Prey Drive (3 page)

Joe smiled weakly and shook his head. Looking at his mother, hearing how she’d known or at least suspected what his father had been up to all those years—yet had done nothing—had continued to love him, Joe realized he’d never had a chance. He’d been cursed from the womb. Furthermore, he wondered if perhaps he’d been following the wrong bloodline. Perhaps the curse had not begun with his father but with his mother. He chased the thought from his mind, not liking the conclusion it inevitably led to or the actions that conclusion would necessitate.

“I love you, Mom. Goodbye.”

Joe stood to his full, hulking, six feet, six inches and summoned the guard. He never looked back once as he left the visitation room, even knowing he probably wouldn’t see her again until her funeral.

“Goodbye.”

The guard took Joseph Miles back to his cell. Joe waited until he heard their footsteps echo down the hall before he allowed himself to weep.

Two 

It was dark. The air was moist with Joseph’s sweat, and every surface within reach was hard and cold, metal and concrete. He breathed in his own musky funk and breathed it out in a steaming cloud of halitosis. The guards had taken away his toothbrush and he hadn’t showered since they’d placed him completely naked in solitary confinement in a “strip cell.” His “crime” had been refusing to leave his cell for a shower. That had been enough.

The idea of solitary confinement was ridiculous in supermax because every day was solitary. He was locked up twenty-three hours a day. The only thing they’d taken away by throwing him into solitary was his hour-a-day trip to the exercise yard and his thrice weekly showers.

Joe held his hand up in front of him and couldn’t see his fingers. In addition to his own rank, animal scent, the room smelled of urine with the slight hint of old blood. It roared in Joe’s nostrils and singed his nose hairs, causing his eyes to water. This was the first time in days Joe could remember the lights being off. The guards had made a habit of leaving them on all day and night. It was another form of subtle torture, the screws trying to mindfuck him. He hugged himself and rubbed down the goose bumps on his arms and shoulders. The temperature was just a few degrees above freezing.

He heard footsteps approach his cell door. There were several of them, at least three people. The door opened and one of the guards shined a light in on him. Joe winced. He sat naked on the floor, holding up a hand to shield his eyes from the light. He’d worked out to the point of exhaustion and now knelt in a pool of his own sweat. Bringing himself to the point of absolute physical fatigue was the only way he could force himself to sleep surrounded by the screams and shouts of the damned.

“Look at this crazy son of a bitch. He looks like a wet dog. Damn, it stinks in here!” one of the guards said.

There were two corrections officers standing in the doorway, shining a flashlight in on him. Between them stood a large shadow. A man easily as big as Joe himself if not bigger.

“You got a visitor, Joe. A new cellmate.”

There was mirth in the guard’s voice. Joe knew what he was up to. It wasn’t his first rodeo.

“There’s already someone in there!” The voice was high-pitched, feminine, with a slight lisp. As Joe’s vision adjusted to the sudden intrusion of light, he could make out more of the man’s features. He was naked, like Joseph. His cock was massive and hung almost to mid-thigh. The man was heavily muscled, black, with long braided hair that hung down past his shoulders. He couldn’t make out the man’s face, but he could tell by his posture that he wasn’t happy. The officers removed the visitor’s handcuffs and leg shackles.

“This is the only strip-cell available. You two are going to have to double-up.”

The guard’s voice was familiar. Joseph could picture the fat corrections officer’s ruddy jowls and bloated belly, his crew-cut, so short he was almost bald, and the long scar on his scalp that ran down to his forehead, a reminder of when he’d been attacked by an inmate who’d made a shiv from a sharpened toothbrush. He worked in the control booth at night and was responsible for everything from locking and unlocking the cells to turning on and off the lights to what TV programs they got to watch.

“You two go ahead and get cozy. We’ll be back for one of you in the morning.”

There was no mistaking the guard’s intentions. In supermax they called it “cockfighting.” The guards would take two convicts with a history of unprovoked violence, strip them down, and put them in the same cell. It was done to get rid of problem inmates, as a form of discipline, and for simple amusement. He’d even heard that the guards bet on the fights. It wasn’t Joseph’s first experience with cockfighting. As one of the prison’s more high-profile and dangerous offenders, he’d seen the worst the institution had to offer. Most of the corrections officers hated and feared him, so they routinely did things to try to break him, such as leaving the lights on twenty-four hours a day for weeks at a time, leaving the TV on, the volume up, tuned to a televangelist station for hours or even days, and putting him in the occasional cockfight. He wondered what his new cellmate had done to warrant the CO’s ire.

The cell door slammed and locked. Joseph rose to his feet. He could feel the monster rising, stiffening, lengthening, the bloodlust swelling within him, tingling at the root of him. As usual his killing instinct was nearly indistinguishable from sexual passion. It was like a separate being living inside him, a parasite that was always hungry, always demanding to be fed. Ever since he’d been locked up, his thoughts and fantasies had become increasingly animalistic, reduced to the most base impulses; fuck, eat, kill—and not usually in that order. The terrible hunger he’d been living with for months had now become a persistent, maddening ache. The guards were going to get a show this time. They were going to get more than they ever bargained for.

The big man with the high-pitched voice and the long braids shambled forward in the dark. “Where are you? We don’t have to fight, you know? Just because those fucking assholes stuck us in here hoping we’d kill each other doesn’t mean we have to.”

Joe was silent, listening to the man’s heavy, nervous breathing, letting his eyes readjust to the darkness. The man smelled like sweat, semen, and perfume. The scent was maddening. Joe’s stomach growled.

“What’s your name? Who are you?” the stranger asked.

Joe walked closer to the man until he was standing just out of reach. “Joseph. Joseph Miles.”

He heard the man’s breath quicken.
Good
, Joseph thought.
He knows who I am. Knows what I can do.

“J-Joseph Miles? The … the serial killer? The guy who eats people?” the large black man whispered. There was panic in the stranger’s voice now. His high-pitched squeal was little more than a hoarse squeak.

“Yes.” Joe stepped closer and the man retreated. Now Joe could smell blood and feces on the man in addition to the sweat and semen. He knew that unique combination of smells very well. It reminded him of his first night with Alicia. It was the scent of violent sex.

“You stay away from me, motherfucker! I swear, I’ll whoop your ass and rape you! I like white boys. If I lose, I just get my ass kicked, but if you lose, you get your ass taken! I promise you that!”

A prison rapist. That explained why the guards had brought him. They wanted Joe to teach the guy a lesson. Joe stepped even closer.

The big rapist retreated further until his back was against the door he’d come through. Joe’s erection was a spear stabbing the air in front of him. The monster was hungry. It was time to feed.

“If you lose, your ass will get eaten,” Joe warned, “and not the way you like it eaten. The way I like it.”

The man turned and began banging on the cell door. “Let me out of here, motherfuckers! You sick bastards! You locked me in here with a fucking psycho! Let me out!”

Joe was right on top of the man now.

The guy turned and punched the air, inches from Joseph’s nose. “Get back! Get away from me!”

“No.” Joe charged forward. He kicked the rapist in the stomach, expecting the blow to knock the wind out of him and double him over, allowing Joe to slip behind him and put him in a rear choke. But the guy was strong. He took the kick well. The blow drove him back but didn’t seem to have hurt him. Suddenly the lights came on, blinding Joe. It was another trick the guards liked to pull. Leave them in absolute darkness for hours at a time and then suddenly turn on the lights in the middle of a fight. It kept things interesting for them.

A punch landed on Joe’s jaw, and then another and another. Flashes of light went off in his head and everything began to fade, becoming gray and foggy. He knew he was about to pass out. Then Joe felt the man’s thick arms encircle his throat and begin to squeeze. Obviously, the rapist had the same fight plan Joe had.

“My name’s Luscious , you sick sonuvabitch. You feel that? It’s going right up your tight little ass as soon as I put you to sleep. I warned you, didn’t I? I told you what I would do if you fucked with me!”

Joe could feel Luscious's (pronounced Loo-shuss) enormous cock stiffening against the crack of his ass, parting his butt cheeks and probing at his anus. Joe grabbed one of Luscious’s arms with both hands, the one locked around Joe’s throat, and pulled down on it, giving himself room to breathe. He tucked his chin down between Luscious’s forearm and his own throat to create more space and keep the big man from choking him unconscious. With one hand, he reached over and grabbed one of the big rapist’s fingers, the middle finger, and jerked it back, snapping it. Luscious howled in pain. He let out a high-pitched shriek like a scream queen in a horror movie. At the same time, Joe bit into Luscious’s forearm with teeth he’d filed into sharp points. He bit deep and jerked his head back and forth like a shark in the midst of a feeding frenzy, ripping through muscle and sinew, feeling the splash of warm blood as it flooded his mouth. The monster swelled, lengthened, throbbed. The taste of blood had awakened all the old desires.

He tore out a huge chunk of flesh from Luscious’s forearm, swallowed it without chewing, and then seized his arm again. Luscious let go of Joe, but Joe didn’t let go of him. That taste of flesh had sent the monster into a frenzy. His hardened cock pulsated between his legs, tingling on the brink of orgasm, hungry for more flesh.

“Ahhhhh! Aaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhh! You bit me! You fucking bit me! Let go! Let me tha-fuck GOOOooo! Heeeeeelllllp! HEEEEEELLLLLP! Guards! GUARDS!”

Joe jerked his head again and tore another huge avulsion in the big rapist’s forearm. He took a punch to the temple from Luscious’s free hand, causing him to release his lock on the man’s arm as he staggered backward. The room wobbled and tilted and Joe almost collapsed. His balance quickly returned as Luscious charged again. This time the big rapist had his head down, his bleeding arm cradled in one hand, as he dove forward in a clumsy football tackle. Joe shot his legs out to avoid having them yanked out from under him and landing with Luscious on top of him. Joe had little doubt the man was still dangerous, even when injured. He sprawled on top of the large black man, driving him face-first into the floor. This time he was able to scramble around to take Luscious’s back, but instead of choking him, he bit into the side of his neck, chewing through Luscious’s carotid artery, tearing off and swallowing piece after piece of the man’s neck as his would-be-rapist struggled beneath him, trying to escape Joe’s savage onslaught.

Joe heard footsteps hurrying down the long tier. The guards were coming. Joe wasn’t done yet. It had been so long since he’d tasted human flesh. He wanted to savor the moment, to make the most of it. He rolled Luscious onto his back. The big rapist was already trembling and hyperventilating in shock. This was the first time he’d been able to clearly see the man’s face and Joe was surprised to see a handsome man wearing garish prison cosmetics, red Koolaid on his lips for lipstick and purple eye-shadow applied with a wet, purple Skittle. He had long eyelashes, high cheekbones, and full, bow-shaped lips. He was a transvestite and a beautiful one at that, though his muscular physique was anything but feminine. Joe yanked open the man’s legs just as he heard the guard’s voices outside the door.

“Open cell six! Open cell six! Back away from that convict, Joe! Get away from him! Put your hands on the wall!”

Joe ignored their commands. He lowered his head between the big transvestite’s thighs and seized Luscious’s cock and testicles in his jaws. He bit deep and pulled, stretching the foreskin and the wrinkled sack of Luscious’s testes. Joe jerked his head violently, tearing the delicate flesh of Luscious’s genitals as the man screamed in anguish. They tore free from the man’s body—penis, testicles, and all—with a wet, sticky, ripping sound. Luscious’s screams reached an octave that would have made a castrati tenor envious. The cell door opened and Joe put his hands behind his head, kneeling in Luscious’s blood as he continued to chew. The familiar euphoria flooded over him as meat and blood filled his belly. Luscious’s testes exploded in Joe’s mouth as he chewed, bathing his taste buds with the succulent flavor of semen and blood. Joe let out a long growling moan as an orgasm ripped through him. The monster erupted, shooting a long stream of warm, white liquid onto Luscious’s thighs and belly, mixing his seed with the rapist’s blood.

“I told you to back away from the damn prisoner!” one of the SORT team guards yelled as he charged in behind a riot shield, swinging a baton at Joe’s head. There were five other guards dressed similarly behind him.

The odds were against Joe. He ducked the first swing and then brought his arms up to defend his head from subsequent blows. But there were just too many of them, and punches, kicks, and baton strikes rained down on Joe in an avalanche of pulverizing pain. They wouldn’t stop until Joe was unconscious. He knew that from experience. So Joe allowed himself to slump to the floor, going limp and pretending to have lost consciousness while still keeping his hands over his head to protect himself from the more life-threatening strikes. One of the guards straddled him and wrenched his arms away from his head. A few punches were landed to his face even after the officers thought he was unconscious, along with a kick from one of the officers standing above him. Joe didn’t mind the punches and kicks; a baton to the head was far more likely to cause permanent brain damage.