Dyker's Island Ch. 01-08

Mercy threw the paper down in a fit. She leapt from the table and damn near tried to climb over the desk and throttle her boss. Liz and Charlotte had to hold her back to restrain her.

"You fucking bitch! I thought we were past this shit!"

Red cackled with cruelty.

"Careful ma'am. You know what 'they're' like. She'll go and kill herself or something."

Mercy channeled her fury on Red now. Levi and Winter struggled to hold her against the wall.

"Why don't I fucking kill you instead, huh? That marine shit doesn't impress me!"

"Try it, Wisbeski." Taunted the Warden. "Go on, I dare you. I would just love a reason to lock you up with the rest of these degenerates."

Mercy got a hold of herself when she realized the Warden would make good on her threat.

She didn't want to go to prison. She was a cop. She knew what happened to girls like her. They'd surely beat her black and blue and trade her for fish sticks. Not to mention, she imagined the Nazis would want to get their revenge.

"I think you should probably go for a walk." Whispered Charlotte calmly as she rubbed her friend's leg.

Mercy stopped struggling and put her hands up to show that she had recovered from her wholly justifiable outburst. Her eyes held back tears.

"Alright." She said with a crackling voice. "I'm gonna stroll around the cellblock."

She pushed Charlotte and Liz off her and made for the door.

"Maybe I'll get more respect there than I do here."

Mercy slammed the door behind her.

Detective Levi excused herself too.

"I think maybe I should check on her."

Red made another discriminatory remark as Elizabeth grabbed her coffee and departed the room.

"Hey Nancy Drew, don't forget to check in her service pistol! She might take it home tonight!"

Doctor Eva Windrow clearly didn't approve of the behavior. Maybe she was more progressive than she seemed.

"I didn't think this was a college dorm." She remarked unamused.

Red and the Warden scoffed. They didn't have time for intellectual types like her. After all, what would they know? The only reason Esther had approved Windrow's posting here was because it made the prison look good. Otherwise, she thought mental health was a waste of state resources. Especially on prisoners.

"Then why don't you do your studies somewhere else then, poindexter?" Grumbled Red.

She sure loved being a bully. It made her feel all warm and gooey inside.

Detective Levi chased after Mercy in the hall. She didn't know what it was like to be transgender - But she did know what prejudice was like.

"Hey, Mercy, are you alright, babe?" She called out to her kindly.

Mercy kept walking. She sniffled as she hid her tears of injustice and threw her arm back dismissively.

"It's fine. I'm fine. Really."

But Liz could tell that everything was far from fine. After all, she is a detective. Levi caught up to Mercy and put her hand on her shoulder.

"You shouldn't listen to those bastards."

"I don't. And I don't care about the fascist Governor's stupid vist either." Replied Mercy with a trembling voice. "But it doesn't matter."

"Why's that?" Asked a concerned Liz.

Mercy sighed from emotional exhaustion. She glanced at her friend's face. Liz could see the water welling in her eyes.

"Because they shouldn't say it to begin with."

She gently pushed her friend's hand from her shoulder.

"Please, Liz. I think I just need time to myself."

Mercy couldn't understand how someone like Red could exist. She was gay, and had served in the Marine Corps, of all things. The military was not known for being the most progressive of outfits. It was continually bewildering that someone who themselves went through oppression, felt it in their own lives, could still choose to do the same to others.

It was only about 20 years ago - Within both of their lifetimes - That all the same hateful things Red spat about trans people were also said about people from her own clique. It seemed that some were easy to forget.

Liz knew it was best to give her friend some space. Momentarily, she wondered if her emotional state was worse than she led on. The thought did pass her mind to take Mercy's service pistol - But she refused to give credence to Red's hateful and ignorant commentary.

"If that's what you want, sis." Replied Liz.

Mercy sniffled and a somber smile filled her face. It wasn't enough to hide the hurt she felt.

"I'll be alright. You can watch me on the security cameras if it makes you feel better."

It might have been a good idea, in all honesty. But deep down she knew that she wouldn't have to. Mercy was strong. She had proved that more than once. Liz hugged her friend and let her go on her way. It was strange, but wandering the prison at night always soothed Mercy's mood. Maybe it was all the pretty inmates locked up behind the bars. But there was one pretty inmate in particular that she couldn't get out of her head.

It was lights out on the cell block. The entire place was dark as pitch. Only the sounds of breathing, quiet moans and muted whispers could be made out bouncing down the halls.

Mercy strolled past the cell of Katarina Voslova, the leader of the Russians.

The guard snuck a quick peek through the bars with her flashlight to see if the gang leader was up to no good. She wasn't in the mood to stick around any longer than she had to. Mercy hastily moved across the cellblock and climbed down the stairs to the lower level.

Katarina sat in her cell with her cronies, as her slave and property busily gave her a pedicure. The lavish cell almost rivaled that of Mabel's lovely enclosure - But without the attached amenities. Showering in a communal setting wasn't a problem for a proud slavic woman like her. The large flatscreen on the wall kept her entertained with the trashy American films she always liked. And made sure she would be able to keep up with current events on the outside.

Mabel had gotten the bigger cell by virtue of being arrested first.

Before prison, the blonde slavic beauty really took after her old man. She really loved him. That's why she caught the silly slav who killed her Papa and fed him to Siberian Wolves that she raised specially for the purpose. By the time she turned 18, Voslova had inherited her father's criminal enterprise in Moscow and Saint Petersburg in the Russian Federation.

She's as hard as a hammer, as sharp as the sickle that crosses it and everywhere bit as cold as the winter of her motherland.

If this Sneaky Russian bitch had a knack for anything, it was committing a litany of unspeakable crimes and managing to walk away with the lightest sentence possible. When Putin came down hard on the Russian Mob in the mid 2010s, many of her rivals and allies alike simply vanished without a trace, while Katarina got away with a scrape in comparison; A measly three years in the Siberian Salt mines for Racketeering.

But with her first trip to the gulags, came her first "stars" as a Vor v Zakone - A thief in law - An ancient tradition that has existed within her bloodline for over 200 years. Since the reign of the Soviets, and the days of the Tsars before them.

After her release from the Labor Camps, Voslova fled Russia for America as a "refugee" and a "persecuted capitalist". The immigration staff at the consulate didn't ask any questions when she fluttered her eyelashes - And even less so when she wrapped her Russian lips around their American meat.

Ruling Little Odessa in New York with an iron fist since her arrival in the States, Voslova proved damn near untouchable - Until her accountant got a bit too lax with his creative math. The judge gave her the maximum penalty as a compromise. Twelve years for tax evasion was something she could do standing on her head. Dyker's Island seemed like a holiday spot after her three years in Siberia, digging deep in the mines for salt for eighteen hours without enough clothing to withstand the icy conditions.

For someone like her, it was - For she is Vor v Zakone and for a Vor v Zakone, prison is life.

The beautiful brunette American girl who filed Katarina's toenails was at her every beck and call. It was like being back in her room at the Hotel Moscow. She even had room service.

Rebecca Booth was an estate agent who got a little too involved in something that was way over her head. Hundreds of hard working people were cheated out of money and dozens more were displaced and made homeless.

Perhaps if she was a reluctant spectator of her bosses real estate scam, instead of a willing participant, her testimony against him would have given her freedom, instead of only a shorter sentence of four years. But right now, this naughty girl was getting exactly what she deserved.

The preppy Rebecca was perhaps already unsuited to prison life, coming from her privileged middle class background. But unfortunately, her choice to testify against her boss had made her stay significantly worse for her. She was dressed in an orange skirt and crop top sewn from her previous dress uniform. Her face was caked in make-up. Other than that, Katarina didn't treat her especially mean - She just expected her bitch to look good for her mommy.

Rebecca was barely six months into her sentence. She was terrified at what the next three and a half years would have instored for her. She hated prison. She couldn't stand being made to have sex with women, even though she was straight, and she despised doing hard work that was usually expected of poor people. She wasn't particularly fond of having her holes searched and prodded for contraband every day either.

But she hated feet more than anything else in the world - And it seemed her owner was fixated on the maintenance of her own. Rebecca sobbed as she worked away with the file. She was also expected to grind down the calluses the woman had from work duty. Rebecca found that particularly disgusting.

'I never would have broken the law if I knew what prison was like.' Rebecca thought to herself.

She wished so deeply that she could go back in time and stop herself - But she couldn't. She did the crime, and now she had to do the time. Her thoughts didn't stop the pace in her work. The girl was more than well trained by now.

Katarina filed the nails on her hand while Rebecca slaved away on her feet. Her enforcer Natasha Sokova, climbed back down from her bunk. The girl had olive skin, light brown hair and a tan uniform. Katarina turned to her and smiled.

Natasha had been in the middle of reporting the disturbing rumors of their rivals activities, before Mercy had graced their cell block with her presence. Word traveled faster than one would think in prison. Now that they were sure she was gone, it would reach the ears of the reigning queen.

"Mercy is gone now, Natasha." Said Katarina in a poetic broken English that was still somehow easy to understand. "Tell me this, what you were saying about the Irish."

Natasha was born in America. She didn't speak Russian, so Katarina had to compromise.

"Word is that they're gonna try and whack ya."

Katarina was named for Catherine The Great, a legendary hero of her people. She scoffed at this news with a simper that didn't attempt to veil her mockery.

"Let them try." She responded, before casually looking back to her nails.

Natasha looked at her boss with confusion. She raised her eyebrow.

"So, you're not going to strike first?"

The Russian shook her head and chuckled mockingly.

Katarina laughed in the face of death and ate danger for breakfast. She had dodged more than one hitsquad on the outside. She knew that prison would make any attempt against her life substantially more difficult - Especially with the connections that she had.

"No. Don't be ridiculous." Mused the Russian woman in her musical accent.

"I buy her drink. Show her who real friends are."

The truth was that Katarina had taken a liking to Mabel ever since she first arrived at Dyker's Island. Perhaps, "like" wasn't the correct term, but she definitely developed a deep respect for the woman. In general, she had a particular fondness for the Irish. She liked them.

They reminded her of Russians. It went beyond their mutual preference for potato and drink. She saw a kindredship in the struggle of their peoples.

None of the other gangs knew about the secret vodka-still that the Russians kept in the broom closet. Mabel would be a good friend to have. Maybe a stake in the still would be enough to buy Mabel's shank from her back. Katarina preferred not to get violent in prison - Except as a last resort. This was because she planned to actually be released some day. None of the other bosses had been given that privilege.

Katarina knew that if she made her rival's continued suffering a little more tolerable, then in turn, they'd allow her to continue breathing. And then one day, she would be free again.

It was a smart move, but it was also expensive. She wasn't sure how much longer her treasury could support her - Especially since the fall of the Ruble. It wouldn't be enough for the ten years she had left to serve.

Besides, if her near life long career in organized crime had taught her anything - It was to keep her friends close, and her enemies closer. It would be easier to keep an eye on Mabel if the two women were in league together. Not to mention, Katarina knew that there was a bigger threat. The Bikers and The Aryans were more than just unreasonable and incredibly hostile - They were insane. And insanity was bad for business. They couldn't be bought, and they wouldn't cooperate. She knew that they were the real threat.

Fighting Nazis has been an age old tradition among Russians. A long time ago her people joined an alliance of nations to free Europe from their influence. She thought it was about the time that she did the same thing here in Dyker's Island.

When Rebecca finished the painstaking task of treating her owner's toes. The girl sang a sigh of relief.

"There you are, mommy." Said the girl perhaps a bit too hopeful. "I've finished your pedicure. Can I please go to sleep now?"

She was of course incredibly tired from the hard labor she was expected to do in the day - And the domestic tasks her mommy got her to perform in the night.

The two Russians looked at each other and then burst into laughter. Natasha began to pull her tan prison pants down.

"Not yet, American girl." Whisked Katarina cruelly. "First, you eat my friend's ass."

Natasha bent over and presented her ass to their slave girl. Katarina didn't engage in lesbianism directly. She just liked to watch. Though she didn't hold prejudice towards the identity, her cultural stigma towards homosexuality nevertheless made her anxious to particpate herself.

Rebecca wailed and complained in an entitled fashion. Clearly she still had to learn her place.

"But, mommy?! Haven't I done enough! I'm tired!" She whined. "Oh my god! Why does prison have to be so awful!"

Katarina scoffed, and slapped the girl across the face with the back of her hand.

"Pfft. You have no idea how easy prison is in this country. I do three years in Siberia." Gloated the Russian like it was some kind of competition. "You not survive three days winter there. Dyker's Island is like holiday park."

Rebecca began to sob loudly. Tears streamed down her cheeks.

"But why do you treat me like this? What did I do that was so bad? I'm just a fucking estate agent!" She sniffled.

"You're a snitch, honey. And snitches become bitches." Answered Natasha, as she wiggled her ass in Rebecca's face. "Now get to it. It's not gonna eat itself."

This was so unfair. She had no choice. A girl like her couldn't survive eight years in prison. She didn't even know if she could do four! What else was she supposed to do? The girl wept and wailed, but reluctantly, she did what she was told. She kissed Natasha's cheeks and lapped up her asshole. Rebecca sobbed and wailed the whole time. The act only seemed to muffle her cries as the tears continued to wet her face. She didn't want to be a lesbian - And she espically didn't want to eat ass.

Katarina rubbed her clit inside her pants. She pinched her nipples underneath her tank top as she watched the sapphic love show. It looked like great fun, but she was too afraid to join in.

It was a strange kind of funny. Katarina had killed so many people in so many awful ways - But that never seemed to phase her. Instead, she was afraid of the most natural desire of all; physical intimacy with a woman.

It would be a barrier she'd learn to overcome during her sentence here.

Mercy passed the cell of Clover Sullivan and Rose O'Malley. She waved her flashlight into the cell for a moment to check if they were up to no good. Rose was trying to sleep, while Clover was busy being eaten out by their cellmate Cassidy Felix.

"Oh fuck yeah." Moaned Clover as she clenched her toes together.

Cassidy Felix was an aging lifer who spent her twenty years inside at various institutions granting "favors" for protection. She wasn't a bitch as such, but her tongue had been working overtime since she started serving her life sentence.

Cassidy had killed her scorned lover and his girlfriend all the way back in the late 90s. She stabbed them both sixty times.

Since then, her youth and beauty had begun to fade. Her hair was already becoming gray, and her once plump C cup breasts now sagged uncomfortably. At 47 years old, she had long ago accepted the guilt and punishment for her terrible crime. She deeply regretted the murders now, and the deaths weighed deeply on her conscious. The woman was strictly straight on the outside but all her years in prison had taught her how to make due with what she had. Eating pussy for life was a small price to pay for a moment of madness caused by her passion.

Cassidy had saved up many of her appeals, and still held out a vague hope of one day being free. She regularly did interviews from prison with journalists and documentarians covering her case. In them, she would try to appeal to the public with her charisma, telling them about how she had "changed" and cry on camera about how "sorry" she was. Often, she would brazenly declare that she was ready to be released. But she wasn't, and she never would be.

Cassidy was right where she belonged, and deep down, she knew it. This was the cost of the two lives she took - Her freedom. She might not kill again, but it wouldn't be fair to allow her single day longer in comfort than she allowed her victims to live. Cassidy would spend the rest of her life in prison. She would rot there, long after she was a tired, lonely old lady who was too aged for anyone to be bothered with.

Until then, she would 'serve her time quietly' - a euphemism female inmates used which meant their tongues would be otherwise too preoccupied to talk or make trouble.

Clover moaned and sighed with bliss as Cassidy licked her clit. Rose rolled over in her bed and scrunched her pillow against her ears. She just wanted to go to sleep. She knew that it would be hard work again tomorrow - Because it was every day.