Chapter 142
Chapter 142
Thomas Delgado p>
The smell of burnt eggs filled the stuffy cafeteria. The clatter of metal utensils against trays was constant, irritating, and made my head throb.
I sat in my usual corner, surrounded by my men, and began eating calmly.
My meal was different from the others–hot, well–portioned, and prepared exactly the way I ordered
Being the boss has its perks.
The taste was decent, but I was used to it.
Nothing surprised me anymore.
Even the best food tasted bland compared to the dragging routine of this prison.
Two years.
I’ve been stuck in this hole for two years, sentenced to life for triple homicide and international arms trafficking. A perfect combo to earn the black uniform I wore. Since day one, this place has
been pure hell.
Every step needs to be calculated.
Every look, measured.
It’s kill or be crushed.
You fight to stay on top.
One mistake, and you’re done.
The guards don’t get involved in conflicts between bosses.
They think if we settle things among ourselves, it saves them bullets. The wing I’m in is massive, but
not even I control it all.
Half of it is mine.
The other half belongs to Dragão–a sadist with the face of a monk and the hands of a butcher. We’ve never clashed directly. Not because we lack the guts, but because each of us controls our territory, and that’s been working.
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For now.
But honestly? I’m exhausted.
Always the same orders.
The same people.
The same faces, deformed by time or fists.
Every morning, I wake up already knowing what’s waiting: putting out fires.
Drugs that need to circulate, gambling debts, armed fights in the yard between inmates who barely know why they’re even fighting.
And me, like a shadow, watching it all.
Organizing.
Controlling.
Nothing changes.
Hlook around, and everything feels black and white.
This prison drains me.
Even my name feels dead inside these walls.
Thomas Delgado.
A thirty–four–year–old Latino, covered in tattoos that hide deeper scars underneath–scars that tell stories crueler than any word could.
Every mark on my body is a reminder of what I’ve lived through–and what I’ve done.
Out there, my name made people tremble.
I was respected, feared, even admired by those who wanted me dead.
But in here, I’m just another monster among others even worse.
One more soul sentenced to rot until death decides to show up.
Boredom.
Chapter 142
That’s what’s been eating me alive.
It’s not fear.
It’s not longing.
It’s this immovable, suffocating routine.
The same dirty trays.
The same fake–respectful faces.
The same sycophantic voices trying to kiss my ass.
No surprises.
No stimulation.
Even the orders I give sound recycled from days before.
And I wonder: how long?
How long will I keep waking up, staring at these filthy walls, giving the same commands, and watching the same people kill each other over grams of powder and gallons of hate?
How long will I keep swallowing this tasteless food, waiting for a summons from the warden or the next assassination attempt from some idiot who thinks he can take me down?
Inferno Bay.
They couldn’t have picked a more fitting name.
The worst prison in the country.
Only the worst end up here.
But even the worst get used to it.
And when that happens, it means something inside you is dying.
I’ve got nothing left to lose.
Family? I never really had one.
My old man was a violent bastard.
Chapter 142
He taught me love came through fists.
I grew up taking beatings until I learned how to give them back.
Until I became the most dangerous one.
Until I took everything I wanted without asking.
But now …
Not even that satisfies me.
“Tony.” One of the guys called, snapping me out of my thoughts.
I lifted my eyes slowly.
“They say new inmates are arriving today. Four or five. Straight from the capital p>
I raised an eyebrow.
My spoon stopped halfway to my mouth.
“Any known names p>
He shook his head.
“Not yet. But it seems one of them got sent here because of political influence. It’s a recent case p>
I leaned back in my chair, eyes fixed on a random crack in the wall.
“Hm.” A rough sound escaped my lips.
Maybe something new after all.
Maybe just maybe–the boredom was about to end.
But for now, it was still the same miserable breakfast, the same cold metal tray, and the same walls that seemed to shrink more every day.
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