Manipulate (Deliver 6)

Could she take them at the same time? Or was her pussy too tight? They would have to go slow, give her time to adjust to the stretch of two cocks.

Goddamn, just thinking about it made him hard.

Watching her walk next to Martin, seeing them side by side, it was the only thing he could think about. Martin’s blond hair, chiseled features, and broad chest towering over Tula’s head of long black hair, vivid brown eyes, and dainty figure… They were balls-grippingly gorgeous.

She veered into the corridor a few steps ahead of them, and he exchanged a look with Martin.

His friend raised an eyebrow as if to say, This was too easy.

He gave Martin a shrug. Roll with it.

“We’re almost there.” She escorted them down a long run, with a two-story wall of cells on one side overlooking a dining area on the other.

Rectangular tables lined up in rows, and large pots of beans simmered on the stove. The scent of kerosene, grease, and cigarette smoke pervaded the air, and rotting garbage strewed the floor where inmates ate.

He and Martin had managed to avoid that unventilated, windowless shithole, choosing instead to buy watery onion broth and tortillas from the canteen.

“How are you making it in here?” she asked.

Jaulaso lived up to its squalid reputation, with its racist cliques, petty hall fights, inedible food, and endless hours of soul-sucking misery.

He grunted. “It’s a lot like high school.”

“With guns and knives.” Martin glanced at the group of armed men they’d just passed.

“This is your first time in prison?” Her dark eyes flicked between him and Martin. “Both of you?”

“Yup.” He stepped around a Jurassic-sized cockroach on the floor and shuddered.

“Your ability to throw hands made an impression in the yard.” She glanced at Ricky. “That right cross you caught Papá with made his knees go out.”

“You mean the bald-headed diesel?”

“Yeah. You hit him so hard he wobbled away like a baby giraffe.” She stopped at a cell door and met his eyes. “There’s a saying around here.”

“Don’t drop the soap?”

Her pretty red lips formed a tense line. “An ass whipping washes off. A coward isn’t forgotten.” She opened the door and waved them in. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

His position in the hall gave him a view of women’s jeans and shirts hanging from a pipe in the ceiling and floral hair products lined up on the small sink. A single bed sat in the corner, piled with folded blankets.

This was her private cell, and she was inviting them inside? Where was her surly, overprotective guard?

Martin wore an expression that matched the unease in Ricky’s gut.

Why had she brought them here alone? Was it a trap she and Garra had set up? Or maybe she’d waited until Garra was distracted so she could lead them here without his notice? For what reason? To fuck around behind his back?

He and Martin knew better than to touch another man’s woman, especially in prison.

“Where’s your boyfriend?” he asked.

“What?” Her eyes widened. Then she exhaled past a frown. “You mean Garra. We don’t… We’re not together. He just watches out for me.”

“You should tell him that.” Martin glanced up and down the hall as if expecting Garra to leap from the shadows. “He dishes out threats to anyone who looks at you, like you’re his property.”

“He wishes.” Her mouth relaxed, and the corners curved upward. Her cheeks rose, and her lips parted, setting free a blinding, dick-hardening grin. “That asshole takes his job way too seriously.”

Christ, her smile. It possessed her entire body, pushing away the tension in her muscles and illuminating the golden streaks in her brown eyes. Fucking beautiful.

“Asshole, huh?” Martin braced a hand on the wall above her head and leaned down to imprison her eyes. “You’re the only female inmate in Area Three, and you’re telling us there’s no boyfriend? No lovers or anyone who might feel compelled to pump us full of lead for talking to you?”

“There’s no one. Even if there was, I decide who talks to me.” Her smile flattened between clamped lips. “I’m offering you a drink, medicine for your cuts, and amicable conversation.” She narrowed her eyes. “Kindness is rare around here. I wouldn’t pass it up if I were you.”

“Why do you have medical supplies in your cell?” Ricky crossed his arms.

“Since Garra is determined to block every challenge aimed at me, the least I can do is keep supplies on hand whenever he eats a fist.”

“That happens often?” Ricky asked.

She shrugged.

Every item acquired in Jaulaso was earned, traded, or bought with prison currency, such as cigarettes or food. It would’ve taken her months, if not years, to collect alcohol and medicine. And she was offering her invaluable stash to two strangers.

Why? He trusted her about as much as he trusted everyone else in Jaulaso, but she might be their only access to Hector La Rocha.