The Prison Project
Chapter 121
Coban's POV
The door shut behind me with a muted click, caging me into the kind of room I hadn’t seen in months.
It didn’t belong here, in a prison complex, but I also wasn’t completely foreign to the luxurious feel of the place either. My life on the outside, my life around my father, had always been in rooms like this one.
The air smelled of leather and polish instead of sweat and trouble, and I almost was convinced that this wasn’t even in the same building anymore.
Thick carpets dulled the echo of my feet as I stepped further in. A long, glistening marble table gleamed under the soft glow of lamps instead of flickering plastic fluorescents that I was used to back in the cell.
A bowl of chocolates sat in the center like some kind of twisted joke.
These weren’t guards. Not screws, not staff. Men in pressed suits didn’t prowl around the blocks.
Didn’t have to.
They most definitely came from higher up the ladder – making them untouchable, smug, the type who thought they could move people around like pawns on a board.
And tonight, their pawn of choice was me.
I dropped down into the chair they motioned to, legs sprawled wide, my bloodstained shirt sticking faintly against the leather. My fingers drummed once against the armrest before I leaned back and let silence choke out the room.
The taller one cleared his throat, trying to fill the gap with false cheer. “Chocolate?” He slid the bowl forward, glossy wrappers catching the light.
Tempting, sure, but I’d never look desperate.
I snorted, low and sharp. “Don’t want one.” My mouth twitched into a grin. “But I’ll take them back to my cell to enjoy them later.”
That landed. Their surprise flashed fast before they forced polite nods, as if that wasn’t the last answer they’d expected.
“Very well,” the shorter one said stiffly, tugging at his tie. His eyes slid down to the blood drying on my hands, then they darted away again. “Let’s get straight to business then, shall we?”
Finally.
The taller one leaned forward, folding his manicured hands together on the table. “As we understand it, a girl in Block F was brutally attacked today, which is why we’ve been called in…”
I hummed low in my throat, the sound neither agreement nor denial.
My jaw clenched, fighting back the flashes of Sarah on that floor – the blood soaking into the towel I had held to her head, her small hand twitching against mine as I begged for her to stay alive – to fight for her life.
I didn’t give them the satisfaction of seeing it crack me though.
Nothing would crack me open that easily.
Nothing other than Margot, it seemed…
The shorter man picked up again smoothly. “You are… what the guards would call… the ‘top dog’ in your block, Mr. Santorelli. Would you agree with that statement?”
A laugh, sharp and humorless, broke out of me as I leaned back further in the chair – listening to how ridiculous he sounded.
Trying to butter me up with compliments? Really?
My arms folded across my chest, stretching the bloodstained fabric. “Top dog of my little block? No.” My grin flared as I scoffed, before it was gone just as quick as it came. “But maybe top dog of the entire prison? Yeah. Don’t insult me.”
The silence that followed made them both shift and straighten.
They had no idea who they were even dealing with, as they only attempted to laugh too, but it was brittle and forced, like they weren’t sure if I was joking or if I meant it…
Which I had.
“Well, that’s good for us to hear in this case,” the taller one finally said, though his voice cracked thin over the words. “Because that makes our job easier.”
I narrowed my eyes, letting the weight of my stare pin him still. “This better be worth dragging me out of my cell in the middle of the night for… because you seem to be saying a whole lot of nothing so far!” I stated, unimpressed.
The shorter one cleared his throat again, tugging at his cufflinks now.
It was becoming a nervous tick, one that irritated me, before he spoke out;
“Well, you see… we came to you for a favor, actually.”
My brows ticked up at that.
Interesting…
“Which is?” My tone was clipped, sharp as a blade. “Speak plain. Don’t waste my time. Cut to the chase!”
They glanced at each other again, as though silently debating who would spill it until…
Finally, the taller one leaned in, voice lowered. “The way one of your fellow inmates behaved tonight… it was simply unacceptable. Utterly disappointing and now… now we have a poor innocent girl fighting for her life in the hospital wing.”
Every word was precise, deliberate, and confusing so far.
They were obviously here to look in to what happened to Sarah… maybe undercover cops? It was hard to say just yet as I listened on…
“We cannot allow men like that to get away with this kind of behavior here,” the shorter one cut in quickly, his voice a little higher, a little rushed. “Not when the government has fought so hard to frame this project as… successful. As being worthy of expansion. As a new programme worth selling to other prisons around the world.”
Ah.
There it was.
The real reason behind this rambling…
I smirked, tilting my head. “So it’s not about her life at all, is it? It’s about your project’s reputation and how it makes you all look, having a volunteer almost die in the first week? You’re here to what? To tidy things up? To keep things under wraps for the big men upstairs?”
Neither of them denied it.
I had called it for exactly what it was.
I clicked my tongue, shaking my head. “Cut to the fucking chase already, I can see right through the bullshit…”
The taller one swallowed once, then finally said it. “Well, Mr. Santorelli, we sort of uh… want you to… how would you say it…” His eyes flicked nervously toward mine. “…remove the inmate responsible for this incident from the prison project entirely.”
Silence fell heavy.
I leaned forward slowly, resting my elbows on the polished table top, my grin spreading sharp and cold.
“Remove him?” I echoed. “You mean kill him.”
They didn’t flinch. They didn’t deny it.
Now this was getting fucking interesting…