Jailbait

ManLoveRomance Press LLC

Heat Rating: Sizzling
Word Count: 21,000
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The world has been nearly destroyed by greed. Young male prisoners must battle in the ring to win their freedom. Marcus Brown needs to win his next few fights and he can finally leave Ravanald Maximum Security Prison for Young Men—where he's serving an eight-year sentence for stealing apples to feed his starving sister. When he wins his final fight, he'll never have to look into the face of Warden Paul Honeycutt, the man responsible for making Marcus's life a living hell, along with all the other inmates in the facility, again. But if he wins his freedom, he may have to leave behind his lover, Cory York, the only ray of sunshine in Marcus's dark existence.

Jailbait
0 Ratings (0.0)

Jailbait

ManLoveRomance Press LLC

Heat Rating: Sizzling
Word Count: 21,000
0 Ratings (0.0)
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Excerpt

Prologue

"Are you sure you'll be okay?" Ava, Marcus's ten-year-old sister, asked as he prepared to leave.

Marcus had gotten her comfortable in the abandoned warehouse they now called home. "I'll be fine. I'll only be gone for a few minutes and then I'll be back with some food."

They hadn't eaten in three days. He didn't care about himself, but Ava had always been sickly and needed nourishment. Since their parents' death a little over a month ago, Ava seemed to have gotten worse. The doctor said she had something wrong with her heart which made her sound breathless most of the time. She had wasted away to skin and bones and he needed to find her some food fast.

The grocery store down the street always displayed apples out front. Marcus planned to swipe a couple of them when it was safe to do so. "Don't worry and don't come out."

They had to keep their whereabouts a secret from the authorities since he was just thirteen and not considered old enough to care for his sister. He couldn't even get a job, which really didn't matter since there were none around to get. He made sure Ava couldn't be seen should anyone enter the warehouse and then left.

Marcus pulled up the collar of his threadbare coat to fight off the cold. The sidewalks were littered with people walking around trying to stay warm. Since the war, hardly anyone had a home to call their own. The economy had turned so bad people were begging in the streets and stealing just to survive another day. His parents had been murdered by the self-imposed military group called the Guardians of Justice, a bunch of killers who didn't like people who spoke against them. His parents were just trying to help some neighbors they knew. No one survived the slaughter except him and Ava, and only because they hid. He'd covered Ava's eyes and led her away hours after the shooting stopped. They'd walked for two days until Ava couldn't take another step. Marcus found the warehouse and had barricaded them inside to keep warm.

Marcus neared the store. There were still a lot of people milling about. Maybe he could use them to his advantage, like camouflage. He walked over to the front of the store, peering inside. The shop's proprietor worked busily behind the counter. Marcus eased over to the basket and began stuffing apples in his pockets and beneath his shirt.

"Hey, you, boy. What are you doing?"

Marcus looked up quickly. Shit. The cops. "Nothing." He ran dropping some of the apples.

One of the cops followed.

Marcus ran down the street quickly, hoping to lose him. He stumbled over some trash on the sidewalk and nearly ran into a barrel someone had built a fire in to keep warm.

"Halt," the cop shouted.

Marcus ignored him and continued to run. Just a little farther and he'd be back safe in the warehouse.

Marcus looked behind him but no longer saw the officer. Good. He slid open the warehouse door and slipped inside. He secured the door and Ava appeared. She'd come out of hiding even after he explained to her it wasn't safe to do so.

"Did you get food?"

Marcus handed her the apples he'd managed to save. He stooped to pick up one of Ava's small balls and put it into his pocket.

Ava's eyes lit up like coal in a hearth.

A bomb exploded around them, blowing out the doors and windows of the warehouse.

Ava screamed. "Marcus!"

Men in black suits, helmets, and carrying shields and guns entered the warehouse, flipping over things and searching the place from top to bottom.

Ava cried and clung to Marcus. "I'm scared!"

"Get them," one of the men said as Marcus and Ava tried to escape.

Two men approached. Ava continued to cling to him. One of the men grabbed her.

"Leave my sister alone," Marcus shouted. "She hasn't done anything. She's sick."

The other guy carried Ava out the warehouse.

"Help me, Marcus!" Ava screamed.

"Don't cry, Ava. I'll come for you. I won't let them get away with this."

The other man punched him in the face. That was the last thing Marcus remembered before waking up in a cell.

Chapter One

Eight years later

Marcus landed a solid punch to his opponent's face. The crowd roared, loving every minute of it.

His opponent, a prisoner from Donaldsonville Correctional Facility, staggered but didn't go down. He came after Marcus instead with a round of counter blows.

Marcus protected his face and stomach and then looked for his target. He punched, landing a direct hit to the guy's jaw. The young man rocked for a moment before falling to the mat unconscious.

It sounded like pandemonium in the arena. The referee hurried over and started to count. By the time he made it to ten Marcus knew he had won another match. The referee raised his hand in victory while the assistants from Donaldsonville removed the unconscious fighter from the ring.

Marcus's people from Ravanald jumped into the ring and celebrated the win with him.

Marcus exited between the ropes and walked the victory stroll up the center aisle of the arena. People reached out and touched him. Marcus ignored them even though they meant him no harm.

Two prison guards waited for him at the end of the journey to escort him back to the other side of the compound. He smirked. What the hell did he need them for? It wasn't like he'd try to escape. He learned eight years ago that escaping was futile. If by some miracle he made it past the hundreds of armed guards and the barbwire fence, shark-infested waters awaited him on the one side of the prison. Rocky Mountains filled with deadly wild animals awaited him on the other. And what would he do if by some miracle he made it to civilization? He had no family or friends outside and from what he'd heard the world had gotten worse since he'd been locked away. Yet he looked forward to being free. He'd just have to learn how to live with the way things were, and he'd deal with it better not having to worry about looking behind his back every five minutes expecting the guards to find him and drag him back for being an escapee.

He'd made a lot of enemies in eight years, and with just two more fights to go to win his freedom, someone might try to stop him.

One guard stopped before him once they reached the building where the cells were located. He opened the door for Marcus to enter and then closed and locked it once he stepped inside.

Another guard waited to escort Marcus to another part of the cell block, which housed the showers. He would be left alone to bathe before finally going back to the six feet by eight feet cubbyhole he called home.

The showers were usually empty at this time on fight day and left this way so the fighters could have enough hot water to wash the sweat and blood from their bodies.

Marcus heard a sound. He turned, checking out his surroundings for assassins. He spotted someone.

"You can come out," he said.

Cory York, the custodian, appeared carrying an armload of towels and a clean uniform for Marcus to change into once he showered. He also carried toiletries like soap, deodorant, and toothpaste.

"You can put that down in the usual spot and hand me the towel and soap."

Cory nodded. He couldn't speak, rendered silent by a fever as a child, but he could hear, read lips, and could write in order to communicate. He put down the rest of the stuff and then brought Marcus the soap and towel and prepared to leave.

Marcus grabbed his wrist.

Cory struggled at first and looked up at Marcus, unable to scream or defend himself.

"Thank you," Marcus said, freeing him.

Cory rubbed his wrist and nodded. He left quickly to prepare for the next fighter.

Marcus watched him leave, then stripped out his boxing trunks, and turned on the water. He closed his eyes and let the spray dampen his hair and skin. It felt good against his sore body. His opponent had landed some solid hits and he'd ache for a couple of days until he healed.

Marcus heard another sound. He opened an eye slowly and smirked. So the little mouse hasn't left.

Cory had returned and watched him bathe.

Marcus closed his eyes and pretended not to notice him. He remembered the first time the two met. It happened eight years ago, right after he had been found guilty of stealing apples and resisting arrest and thrown into Ravanald. Cory had to have been around ten years old then, when the guards tossed his unconscious body into Marcus's cell. For two days the petite child lay semi-conscious, coughing up blood and groaning from the beating he received from one of the guards.

Marcus didn't want anything to do with Cory because he had enough problems of his own. The guards hated Marcus because they couldn't break him. So he wouldn't give them an excuse to beat him, too. His body already bore the scars from their whips and belts. If the other boy was to survive, he had to find it in himself to do it. When Cory finally woke up, he looked at Marcus with tears in his big brown eyes that seemed to beg Marcus to save him and the other kids from such treatment. Marcus's heart broke. How could he not do something? It wasn't until days later Marcus discovered Cory couldn't speak, but his expressive light brown eyes had set a fire in Marcus he still carried eight years later.

Marcus soaped up his pubic hair and took care to wash his cock and other private parts clean with a lot of hot water. He'd caught crabs and lice because of some of the unsanitary conditions they were forced to live under back then and he didn't want it to happen again.

Cory still watched him from his hiding spot. Marcus knew how the eighteen-year-old felt about him. Marcus felt the same way about Cory, too, but neither had acted upon their urges.

Marcus's cock hardened just thinking about Cory's femininely beautiful face, the long-lashed eyes and his full lips. He could describe Cory as too pretty to be a guy, with chin-length, straight, brown hair, small delicate features and an innocent gaze.

"Uh!" Marcus groaned as he absently stroked his dick.

Damn. He'd tried so hard not to show weakness and to stop the rush of emotions he felt.

Cory watched wide-eyed and concerned. He ran his tongue over his bottom lip.

Marcus saw him. He grunted, lurched forward, and then shot cum into the drain of the shower. Cory had left by the time he finished. Marcus shook his head. The first thing I'm going to do once I win my freedom is find a woman and have non-stop sex with her. Until then he promised to try to keep his hands-off Cory.

* * * *

Cory had been in love with Marcus since the first time he opened his eyes and saw him staring down at him in the cell. He saw Marcus as a god, tall and powerfully built and not afraid of anything or anyone. Cory sighed, wishing he could be more like him, but fate had damned him with a small, fragile body, a girlish face, and the inability to speak. He'd been like this since the age of eight so he couldn't utter Marcus's name. He just decided to worship the other guy from afar and pray both made it out of Ravanald alive.

Cory had been orphaned since the age of ten after his parents were killed. Before then, his folks had cared for him, taught him sign language, and how to read lips. But then the bad men came in the night and killed his parents for no reason, other than the fact that they loved each other. They couldn't help if their skin colors were different any more than he could help that he looked closer to white than black.

Cory had lived on the streets for a little while after his parents died, begging just to stay alive. Then along came Mr. Smith, who took him off the streets, promising to keep him safe. Instead, the man kept Cory locked away in his home he shared with his wife and kids, and forced himself on Cory every chance he got. Cory couldn't cry out from the pain or beg for help. In an act of self-defense, Cory struck Mr. Smith with a lamp when he tried to fuck him. He escaped and returned to the streets. He finally got arrested about a month later, found guilty of killing his attacker, and got sent to Ravanald.

His small build kept him from becoming a fighter like Marcus and most of the other guys in Cell Block A, so they made him a custodian to clean up after the prisoners and guards. Cory didn't mind the work, and at least it kept him sane.

Cory remembered his first days at Ravanald. He had been beaten severely and tossed into a cell with another black youth. Marcus shared his food with him and tried to tend his wounds. Over the course of time, he fell in love with the other boy and never forgot his act of kindness.

Marcus passed him, wearing the gray prisoner's uniform they all wore to signify they belonged to Ravanald.

Cory's dick hardened and strained against the rough, white cotton underwear he'd been given to wear. Other than Mr. Smith, he'd had no sexual contact with anyone. Plenty of the other guys had their eyes on him, including Warden Honeycutt and Bert, the guard, but everyone stayed away from him because they thought he might murder them in their sleep. Cory smirked. So far his reputation of being killer had worked for him, but he wasn't pressing his luck on things staying this way.

The next fighter Tyrone Rowan, Marcus's best friend, looked like he'd been through hell. Tyrone, like Marcus, was one of the oldest residents of Cell Block A. When he turned twenty-one, his next stop would be a maximum-security institution for men if he didn't win his freedom by fighting. From the smile on Tyrone's face, Cory could tell he too had been victorious in his last bout.

"What's shaking, little man?" Tyrone asked him.

Cory just shrugged.

"Oh yeah, I forgot. You're the strong, silent type."

Tyrone liked to make jokes. He stood five-feet-ten, just one inch shorter than Marcus, and ten pounds lighter. Cory considered him a nice looking, black guy with short hair and almond shaped, brown eyes that twinkled when he laughed.

"Have you seen Marcus?"

Cory nodded.

"Did he win?"

Cory nodded again, remembering not to smile and entice Tyrone to attack him.

Like some of the other guys, Tyrone had his share of homosexual relationships, but still considered himself straight. Cory once overheard him say that when he got out of Ravanald he would find him a fine woman to love and settle down with and have some kids. Cory hoped Tyrone got his wish, but until then, he figured he'd go on having sex with Chance, one of the other custodians, he'd been fucking for years.

Cory handed Tyrone his towel and soap and left him alone so he could bathe in private. The next fighter would be arriving soon and once again he'd be back in the shower room handing out clothing and toiletries until the last boxer finished. After that, he had to scrub the showers clean and take all the dirty clothes and towels to the laundry before he could rest.

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