The Prison Escort

Welcome, angels!

A couple of things:

♡ I don’t always mention contraception or STI’s, please assume the characters are being safe and not playing pregnancy roulette.

♡ I use British English. Please don’t correct my spelling with American English (it’s super annoying sorry 😩).

♡ That being said, if you notice any grammar mistakes, it would be great if you could point them out. Occasionally, I use conversational language that may be grammatically incorrect. For example ‘You good?’ instead of ‘Are you good’ etc. Feel free to ignore those.

♡ I write mature romances. The words ‘clit’ and ‘cock’ will make an appearance. If that’s not your thing, please leave without complaint.

♡ You can follow me on Instagram, naughtyxchristian.

This book has been edited and extended! If you are a returning reader, I really hope you enjoy the new version and thank you for making the effort to come back ❤️ L x

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Gabriel.

One choice can change everything. One tiny, simple choice can completely reshape the entire pathway of your life, veering you off-track and in a direction you never thought you’d turn.

I wake up to yet another day in this hell hole. Actually, it’s not that bad, it’s just not where I want to be. No one wakes up and chooses prison. No one in their right mind decides to put their life on hold and spend their days behind bars.

Wily nods at me in acknowledgement as we join the queue for the showers. I had no prior knowledge of prison before I was arrested. I’d never had any experience with it or anyone who had been to prison. I had no idea what to expect and thankfully, my lawyer was helpful in clueing me in before I was incarcerated. I was clueless to the justice system, the steps that are taken before and after sentencing. Everything was a learning curve for me. I’ve gained knowledge I’ve never wanted and never thought I’d need.

Before this stage of my life, my only thoughts on prison came from TV series and films. I came here with fears of dropping the soap in the shower and being shanked in the mess. The first few months were spent with me looking over my shoulder, waiting for something to happen. Turns out, I’m in a Category C prison, which means it’s low security and most of us are in here for minor and non-violent crimes like petty theft or money laundering.

There’s still some mean sons of bitches in this place and if you look wrong at the right person, you can get yourself into trouble, but mostly it’s easy enough to keep your head down and not cause any waves.

A shower frees up and I strip out of my jumpsuit. I hate how I’m so fucking used to being naked in front of other guys. At first, I told myself it was no different than using the changing rooms at the gym. Now though, it’s barely a second thought. I keep my eyes on the tiles and feel relieved when I make it under the spray. I can’t feel the weight of anyone’s gaze on me. Most of the guys here just wanna get clean and get out, they don’t give a shit about anyone around them.

Once I’m washed and feel relatively human again, I dry off and head back to my cell. I’ve got a training session this morning. Part of my sentence requires me to continue my studies while in prison, that means I have to attend at least two skills courses. Early release comes on the grounds of exhibiting good behaviour and proving that I can be a useful member of society with my knowledge and skills.

I trained for two years on a culinary course and now I get to work in the kitchens. My other chosen course is woodwork and I’m actually getting really good at making small figurines. One of the prisoners I know makes money selling his carvings to a shop in town.

The moment the buzzer sounds an hour later, the doors swing open and we’re released. There’s a cacophony of noise as we file out and down the gangway to the stairs. Wily finds me in the line and falls into step with me. We get our breakfast on trays and sit down with a group of others.

“You heard back from them yet?” He asks me.

I shake my head. “I’ve got computer time this afternoon, I’ll be able to check my email then.”

Last month, I applied for the Prison Escort service, which is exactly like it sounds. You have to meet certain criteria to be accepted and luckily, I’ve got everything they require. My bloods were taken last week and should come back clear seeing as I’m at the fittest I’ve ever been. There’s no reason I shouldn’t be accepted for the programme, but luck hasn’t been on my side for a long fucking time so I don’t know.

Consider my fingers fucking crossed.

Hetty.

The bus splutters to a halt in front of me. I wait for my turn to step on and tap my phone to the receiver to buy a single. I find a seat at the front next to a mother with a small child perched on her lap. The moment my butt hits the seat, I pull my book out of my handbag. I only just bought it in town like seven minutes ago but I’m dying to keep reading. I was that annoying person that weaved through the public on the pavement, my nose buried in the book. I’m already on page 22 and desperate for more.

Just as I’m getting into it and the characters are having their first moment, the child leans over curiously. I tense up as the small person invades my personal space. The mother is oblivious and looking out of the window. Her child breathes on me, its hot breath smells like sweets and is sickly-sugary. I give it a forced smile and resume reading.

”He pressed his ton-gue,” the child struggles with the word and I freeze in horror.

Mortification fills me as I realise the child is reading out my book, loudly, to the whole bus. I snap the book closed before the child can read any more of the line (to her clit) and really ruin my day.

“What are you saying, darling?” The mother asks her child.

My smile is tight as I meet her eyes. With a huff, I turn my back on them and look out of the window, irritated that I can’t continue reading. I’ll have to wait until I get home.

That fucking bastard.

I throw more of my ex’s shit out of the window. He doesn’t know he’s my ex yet. He’s still too busy trying to beg for forgiveness.

“It was an accident!”

Right. He just happened to get hard and put his dick in another woman. There is no way in hell you can call sleeping with another woman an ‘accident’.

“Hetty, you know I love you. It was a mistake, a one-time thing I regret. Fuck, I regret it so much.”

Despite the fact I’m meant to be ignoring him, I snort in amusement. I throw more of his clothes out of the window.

How can he say he loves me when he slept with someone else? You don’t do that to the person you love.

“Fuck! Will you stop throwing my shit?” He yells.

He tries to snatch up handfuls from the floor before I can lob them. I take to throwing the rest at him. It’s funny to watch his jeans and hoodies get wrapped around his head.

“Fuck, babe! Fucking stop!”

“Funny. Don’t you think you should have stopped before you fucked her?” I shout back and spin around to face him. I can feel how hot my face is right now and his is the same, flushed with embarrassment and anger. “Did you think about that when you were inside her, huh? No, you didn’t. Get the fuck out, Kevin.”

His face crumples and his hands drop uselessly to his sides. “I’m sorry, Hetty. I really am.”

I actually believe him. I think he is sorry. He’s sorry he got caught, he might even be sorry that he’s hurt me, but it doesn’t change the fact that he did what he did. Or rather, he did who he did.

Throwing his clothes out of the window has made me feel marginally better. I needed a healthy outlet for my anger and I found it. I like the fact that he’s going to have to go downstairs and collect his clothes off the pavement.

I take a deep, steadying breath and look at him. “We’re over, Kevin. You fucked up big time and I can’t trust you ever again. Get the rest of your stuff before I lob it out of the window and get out.”

”Hetty, if you’ll just let me explain.”

”Explain what? You slept with someone else, there’s nothing to explain!” I throw my hands up in exasperation. “Please, just go.”

He gives me a pained look and brings his hands together so it looks like he’s praying.

Oh, please no. Don’t drop to your knees or something.

His knees hit the carpet. Fuck.

“Hetty, please give me another chance. You mean everything to me.”

I scowl at his pathetic form on the floor before me.

”Clearly not. Get out, please. I don’t want to see you again. I’ll be blocking your number. Actually, I want my key back before you go.”

He nods in defeat. Thankfully, he gets up from the floor. He is practically sniffling as he struggles to remove my key from his set. I take it from him and step back, my arms crossed over my chest in a defensive position.

“Go, Kevin. Have a nice life.”

“I’m sorry, Hetty,” he says glumly.

He picks up the last of his stuff and shuffles out of the door. I slam it behind him with a groan of relief. The tears come as I fall onto my sofa and let them out. I really thought he was one of the good ones. Our six-month anniversary was in two weeks, I had plans for us to go see his favourite West End show even though I don’t like musicals. Instead, I find texts on his phone and now I’m here, hurt and single.

Just great.