him wide open. Judging by the interest with which Waylon scribbled his notes, that might well have been what the man in the suit was hoping to see.
When Chop moved over to the toilet and tended to his business, Cole looked over at Lambert. So far the skinnier inmate had been content to remain on his bunk like a rodent seeking refuge in the narrowest crevice of a cave. The sound of a steady liquid stream hitting dented metal filled the cell, accompanied by a contented sigh from the man directing the flow. Cole rushed at Chop from behind and almost got an arm around the man’s thick neck before the inmate spun around to intercept him. His leaky penis was still hanging over the top of his sweats as Chop once again introduced his tattooed fist to Cole’s face.
“Took ya long enough to try that,” Chop mused before lunging forward to get a grip on Cole’s jumpsuit so he could toss him into the metal frame of the bunk bed.
Cole bounced off the bed and landed in a sideways stance. The plan had been to outlast the constant assault and defend himself until Chop was either called off or convinced that he’d met his match, and Paige’s training had been good enough to get him this far. Now, after days of spitting blood and sleeping with one eye open, he was starting to rethink that plan. The healing serum in his body was wearing thin, and the Nymar tendrils had faded into lines beneath his flesh that gave him occasional jolts of strength along with a constant ache running all the way down to his core.
If the spore was still inside him, Cole knew he could have thrown Chop through a wall or maybe even pulled the cell door from its hinges. With only the torn tendrils left behind, those were no longer options. He wasn’t Nymar. He was just sick and tired of being locked up and knocked around. The pain that cinched around his innards tightened, forcing a hardened scowl onto his face. When Chop punched him in the stomach, his fist thumped against a thick mess of scar tissue. Cole pulled away from the other man’s grip and delivered a quick blow to his ribs. His fist landed in the same spot he’d been hitting ever since the beatings first started, putting one of Paige’s lessons into action. If someone’s weakness couldn’t be found, make one.
Chop kept fighting, but Cole remained one step ahead. By the time he swept Chop’s legs out from under him to drop him straight to the floor, he could hear Lambert hollering joyously from the other cell.
“Put me through my paces?” Cole snarled as he straddled Chop’s chest and clamped a hand around his throat. “What’s that supposed to mean? Tell me!”
“You’re dead, you piece of shit,” Chop grunted as he struggled to pry Cole’s hand away from his neck. “If it ain’t me, it’ll be someone else that does it. You stop now and I’ll let you live long enough to suck my dick.”
After driving his knee into the tempting target still dangling from the front of Chop’s pants, Cole placed his hand flat on the prisoner’s face. As good as it was to be on the winning end for a change, it felt as if his organs were going to rupture like pieces of wet sausage being sliced by lengths of garrote wire.
“Get off him!” a guard shouted from outside the cell.
Lambert stood so his body was plastered against the bars and shouted, “Chop started it!”
“Both of you move to opposite sides of the cell!”
After finally managing to pry Cole’s hand away from his windpipe, Chop sank his teeth deeply into his wrist. The wet crunch was the last incentive Cole needed to do what he’d been trying to avoid for so long.
He’d done it once already, but that was back in Denver when he thought he might be under Nymar influence. Now, with the only Nymar in the vicinity having been turned into a pile of ashen skin flakes in a trash bag somewhere, Cole knew he was acting purely out of frustration, anger, and hunger.
“What the fuck are you doin’?” Chop grunted as Cole dropped his face down to bite into his shoulder. Teeth shredded Chop’s flesh and burrowed down even farther in search of what lay beneath the filthy tattooed layers.
“He’s a biter!” one of the guards shouted. “Get this door open!”