Chained To The Devil novel Chapter 10

THE NEXT DAY

PRISON

12:03 p.m.

As soon as I step into the cafeteria, all eyes turn to me—or rather, to my face.

Last night, I got completely wrecked. My legs and arms ache, but I don’t let it show.

Some prisoners watch me, others stay indifferent, while Franck and Anis grin shamelessly, clearly pleased to see me like this.

I tried to stay home today, but Khalid explicitly ordered me to come, and after what happened yesterday, I didn’t want to upset him by refusing. So here I am, despite the bruises on my face.

I tried to cover them up with makeup, but it’s far too obvious.

So, I might as well wait for their reactions.

My eyes meet Alexander’s—neutral as always. He doesn’t show a single emotion.

I keep my head high and walk toward Anis and Franck, ignoring the heavy stares of the other inmates. They probably all think I’m a battered woman.

If only they knew.

“I had a little setback. That’s why I’m late.”

If the warden hadn’t pressured me, I wouldn’t have bothered justifying myself to them.

“Did you walk into a door or something?” Anis sneers.

“Keep your comments to yourself.”

“A jealous boyfriend, right?” Franck chimes in.

“You too—shut the hell up. My personal life is none of your business.”

“Judging by the state of your face, you must’ve done something pretty bad. Women like you need to be kept in check, or they get too cocky.”

I have to use every ounce of strength not to punch Anis in the face, even though I’m dying to.

“I came here to work, not to listen to your dumbass remarks.”

I walk away from them and make my rounds through the cafeteria, making sure everything’s running smoothly.

Most of the inmates ask what happened to my face; I stay vague.

I reach the table where Fatih and Alexander are sitting. Fatih greets me with a big smile. Alexander, on the other hand, seems too busy staring at his tray to bother looking up—such an idiot, even now.

“Good afternoon, miss. How are you?” Fatih asks.

“I’m doing fine, thank you.”

I give him a genuine smile. He’s the only inmate I find kind.

I found out he’s been in here a long time, locked up for robbing several banks in his youth.

I’m not one to judge—my hands are just as dirty as his, if not more.

Fatih’s like a modern-day Robin Hood. He stole from banks and armored trucks, but never from the poor. He only targeted the rich, and I respect that.

“If you don’t mind me asking, who did that to you?”

He points to my eye. Alexander subtly lifts his head, probably curious about the answer—or the excuse I’m about to give.

“Some people don’t appreciate it when I stand my ground.”

Fatih notices I’m uncomfortable and doesn’t push. Alexander shoots me a look that says, “I know you’re lying.”

I was about to change the subject when a loud crash echoed behind me.

I spin around immediately, frowning at the scene unfolding: Ismaël, one of the human trafficking ring leaders, just slammed a guy’s head into one of the cafeteria tables.

He’s exactly the kind of man I can’t stand—arrogant, smug, and convinced he’s irresistible.

I also have a feeling he’s involved in shady business with Anis and Franck, given how absurdly nice they are to him.

I recognize the guy he just hit. He’s one of the few who didn’t laugh in the showers when Franck was making obscene gestures behind my back. He looks seriously hurt from the blow Ismaël gave him.

All eyes are on the two of them now. No one dares speak.

I glance over at Anis and Franck to gauge their reaction—but they’re just watching, like it’s an action movie.

“I told you that was my spot!” Ismaël yells.

I’m still not fully recovered from yesterday’s beating, and now here I am fighting a guy twice my size and height.

I touch my cheek, feeling the mark his hand left.

He grins while I glare at him, hatred and bitterness in my eyes—though I keep a smirk plastered on my lips.

He moves to grab my hair again, and I dodge him once more.

I’m about to lock his arm when Chris steps in:

“Stop, enough!”

He throws himself between us like a human shield.

I raise my eyebrows while Ismaël keeps grinning, clearly loving the attention.

“I can handle myself.”

I try to move around Chris, but he throws his arms out to stop me, blocking Ismaël from reaching me.

“No, this is my problem!”

“Let me through.”

“Hit me if you want, but leave her out of this,” Chris insists.

I widen my eyes, stunned by his words.

He’s willing to take a beating to protect me—even though I’m a prison guard…

Ismaël shrugs. As long as he gets to hit someone, he doesn’t care.

He’s about to punch Chris when his hand is suddenly stopped mid-air—by Alexander.

“Drop your hand. Now. And move,” Alexander orders him.

Absolute silence. Not even footsteps or a fork dropping.

It’s like the world just stopped.