Welcome to Hell (by Williane Kassia) novel Chapter 157

Chapter 157

Adrian Kael

I wake to the metallic sound of bars in the distance. My heavy body protes the interrupted rest; my mind snaps awake in a flash, remembering where I am.

The cell is still empty, cold, and silent. His absence brings a guarded relic but I can’t let my guard down. There are still plenty of things to do.

I sit on the edge of the bunk, take a deep breath, and let out a long exhal I pull on my boots slowly, push myself up with effort, and walk to the bars–they’re open. I take the chance and move down the empty corridor; every step echoes in the hush.

I enter the Executioner’s private bathroom. Even though he’s a bastard, I use this small luxury. I take my uniform off slowly and step into the shower. The water runs over my skin and brings a momentary relief. I scrub my face, grab the soap he gave me, and wash the rest of my body.

When I finish, I reach for the toothbrush and brush almost automatically rinse my mouth, turn off the shower, and dry off with the towel-

his towel too.

At least the bastard is good for that.

I put the same uniform back on and let out a heavy sigh.

Leaving the bathroom, I head for the mess hall; my steps sound too loud in the emptiness, and my head starts to spin. Worry hits hard again: soon the Executioner will be out of solitary.

I need to move fast–find more protection before it’s too late. I don’t want to be abused by that bastard.

The corridor opens into the traffic of inmates. The smell of reheated coffee and wet metal fills the air. The hall, wide and worn, works in blocks: each table with its owners, territories marked by stares.

I stand at the entrance for a moment and watch. To the right, the laundry crew; at the back, closed faces that speak little; in the center, the strong men, laughing loud. Near the wall I spot Rocco, surrounded by the Executioner’s circle–upright posture, constant attention, a protected

space.

Getting near there means trouble.

I sit at the executioner’s table, the only place I can be without being bothered. The inmate who brought my tray this morning appears again and sets the meal down without a word.

On the tray, a hot soup gives off a pleasant, carefully seasoned aroma. The smell opens my appetite; the portion is enough to fill me. As I watch the steam rise, I think winning the cook’s favor might be useful, but it won’t be easy.

I start eating slowly, letting the flavor ease the weight of the mess hall. While I chew, I watch the inmates scattered across the tables more closely. It’s hard to know who truly hates him and who only pretends to respect him. Everyone hides their real feelings behind hard looks or

forced smiles.

I need to ask someone.

Who?

1/2

Ue, red

Chapter 157

I fush the meal for the los sind (Yn the hall.

heid in my back, wo

accents Foxit be the oneriden withe dy

The question echas shut rain any anxiety. Then I syn David at the far den of the rowidor this is my chance.

i can’t hesitate: hesitation is weakness here.

I walk up slowly, keeping my voice and body steady.

My chest beats fast.

If the conversation goes wrong, I become a target.

“I need to ask you something,” I say, forcing firmness.

“What?” he answers.

“Is there anyone here who hates the Executioner? I need to know.”

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