Dressed in a dirty, mud-soaked white shirt and baggy pants with boots that now had terrible holes in them, Asher stood up, hiding his face from the hungry-looking crowd who, by their expressions, didn't seem to have experienced much beauty like his.
Their eyes lusted openly after his body, and truly, he didn't understand where he was or what was happening—until he saw the uniforms.
This was the criminal zone. The place where all types of evil men were thrown into. And the most terrifying part of it all was that it was filled only with men.
Asher's eyes watered as he looked at the line he was pushed into. Based on the severity of your crime, you were handed your uniform.
Yellow—for not-so-bad crimes like theft and the rest.
Orange—for rapists and assaulters… just like he had been falsely tagged. That was his uniform.
And then the most terrifying of them all—black.
Those were the rulers of the prison world.
Asher hadn't been deeply interested in such matters back in his days of freedom, but now he was glad he had at least learned a few things about the hierarchical structure. If not, he would have been completely doomed.
This place was popular in his city. People talked about it in hushed tones. And those dragged into here never made it out alive. Either their corpses were crushed and sent back to their parents as ashes in an urn, or their body parts were used in hospitals for "important" purposes. Other than that, no assurance was ever given of coming out.
And now Asher realized that his fate had been sealed the moment he arrived.
He never knew it was this evil place he was entering. And worse— the section he was being put in, the orange zone, was the same place the blacks could walk into freely.
That wasn't going to end well for him.
And he wasn't dumb enough not to know it.
"Hey, twink, come over here and give me a fuck. Maybe I might let you be my bitch."
Those vile words kept coming from different mouths as he clutched his clothes tightly to his chest, searching for somewhere to change into the orange uniform.
The color that would brand him for life.
Asher turned pale and kept walking when two men suddenly stopped him, caging him in with their thick arms and slamming him against the wall so hard it nearly created a hole.
His entire existence shook.
He prayed nothing would happen.
Even if something did—how was he supposed to defend himself? He couldn't fight. He couldn't even curse out of fear of being beaten to death… or worse. From the lustful gazes around him, it was obvious the men here had only one thing on their minds.
His ass had become the subject of attention.
His hair and face had the whole section whispering.
"You're obstructing me. Can I pass?" Asher asked calmly. He didn't want trouble. He just wanted to change his clothes and be left alone.
The two bulky men, covered in scorpion and snake tattoos, their muscles bulging, began laughing. Loudly. So loudly that Asher felt small—tiny compared to them.
He tried shrinking himself, controlling his breathing so his unique scent wouldn't stir the air.
It didn't work.
One of them grabbed him and dragged him closer, inhaling deeply at his neck and face before grinning evilly.
"Guy, this one is an Omega. Can you believe it? The only Omega in this horrible place. What a blessing. Maybe we can share him… make him our personal whore."
At that moment, a rough hand landed on Asher's butt.
His entire body froze.
No one had ever touched him like that.
He felt violated.
Asher shifted back, terrified and cornered in a way he had never been before. And they weren't the only ones.
The yellow-uniformed men nearby stood up at once, pheromones pulsing heavily in the air, pushing Asher deeper into weakness.
His body swayed as his stomach growled painfully. All his weakness returned at once. His knees were about to give out.
When he was shoved harshly into the wall and the same man leaned in to force his lips onto him—
A loud noise slammed onto the floor.
Everything paused.
"Give me some time, beauty. Let's see who has the audacity to disturb me…"
The so-called king of the yellow corner looked up, ready to yell at whoever interrupted him.
Then he froze.
A masked figure stood at a distance from the cafeteria area where they gathered.
The king recognized that mask.
Everyone did.
This was one of the bases of the underworld, and that mask belonged to only one person. And when it appeared—it meant death had followed.
The devil had caught his scent.
The sadistic look in those eyes pierced through the mask. The pheromones oozing out were worse than any Alpha's.
And the truth dawned on Asher.
This man wasn't an Alpha.
He was an enigma.
Because if he were just an Alpha, why were almost all the Alphas present lining up and bowing under his mere presence?
They shivered.
Struggled to look up.
One glance seemed enough to end them.
One by one, they fell to their knees until their faces pressed against the floor.
His power was too heavy to even look at.
Asher, being an Omega and already weak, collapsed too—but strangely, he wasn't as crushed as the others. He resisted more than he should have.
And he wasn't the only one resisting.
The yellow king was resisting too, twitching as he glared at the masked man rooted in place.
Then the masked figure moved.
He ran with terrifying speed.
Before the king could even reach for his weapon, he was overpowered. In one swift motion, the masked man grabbed his head and smashed it into the wall, splitting his forehead open.
Asher flinched, terrified yet unable to look away.
Though scared to death, he felt spellbound.
He locked eyes with the masked man—and felt a spark.
"Asher, what are you doing? That's a madman. Your fellow gender… and a serial killer."
His black uniform made it obvious.
But what was a black-uniform inmate doing in the yellow section? And why weren't the officers interfering?
It was as though they had turned a blind eye.
The king tried to fight back. His blood vessels bulged, his skull shaking violently. He attempted to counterattack but couldn't.
The grip on him was iron.
Unbreakable.
The masked man twisted his arm.
A terror-filled scream tore from the king's throat as a sickening crack echoed. The masked man ripped the arm clean off.
"Isn't this the hand you used to touch him?" he growled.
The king nodded weakly, no longer a ruler—just a rag doll.
The remaining arm wasn't spared.
"You don't have the right to touch his ass. All that is mine."
His voice was possessive.
With effortless ease, he drew out a dagger and sliced off the remaining fingers. A deafening scream followed.
Then he smashed the king's head again and again until it burst open, brain matter spilling out before he finally let the lifeless body drop.
The partner tried to run.
A dagger flew through the air and split his skull into two.
Silence.
The masked man cleaned his hands calmly.
Then he turned to Asher.
Asher was already vomiting from the violence. His body trembled violently before his vision blurred and he fainted.
Before he could hit the cold concrete, strong arms caught him.
The masked man smiled like the devil.
"Welcome, my love. It has been so long. I have been watching you… and I can't help it anymore. I can't control myself when I can finally hold you in my hands."
He groaned softly, looking at the unconscious boy.
"I'm never letting you out of my sight again."
Carrying him in a bridal style, he walked toward the elevator and rode up to the black section.
An officer stood waiting.
"Carry him to the cafeteria. Let him eat and dress up. Tonight in the cell, I'll make my announcement. It's time I take a bride."
He declared it like a decree and walked away without another word.
The officer stood frozen.
Xavier Devereaux… taking a bride?
And it was a male?
Could it be what he was thinking?
The cold-hearted beast… was in love.
If that was true—
then the nine Mafia clans were about to experience the biggest shock of their lives.