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| Bellevue Bold And Blue; AU, het fic. | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Apr 6 2010, 01:31 AM (1,384 Views) | |
| Torrid | Oct 22 2010, 05:17 AM Post #46 |
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Hell is Here.
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All killer, no filler. ![]() ------------------------------------------------- Chapter Twenty-One - Memory James opened the door for Rebekah, keeping a sharp eye on her. She looked back at him with a smile. He was watching two things here. One, watching for any sign that she was going to run. Two, her ass. This was the first good chance he had to watch it, what little he could see through her loose jumpsuit. He directed her outside. “James?” “Yeah...” “You working tomorrow?” “Yeah, why?” “No reason.” she smiled. “Just savouring my time.” James smiled back and drew out two cigarettes and his lighter. “Working right through to Friday morning. Then Friday night off, Saturday on, Sunday off.” “Good.” she grinned. “Stop.” James hissed popping a cigarette in her mouth. “Suck it.” “I mo hao to moke fank oo.” she snarled around the white stick as James held the flame to her. She shielded if from the late night breeze, whispering to him. “Oh and as for innuendo, you suck at subtlety.” James stopped mid smoke and glared at her. “Rebekah?!” he whispered through clenched teeth. “Shit...” she blushed, rubbing her neck. “I...” “It's okay.” he breathed out. They stood and smoked, looking between each other and the floor the whole time. Rebekah giggled when James flicked some ash on the ground. He shook his head and smirked incredulously. He had no idea what she was giggling at, probably him but, he ignored it. Going out this late was a good idea. None of the other girls were around. No gossip. James was starting to like this 'working nights' thing. Lights out at midnight and not much more happens after that. Life for him at Bellevue was much easier than Corcoran. Breakout attempts happened on a daily basis. He'd not witnessed a breakout attempt here yet. He suddenly appeared to be in a brief state of deep thought, the silence reminding him of one last night of Chaos at Corcoran. I remember my final breakout defence op before leaving the Berkeley based prison. Just two months ago. A Mexican guy called Apolo Vargas. A man one year into a life sentence for first degree murder. Heroin addict. Tattoos all over him. Built like a brick wall. He clocked in around six-six and two-ninety. Really big, obnoxious guy. His escape was well planned out. You could tell by the time he did it. I'd watched him during the day. Working out when he'd be sat back in his cell and when he was out front and center. He regularly trained in the gym outside. He was stone cold and calculating. He barely said a word to anybody. The night he broke out, he was as stoic and silent as usual. He'd smoked, bench pressed and sat out in the open area all day. It was a few minutes to Midnight and he was sat back in his cell. He was clenching and unclenching his fists. Slowly. Until they clicked. He was stretching. Little did I know that something was about to go very wrong. The halls were starting to clear. He left the building for a last smoke before lights out. 'THIS IS A CODE RED - SECURITY BREACH! ALL HANDS TO THE YARD! REPEAT, ALL HANDS!' I pulled my gun out of its holster and ran out to the yard behind twice our normal capacity of guards. I knew what Vargas was waiting for. A shift change. The sirens were blaring. Guns firing. Guards yelling. He escaped. Next thing I reached for was my radio. Some of the off shift guards still bolting after him. 'CSP COR calling all cars, prisoner escaped, appears unarmed. Apolo Vargas, 28 year old hispanic male, six foot six, heavy build. Tattoed, shaved bald. Current location, corner of 6th and Sherman, over and out.' We heard nothing except sirens and panic for the next twenty-four and a bit hours. The entire place was on high alert. The afternoon two days later, I heard a rousing level of jeering as Vargas was heavily escorted up to level four high security. I crossed my arms over my chest and smirked. I pulled my radio out of my belt and smirked. 'Hetfield calling for cover of Level 3, over.' 'Edison receiving Sir, over.' 'Dan, could you possibly cover level 3 for me? I wanna welcome our buddy Vargas back.' I heard the laugh in Dan's voice. 'Right there sir.' 'Good man. Over and out.' As soon as Dan arrived, I raced to Level four like a child about to go to the world's best candy store. I stuck my hands in my pockets and yelled down the corridor. 'Do you hear me Vargas? I suppose you thought you were going to get away with getting out of here, huh?' I got right in his face from behind his bars and snarled at him. 'In level four, there's no such thing as good behaviour. You're fucked. More than you already were. I don't know why we ever moved you out of level three in the first damn place...' 'Bite me, Hetfield.' That did it. For the first time, in 15 years as a prison officer, I lost my temper. Truly. I drew my taser on him and jabbed it right in his belly. I laughed as he fell to the floor shaking. I was brimming with unadulterated rage. That night I went home and found out about Fran's mental state... and I called it. Walked into work the next day and told Jason, respectfully, that I was gone. “James, are you okay?” “Yeah.” “Your hands... knuckles are kinda... white.” Shit. “Oh, it's... uh, nothing. Honestly.” “Sure? If you wanna talk...” “I'm fine.” He discreetly took her hand affectionately before sliding his hand up her wrist. They walked back inside the concrete and metal prison, up to Rebekah's room. Once again, James locked the door and flipped the screen across. He held Rebekah's hand in his own and gently tugged her to him. “Let me make it up to you... for leaving you... after that amazing moment...” he kissed. “Forgive me?” |
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| kirks_wife | Oct 23 2010, 01:56 AM Post #47 |
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Scarred
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This is excellent Torr! Please, MOAR!!!
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| olyamet | Oct 23 2010, 02:05 AM Post #48 |
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Let's Dance
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Woohhoo!!! New update! Thank you! Yes, let's kiss and make up...
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