Free Starship Desolation by Tripp Ellis Page B

Marlow. His hands were trembling. “How can they get into your cell after lockdown?” he stammered.
    “The guards are as crooked as the cons in this place,” Marlow said. “Inmates buy them off with money, drugs, sexual favors, or a share the profits for turning someone out.”
    Kirby swallowed hard.
    “Don’t accept any favors from anyone,” said Marlow. “You may soon find that you owe them something.”
    Slade had heard enough, she was going to set the tone right here and right now—in front of everyone, for all to see. She pushed up from the table and marched over to Tiny’s table. The whole cafeteria went silent.
    Marlow watched with concern.
    Tiny’s glaring eyes pierced into her. He sat still and waited for her to speak.
    “I hear you run the show,” Slade said.
    “The inmates have put their faith in me. Have you come to worship?” His voice boomed in a low rumble.
    “I came to tell you that your show is over. It’s my show now. And I’m gonna make you my bitch.”
    Tiny’s gang burst into laughter.
    “Damn, honey. You got big balls for a sweet little thing,” one of them said.
    “You gonna let her speak to you like that, Tiny?” another asked.
    Tiny wasn’t laughing. He pushed up from the table.
    Slade got an eyeful of just how massive this man was. She had a sinking feeling in her stomach, like she had made a big mistake. But she couldn’t back down now. She looked him up and down, then let him have it. “Yeah, you look bitch to me.”
    There was no laughter this time.
    Tiny’s gang was stunned. They stared at Slade, slack-jawed with wide eyes. Nobody ever insulted Tiny, and lived.
    Tiny clenched his jaw, and the veins in his forehead bulged. Rage boiled behind his eyes. He cut through the clearing between the tables, and the mammoth man squared off against Slade.
    The guards had taken notice. But they weren’t going to do anything. This was a free show. And they were going to let it play out. It wasn’t often they saw someone go up against Tiny.
    “Tell you what, sweetheart,” Tiny said. “If you drop to your knees right now, I might be willing to forget this whole incident. Let me put the faith in you.”
    People were starting to place bets on how long the fight would last, or if Slade would comply with his request. Nobody was betting on who would win the fight. It was a given that Tiny would crush her. He was an easy 400 pounds. Slade was maybe 105 pounds, after a meal.
    Slade held up her pinky finger and wiggled it. “I bet it’s no bigger than this. Are you sure you want to embarrass yourself in front of all these people?”
    Tiny clenched his jaw, and his fists balled up. He had taken all the abuse he was going to take from Slade. He charged at her and swung a sweeping right hook. She ducked down, slid under, and bounced up behind him. She could feel the wind from his swing as it narrowly missed her face.
    The crowd was on their feet, screaming and cheering.
    Tiny and Slade had switched positions. Tiny turned around and came back at her with the same right hook. Same result. She ducked again and bounced up on the other side. He was big. Big and slow.
    Slade needed to keep him moving and wear him down. Just one hit from those cinderblock fists would be enough to put her out cold. This was going to be a war of attrition. Gorilla tactics.
    Tiny charged her again. He was like a Mack truck, barreling down the highway. And he was coming in low. She wasn’t going to be able to duck under him this time.
    Slade feinted right, then left. But she had nowhere to go, stuck between the rows of tables.
    Tiny swung an uppercut that connected with Slade’s jaw. The impact launched Slade into the air, throwing her several feet back. She smacked the hard concrete floor like a stone.
    Tiny was moving in for the kill.

20

Walker
    S trong tentacles pulled Walker closer to the rows of serrated teeth. A razor sharp shredding machine. Walker’s arms were wrapped up tight. It felt like a boa