

A knock on the door has my back straightening and me picking up a random piece of paper to appear busy. If it's Roman, I would rather not see his wrath at me doing nothing. But would that come with the new Roman?
"Yes?" I call, twisting my body to make it look like I've just looked up from the paper in my hands.

The door opens to reveal the domineering figure of Roman. His face is the usual neutral exterior, and to people who haven't had to live in fear of abuse with him for years, maybe they would believe it. To me, under the main expression, there's a flicker of glee like a fox who's just come across the chicken coop.
"We're leaving," he tells me. With him being my boss and my abusive partner, I don't question it, putting the paper down and rushing around my desk. He doesn't give me much of a chance to lock up my office before he's walking to the armory. Swinging the bag over my shoulder, I race off after him, surreptitiously checking my watch as we go. This is the earliest I've seen him leave since he started working here. As they were this morning, his strides are long and confident. I rake my eyes over his body, examining the body language. There's nothing untoward, but the overriding feeling I have isn't one of comfort. Fear is trickling down my spine, and I've learned to trust my intuition.

"We need to stop by solitary," he tells me, his demeanor or body language not changing. He's still focused on something in front of us, not giving me a glance or asking if that's ok.
Something's definitely off.

"Do you want me to stay-" I start to ask, knowing if I don't I could be on the receiving end of his ire. I'm never allowed there when I'm with him.
"We won't be long." Dread takes root in my stomach. I don't know what Roman has planned, but it makes me all the happier that Nixon is no longer there.

We pass by the two guards at the mouth of the hallway, and I duck my head, hoping to go by without any trouble. They don't pay us any attention, not even asking after why we're here.

My steps slow down considerably as we get closer to the cell Nixon is meant to be in, but no longer is thanks to me. I don't know whether to turn and run away, there is not much he could do to me with the guards around. The night with the policeman not believing me springs to mind in response to the thought. Would their loyalty be to Roman in the same way?
The attempt at a relaxed demeanor doesn't reflect the adrenaline pumping around my body. If I didn't have to keep cool, I doubt I would be able to walk with the jitters I would have. My hands are the only things letting on to what's just below the surface, and when I clutch them together to stop the tremors, they worsen.

I don't if it's me or time that has slowed when we get the open door of the cell and find Nixon resting his back against the wall, facing out into the hallway at me. With my face-on view of him, I don't get spared a single thing.
His lip is cut and bleeding, one of his eyes looking worryingly close to disappearing beneath the puffiness of the swelling there. Dried blood is indicative of what was an injury to his nose. There's blood splattering the floor of the cell. Not enough for a severe wound, but still enough to make my stomach twist. Two guards are in there with him, their backs to me. A hand flies to my mouth, downplaying the shock of his state as much as I can.

Nixon's eyes meet mine, and it feels like something is gripping my heart. I side-eye Roman next to me, wary. Why are we here? Discreetly, I take a step toward the end of the corridor we just came from.Roman doesn't pay me any attention, walking into the cell, his shoulders back. From past experience, I doubt he would want me to follow.
The two guards take this as a silent command, filing out into the hallway, flanking the door. It doesn't bypass me that their hands are showing signs of impact, as well as their faces, their shoes not the usual shiny Roman expects. I don't examine them long, but I'm sure I see a few drops of blood on them.

I sidle further down the hallway, keeping my eyes plastered on Roman and Nixon in the cell.
"What happened, Hawk?" Roman asks, his voice cold. Nixon spits out some blood, and my heart pangs at seeing him hurt so badly. The blood mixed with saliva touches one of Roman's black shoes that I have had to scrub within an inch of their life to satisfy him since he started here. Undoubtedly the job will need fulfillment again. Roman likes order, and he likes to appear that way too, so although he doesn't show too much of his displeasure, I know that deep down his anger is nearing boiling point already.

Nixon's eyes slide to mine. "I think we both know what's happening here."
Roman moves with a speed and aggression that is only reserved for me, and the surprise of it all has me stepping forward hoping to help. It's not worth it. Nixon is off his feet and being pushed into the wall behind him by my husband without so much as a thought. Nixon doesn't seem bothered. How? I don't know.

"Roman," I caution. "Maybe I should call-" I had intended to say Clayton so he could A. help diffuse the situation and B. patch Nixon up, but I don't get to say it before Roman is whirling on me.
"Stay. Quiet." Those two words gritted out are the only ones I get before he returns to Nixon who is still pushed against the wall. "Hawk. This is my property. You are my property, and I can do whatever the fuck I like to my property." I swallow down the bile in my throat. He knows! my brain is screaming at me, and the tremors get worse.

"You don't deserve it," Nixon hisses back. Roman rears one of his hands back and brings it forcefully upon Nixon's face. I swallow the scream down.
"Roman!" I call out to him. Just yesterday he was trying to apologize to me about how he was treating me. I can't believe I fell for it. A sick thought enters my brain, that he's not actually hurting me yet. I immediately push it away, because no matter who he's hurting he's the same person. The same abusive asshole who I've been married to for two years.

Nixon is on the floor, and luckily Roman is happy with the one punch. He spins and comes at me, and on instinct, I stumble away from him a few steps. He catches me easily, crashing his lips to mine, a hand holding curling around my chin and holding me by the cheeks. The pressure hurts, and I try and pull away from him, but he forces me to wait it out. He still has a hand clutching my cheeks with the same pressure, when we break apart. Roman forces me to look at Nixon in the cell holding his head.
"Mine," he affirms. In a book that might slide, and be considered hot, but coming from Roman, now, it's just possessive and nothing of the sorts. I try to struggle away from him, but his grip holds me steady. He leans down to my ear. "You're mine. No one can touch what's mine. You didn't think that I would find out about your little trip earlier? You're mine, on my property, and your little boyfriend belongs to me too. Everything that happens gets back to me. You lied to me, DeeDee."

"I'm sorry," I whimper, resorting to placating him, afraid of what's to come. Nixon's eyes stay on me, and the expression behind them makes tears well in my eyes. He's here. He's watching. And he's trying to keep me calm. They tell me to trust him, and that I'll be ok, and I believe him. He would never let anything happen to me. He's proven that to me before.
"Does a bad boy turn you on?" he asks me. "Do you think about fucking them here, in their cell? I knew you were cheating on me. I fucking said you were, and you fucking lied to me!" Nixon goes to push himself onto his feet, but the two guards move into the door, stopping whatever he was thinking of doing.

"I'm sorry," I whimper again.
"How many?" he asks. I whimper when his touch is rougher, his fingers digging further into my skin.

"What? None. None!" I plead.
"I said. Don't. Lie. To. Me."

"I don't know what you're talking about," I state, trying desperately everything that I use to calm him down. I remember the ashamed Roman, and just pray that he's still in there. "You're hurting me," I whisper.
It works. He drops his hand as if I burnt him. I stumble forward, hitting one a guard, who catches me from falling.

"If you think that entertaining a little criminal is a good idea, that it won't have fucking consequences, you're more than welcome to stay here for tonight." I start to protest, but he hears nothing of it. "You can live out your little fantasy, and we can see if you survive until tomorrow or if I find you raped and beaten on the floor. Isn't that what you did Hawk?"
Nixon clenches his fists but stays silent.

Roman turns to me. "I told you not to trust a criminal." He grabs me by my arm, using it to lead me toward the door of the cell Nixon's in.
"No!" I protest not from fear but from trying to save face with Roman. I yank against his grip, digging my heels into the floor, putting on a show for Roman. I find it weird that I'm more afraid of Roman than I am spending time in jail. It can't possibly be worse, and Nixon isn't a great choice for my punishment. It might actually be nice to have Roman-sanctioned time away.

My efforts are futile, and Roman throws me into the cell on my butt. Scrambling to my feet is hard, and before I can get to the door, it's slammed in my face.
"Boss, you can't do this," Nixon calls as Roman looks at us through the latch.

"What did I say about property, Hawk?" I want to claw at his face in anger, but I resist, my fingers gripping onto the hole in the door. I plead with Roman, but he just shushes me with a finger. "DeeDee, you should have thought of that before you decided to play with criminals." His eyes slide over my face, a small smirk tugging at his lips. "I hope I see you tomorrow, but a woman-starved man would take anything he could get. Goodbye DeeDee."
At that moment I realize that Roman doesn't seem to care whether I live or die. He almost wants Nixon to do something to me, so he can punish him. And if he doesn't, I get punished. I thought at first that it was just a threat. He dropped me instantaneously earlier when he knew he was hurting me, so why do this now? He confuses me more than when I was aware of what was to come. Is this a trick, will he come back for me? It's not only unethical to do this, but also probably against the law. But as I've seen, Roman owns the law here.

The latch that was letting in the only light slams closed, and I'm left in the dark with a confessed murderer.

Hi guys! I hope you enjoyed it. I have good news. I have decided to stop writing one of the books on the schedule, and as such it means that the updates will be every other week now.

What did you think of the update? Obviously, the likelihood of this ever happening in a prison is 0, but because this is a fictional story, I've allowed myself some leeway.

What do you want to/think will happen next?

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CC ;)