No Hope for You, Peasant

“I can’t make her stop…” Cynthia whispered, tears welling in her eyes.

“Then that’s your problem,” the officer replied coldly. “Now either you walk, or I drag you.”

Ashley chuckled. “Yeah, you better go, weak bitch,” she said, voice dripping with venom.

Cynthia wiped a tear as it slid down her cheek. “She’s threatened to kill me.”

“Good,” Ashley said with a wide grin, leaning forward on her knees. “I will. Soon as you get back. I’ll gut you in your sleep, dumb fuck.”

The officer sighed. “Is that all?”

Cynthia’s lips trembled. “That’s it.”

“Follow me,” the officer said, turning away.

As she walked, Ashley leaned back on her bunk, blew Cynthia a sarcastic kiss and mouthed, “Dead girl walking.”

Cynthia stared at her for a moment, her legs still frozen.

“I said move!” the officer barked again from the hall.

Cynthia took a breath, then stepped forward— slow, weak, unsteady. Every inch of her body protested.

Her bare feet padded against the icy concrete floor. The fluorescent lights above flickered as she walked past the steel cell doors, the buzz of electricity filling the silence.

The halls were filled with the echoes of pain. Distant screams, metal clanks, sudden coughs. Every door she passed held someone else barely holding on to sanity.

The officer didn’t say a word as they walked. Her boots hit the ground with militant rhythm. Cynthia dragged behind her, swallowing down fear.

“Where are you taking me?” she finally asked, voice barely a whisper.

The officer didn’t turn. “You’ll find out.”

“Is it… are you transferring me?”

“Maybe.”

“To where?”

No answer.

Cynthia shut her mouth. Her mind raced with possibilities. Was she being moved? Interrogated? Executed?

Anything was possible here.

After what felt like forever, the officer stopped in front of a reinforced black door. She swiped a keycard. A red light blinked green.

“Inside,” she ordered.

Cynthia stared at the door, the chill settling deep in her bones. “Why?”

“Because I said so.”

And with that, the door creaked open slowly, revealing darkness beyond.

\--------------------

The door clanked shut behind them with a chilling finality. Cynthia flinched, her tired body recoiling at the sound. Her movements were cautious, hesitant, like a prisoner unsure if this was a walk to freedom or deeper into hell. Her ankles wobbled from weakness. Hunger gnawed at her insides like a persistent parasite.

The officer, thick-booted and stern-faced, locked the steel door behind them, keys jangling like the laugh of a devil. The narrow hallway opened into a vast, cold, dark room— bare walls, high ceilings, and an emptiness that echoed each footstep like a scream in a tomb.

"Move," the officer barked, her voice void of sympathy.

Cynthia didn’t respond. She obeyed. One foot after the other. Each step sounded louder than the last. Her bones ached. Her vision blurred slightly.

After what felt like a slow death march, they reached a rusted door. Without a word, the officer shoved it open. Cynthia blinked at the sudden flicker of fluorescent light. The room inside reeked of soap and metal and sweat.

“Get in,” the officer snapped.

Cynthia stepped in warily. Her eyes landed on the only other person there— a woman, tall and lean, leaned against one of the washing machines like she owned the place.

Her face was unreadable. Arms folded. A scar ran from her right cheek to the edge of her lips.

“She’s your laundry mate now,” the officer announced flatly. “The both of you are assigned a hundred inmate uniforms and a hundred robes every single day. Wash, rinse, dry, fold.”

Cynthia blinked, stunned. “Laundry mate?” she echoed.

“Yes. You heard me right,” the officer snapped without turning. “This is your assignment now. Any failure to meet the quota? You’ll find out what real punishment tastes like.”

“My God…” Cynthia whispered, eyes wide, her mouth slightly open.

The officer turned to face her fully, hands on her hips, eyes narrowed. “What?”

“This isn’t just prison,” Cynthia said slowly. “Forced labor included?”

The woman beside the washing machine chuckled dryly. “Welcome to the real prison, sweetheart.”

“You better get acquainted,” the officer continued, ignoring the comment. “You’ll be spending a lot of time together in here. Starting tomorrow at 0600 sharp.”

“But why?” Cynthia asked, voice cracking.

“Because I said so,” the officer said with venom.

“Because you said so?”

“Yes,” the officer snapped, stepping toward her until their faces were inches apart. “Because I say so. You’re whatever I say you are. A prisoner. A laborer. A cockroach if I feel like it.”

“I won’t do it,” Cynthia muttered.

“Ohhh, but you will,” the officer hissed, breathing heavy into Cynthia’s face. “Unless you want to end up like the last girl. The one you’re replacing.”

Cynthia didn’t speak. She saw it— the trap. One wrong word and she’d be on the floor bleeding, or worse.

“Quiet?” the officer sneered. “Good for you.”

The officer lingered, nose nearly touching Cynthia’s, before stepping back. “Be careful, bitch. That hole I put the inmate you're replacing in? I can still smell her blood in it.”

She turned to the other inmate. “You got a problem with that?”

The woman shrugged, cracking her knuckles lazily. “Nah. I don’t mind fresh meat.”

The officer then pointed to the inmate. “Watch her. She plays weak. But she bites.”

As the tension threatened to suffocate the air, the door cracked open again. A tall male officer entered, chewing gum, hands in his pockets.

“Hello, ladies,” he said with a mock bow.

The female officer rolled her eyes. “What do you want?”

He sauntered closer, then leaned in and whispered “She has a call, from Sir Antonio.” in the officer’s ear, nodding at Cynthia. The officer's eyebrows lifted slightly, her lips curling into a sneer.

"You have a call the officer announced."

“Who?” Cynthia asked, confused. “A lawyer?”

Both officers burst into laughter. The woman cackled. The man clutched his belly, shaking his head.

“You wish,” he said, finally catching his breath.

The male officer held out a small burner phone. “Here. Don’t drop it.”

Cynthia hesitated, then reached for it with trembling fingers. She pressed it to her ear.

“Hello?”

“Hello, Cynthia,” came the familiar, low voice. Smooth. Cruel. Carlos.

"Enjoying your new home?"

Her chest tightened instantly.

“Carlos… please…” she whispered.

“Oh, no. Don’t beg. I enjoy seeing you suffer.”

Then— click.

The line went dead.

“Hello? Carlos? Hello? Hello?! Carlos—”

“Call’s over, ma’am,” the male officer said with a smug smile.

Cynthia stared at him, mouth still open. She handed back the phone slowly, her face frozen in disbelief.

He took it, winked, and leaned in just enough to make her uncomfortable. “No hope for you, peasant. You’re gonna rot in here.”

With that, he turned and left. The door clanged behind him, leaving Cynthia alone with the female officer and her new laundry mate.

TO BE CONTINUED IN BOOK TWO...

PLEASE CHECK OUT MY OTHER BOOK "ONE NIGHT STAND WITH CEDRIC HALL." YOU’RE GONNA LOVE IT. THANKS 😊 ❤️.