Category Archives: the boss

The Secret Life of Brady

The Boss prison is home of the Shady City’s worst. During my time in Coldford there were none such dark tales as those that belonged to the men behind those bars. They were blood thirsty, cruel men who committed atrocities beyond your wildest fears. This story is not one of those. I’m reporter Sam Crusow and this is the secret life of Brady.  

*** 

Coldford City High Court. Located in City Main

Inmate 2069, Ryan Brady, didn’t really belong in the cells of The Boss, in the sense he wasn’t like the other murderous fiends you would expect to find there. He did belong though in the sense the Office of Law Makers had told him so. The High Court had determined him to be a danger to himself and to others. He needed to be locked up.  

It all began at the Weir Hotel in City Main where Brady had joined his bros of the Kappa So fraternity for a celebration. Robert ‘Bobby’ Owen, known to them all affectionately as Pops, was visiting the city from the Great States. You couldn’t imagine the excitement in the air. The Brady family – manufacturers of fitness wear and protein pills for decades – would sure to be front and centre. Father and son duo – Cam and Ryan Brady were brothers for life and they took that shit real serious.  

Brady gushed at how much of an honour it would be to meet Pops and maybe shake the man’s hand so he put on his best Kappa So gear and made his way to the hotel in Main.  

“Are you saying you were already in an excitable mood?”  

“We were, Your Honour. We cock walked straight there to get that party started!”  

Brady didn’t deny things might have gotten a little out of hand. Stood in the office of Judge Karyn Doyle would make anyone realise that. He was nervous with the one eyed temptress staring at him ‘monocoly’. That was his word not mine. I believe he was trying to be intellectual. He had been forced to explain why things had gotten so out of hand.  

“We were a bunch of frat boys, high on life and having a great time. Who would have thought that would get out of hand?”  

That statement wasn’t going to cut any ice. God, that eye on him made him want to rip everything off. He probably shouldn’t. Ronald ‘Ronnie’ Owen, the lawyer tasked with defending his actions, wouldn’t want that. Brady supposed he could have Judge Doyle, with that freaky one eye, across the desk and make her feel glad he hit that reporter with the inflatable dong. Since I am that reporter, dear readers, I can assure you she would not, on any account.  

“Do not,” Ronnie warned as he felt his client reach for the hem of his cropped T to pull it off and expose some well crafted abs.  

For just 19.99 you can have 1 kilo of Brady Burners, guaranteed to burn that fat! 

It wasn’t time for an advert break. Doyle didn’t look like she was up for the ads. She wanted to skip right past that. She looked like a bit of a fitness freak herself. She was a freak. She wanted some freaky deeky! Yeah, with that one eye … Concentrate Brady!  

She had brought her sub bosses with her too to glare at him with disapproval. Sophie Bergman, Brady thought would be nice but when he tried to talk to her outside she just ignored him. He yelled and yelled at her but she kept her back turned on him. Ignorant beeatch! All he wanted to do was tell her it was great to see some chicks getting some recognition around this place. She ignored him so he slapped her ass. It was a firm ass. He only did it out of professional interest. Before he could ask her what her glute routine was the big Golem guy stepped in the way and started yelling at him. Way to put a sista’ down, brah! Can’t she talk for herself? Anyway, there was Sophie glaring at him beside her one eyed sista. That eye pierced the soul and shit.  

“This hasn’t been the first time you’ve received notice for breaching the peace,” Doyle was saying to him.  

“I do apologise, Your Honour,” Ronnie was speaking on his behalf. “I can confirm the Brady family did pay for any damages incurred. The stress to Mrs Riley over the bet …”  

Eighty year old Mrs Riley had been quite taken aback at first but Brady knew she was a freak. Once she got over the shock of the bros trying to French her she was all up in that.  

“Love has no age limit, brah!” Brady blurted out.  

Doyle frowned. Sophie narrowed her gaze.  

“Mrs Riley won’t be pressing any charges,” Doyle announced.  

Ronnie nodded. He had a calm, charming smile. He was like a movie actor. He was a dashing bro. You’re a dish Ron! You’re a dish! 

“I hate to be a fusspot …”  

Urgh. There was the dude on Doyle’s other side. He was like a Christmas elf without the charm or the tinsel. You’re smiling, brah, but I’m not really feeling it. It’s not very festive in here. Try some cardio and get in those running shoes. It will save Christmas.  

“Given the amount of previous notices that you have been served I strongly believe in this case an example has to be made.”  

Wolfgang Kutz. Wolfie. The wolf man. Woooooooooooh! The cutter. The bearer of pots of fuss. Oh shit! He’s looking right at me … 

“I admit things may have gotten a little out of hand,” said Brady.  

This was the only statement Ronnie had given him permission to say.  

“I’m no stranger to antics,” said Kutz. “I pledged Theta So myself.”  

Ronnie fired a warning glare at Brady when he heard him snicker.  

Theta So wasn’t a real frat. It was a bunch of other Christmas Elves singing songs and waiting out the long winter in Jole – the country, I should explain, that Kutz came from and his Theta So fraternity.  

“However,” Kutz went on. “We can’t excuse the trauma inflicted on the couple in room 401.”  

“Open the fifth floor,” Rodney Weir had told the receptionist when the Kappa chaos rose to an extent it could not be ignored.  

“Can you remind us of what you said to the receptionist?” Doyle pressed.  

“I admit things may have gotten a little out of hand,” said Brady.  

“Hey fatty boom boom. We need a room room,” Kutz recited. 

Wow Christmas elves have a Helluva memory! It wasn’t Brady’s fault the chick was huge. He had nothing against the big chicks. He didn’t mind flapping those fat folds sometimes. It was just the receptionist looked like Boom Boom, the Brady mascot they used as the before in their before and after ads for their fat burner pills.  

“Your Honour …” Ronnie began his spiel but Brady seemed to have a better idea.  

“Your honourable eye ball …” not a good start. He claimed he had meant that in the most attractive and alluring sense. “My bros and I decided to see just how many of us we could fit in the bathtub of the room. We got to twelve and it became a real tight squeeze. We were so proud of our accomplishment so we started celebrating, naturally. The floor cracked. Weir is a cheap bastard. How were we to know the tub would fall through the floor? How were to know the occupants of the room below us were doing the nasty.” 

“Mrs Wilson’s screams could be heard throughout the hotel.”  

“I told her she had a banging rack.”  

“Mr Wilson received some injuries.”  

“I just tried to high five him.”  

“That was all bad enough but I’m sure the couple didn’t need your tips and suggestions.”  

“I was making polite conversation whilst the rest of my bros climbed out their bathroom.” 

“I’ve heard enough,” said Judge Doyle. Her snapping tone brought an end to the back and forth between Brady and Kutz. “Mr Brady,” she went on. “Since this is not the first time you have been brought before me and given the damage and distress you caused throughout the hotel I am imposing a custodial sentence upon you.”  

“Your Honour?” Ronnie tried to object. “Is that really necessary?”  

“Yes,” Doyle decided. “I believe it is. Mr Brady, I’m hereby sentencing you to four months in the custody of The Boss.”  

‘Daaaaaaaammmmn,’ Brady thought. ‘That’s cold …”  

*** 

“Keep your cell clean. No disrespect or curse words towards our librarian. Observe meal times. No fighting. No contraband. Anything found will be confiscated and you will be put to hard labour. When lights out are called you had better find yourself on the right side of the bars. One last thing … do not fuck with the warden. You’re number is 2069. You are now in servitude.”  

Brady hadn’t given the processing guards any trouble as he was led through the busy hall. Guard Trevor Gould quite enjoyed it when they brought the frat boys in. They were an excitable bunch so it was always a treat to watch The Boss tear them down.  

“Strip,” he ordered. 

When he turned he found Brady was already naked. Gould didn’t have time to question how he had managed to shed his clothes so quickly. Before he called for a cavity search Brady had already bent over and spread his buttocks.  

“Not going to find anything in there, brah,” Brady told him.  

As frustrating as it was, Gould couldn’t exactly take the word of an inmate. The warden, Remar, pressed when he noticed Gould was hesitant.  

“What are you waiting for?” He asked. 

“He’s a …”  

“I’m cooperating, brah. Get that finger right in there and search me good.”  

Remar frowned. It was a long morning and he was already pissed off inmate 4444 had tried to make a break for it. He really didn’t need the frat boy shenanigans. He pulled a pen knife. He reached under and placed the point of the blade at Brady’s testicles.  

“Let the guard do his job or I do it for him and I’ll dig right in there, real deep.”  

‘The warden has no sense of humour,’ thought Brady. He was just trying to be helpful. He guessed Gouldy preferred him to play hard to get so he instead he said, “A cavity search? Is that really necessary?”  

“Get him searched and processed and get him in south where he belongs,” ordered Remar.  

Brady acquiesced but all the fun had been drawn out it by this point. He was fingered, shackled and sent packing and it wasn’t even BDSM night. They called the warden Cerberus after the mythological three headed dog of Hades. Guardian of the underworld. He was a yappy puppy Brady decided. He needed a run at the dog park. He needed to play fetch or something. Maybe he had already had his balls off and that’s what made him cranky. He should ask … 

Along at his new home in South Unit, Brady was met by another guard. He was huge! The guy had biceps upon biceps. It was like he had quads In his arms. He could run a marathon doing a handstand. He could … 

As a fitness enthusiast he became excitable. I had to interrupt Brady in his description of Damon Cosmos codename Hercules as he was inclined to lose focus. Damon was the head guard in south and he had the physique of his mythological namesake. Damon carried a boar club with him which he held across his shoulders with his arms draped.  

“Looking good brah!” Brady called his encouragement. “Body like a God. You are working it.”  

Damon raised his eyebrows. He caught his reflection in the steel of the bars. He nodded. He had to agree.  

Brady set about making himself at home in the South Unit. He greeted his fellow incarcerated bros with the Kappa So handshake. He had a special acquaintance to make. It was as exciting as the thought of meeting Pops Owen. Whilst he was on the inside he was going to be in the presence of true Godballs and Brady was ready for that. He had to stop though. He had to catch his breath. You don’t just go running up to Godballs like that. The shine off those bad boys would burn your eyes out like staring at a solar eclipse or something. He took a breath. He summoned the strength to approach, shielding his eyes a little by raising his arm up.  

“Glorious brother George!” He called. “Am I in the presence of the Glorious Brother George.”  

“I’m brother George,” grinned George Beckingridge, possibly the last person I would describe as glorious. However, he had taken the heat for Buddy Owen so orders from The Cappy himself were the boy was to be treated like the royal bearer of Godballs he was. “This is The Beast,” George shook the chain that was attached to the neck of a creature Brady described as Cajun Cock. The Beast was badly burned, he drooled and he gargled. He used to be an eminent surgeon but thanks to his crimes he was now George’s pet. The Boss doesn’t favour many people but She found quite an interest in the Billionaire Beckingridge Boy from the financial empire.  

“Brady, reporting for duty, sir,” he cried.  

George’s grin widened. Brady tapped the head of the Cecil mouse. Respect was demanded for Cecil too. It used to be a common practice that the bros would kiss Cecil but he was a crusty little animal and infections started to spread so that brought an end to that practice.  

“I hear Jake Fullerton is in here. I want a word with him. Can you go find him?” 

And so Brady didn’t spend much time in his kit before he stripped again, dressed in a towel and made his way to the shower rooms with two completely naked bros.  

“Glorious brother George wants a word, brah,”  

“Brother George can stick his head up my arse. If he looks hard enough he’ll find the last fuck I gave about what he wanted,” had been the construction mogul’s reply.  

‘Damn, brah,’ Brady thought. ‘Cold.’ 

If he knew who George actually was he would probably not be suggesting any ass play. George Beckingridge had the habit of taking these things quite literally. However, they were old acquaintances. When Jake found out who the George they were referring to was he was going to be so surprised.  

*** 

“Fitness And Perseverance. The human body is capable of astounding things but when you FAP with Brady you are FAPPING to a better you. In fact, if you committed to a Brady FAP you’ll tell all your friends you’ve never felt better, guaranteed. Busy mum on the go? Try our quick FAP routine. It easily fits into your schedule. A little morning power FAP will set you up just right and you can FAP before you even start the school run. For our more intensive FAPPERS we have routines that will keep you FAPPING all day. You will FAP so much everybody will notice.  

“Jeez, brah? How much are you FAPPING these days?” 

“My body is carefully carved with Brady fat burners and an hourly power FAP.”  

“Wow, bro. Can I FAP?” 

“Of course you can. With Brady anyone can FAP.” 

Fitness And Perseverance Brady style. This ad was brought to you by Owen Inc.  

“Fitness and Perseverance?” Asked Captain Charles ‘Chick’ Owen asked as he switched off the advert.  

Before we continue in Brady’s servitude allow me to discuss how he became a part of the Kappa So frat legends in the first place.  

The Brady father and son were beaming with pride. Austin Perry was nodding but he was trying his hardest not to laugh. It seemed the euphemism of the word FAP, which to some people can be a connotation of self pleasure had completely washed over the Bradys heads. It had been Chick’s last birthday. The zookeeper had had a few pints too many and when the Brady’s brought their ideas to him he had jumped right on board.  

“That’s a goodun, mate,” he told them. 

Being slightly lower on the Kappa So food chain, the encouragement of the elder was like finding gold dust. It was the highest praise. It was a real honour. When Austin realised they weren’t seeing the innuendos that flooded their advertising strategy that made it even better. He liked the Bradys. He was sure it would get everyone talking about them and that was the purpose of advertising.  

So it came to be that Ozzy allowed some Kappa So funding for the ad and he just couldn’t wait to see the look on Chick Owen’s face. It really was a picture.  

“Ain’t no FAP like a Brady FAP,” the father stated.  

Ozzy chuckled. Really? They didn’t hear that?  

“What do you think Captain?” Carson Brady asked.  

“I think it is most definitely a commercial to be remembered,” he told them.  

“Kinda makes you want to FAP one out right now,” said Brady the son.  

“It will create a huge amount of revenue,” Austin explained. There was method to his madness. “The whole city is going to be FAPPING to Brady.” He was also a frat boy at heart and a Perry which research has shown is one of the wildest kind.  

“So the ad gets your approval?” Asked the Brady father.  

“Bless your heart,” said The Cappy. “You will have your ad. Maybe if everybody is focused on Fitness and Perseverance the boys will stay out of trouble.”  

“FAPPING,” Austin put in.  

“Yes, thank you Oz.”  

“Got your back, brah.”  

“I wish you well,” The Cappy told the Bradys. “It sure is a commercial to remember.”  

Kappa elder, Marshall Cooper, had been surprisingly quiet throughout the whole exchange. Usually his brazen attitude was always to be heard, especially when in the presence of lower level bros. He was probably feeling a little sour because the Brady ads were overtaking his own ones for Copper garages. He was worried more people would want to FAP than ride his fancy cars.  

The Bradys skipped out quite thrilled with meeting, when I say skipped, I mean they showed their FAPPING skills right away.  

“Shiiiiiiit,” Marshall groaned. “That is fucking stupid.”  

Ozzy raised an eyebrow. He really was sour.  

“I liked it,” he said. “I found myself FAPPING in me briefs just this morning.”  

Marshall shook his head. “You are an asshole Oz. You really think it’s a good idea giving the Bradys a platform for anything?”  

“They’re good guys. They’re true bros and when they told me they wanted to get everyone FAPPING I thought, why not? Those advertising boards are about go nuts and there’s nothing the Office of Law Makers can do, the bastards.” 

“It’s fucking stupid,” Marshall continued to grumble.  

The two noticed that Chick seemed to be contemplating something. The last thing he needed was more trouble. He pushed the button for his secretary.  

“Send the Bradys back in for a moment would you?”  

“Yes, Captain.” 

The Bradys returned with expecting expressions.  

“I am pleased to inform you that Marshall here has been so impressed with your advertising prowess he wants to have your Fitness and Perseverance on one of his cars of the next Coldford Circuit races.”  

The Bradys were thrilled to hear that. A Mad Dog racer with some Brady burn it had the makings of a monster movie. Or a disaster one …  

Marshall glowered at Chick but he said nothing.  

“That’s brill Marsh. You won’t be disappointed. I always thought Sunny looked like she FAPPED good.”  

“I heard Marsh gets her started on the routine but she always has to end up finishing with a solo FAP,” said Ozzy.  

“Woah! Brady burn is here to stay!” The father and son were really excited about the elder approval and Chick drew a smile as he watched them exit his office.  

Marshall punched Ozzy’s shoulder.  

“Crikey,” Oz cried with a chuckle. “You got no sense of humour!”  

“Fuck you Oz and fuck you Chick!” Marshall put to them but he was starting to loosen up at the idea.  

“They’re good people the Bradys. Their cornbread ain’t done in the middle but I like their intentions and I like their enthusiasm,” Chick decided.  

“You’re not the one that has to tell Miko she’s going to have FAP on the side of her car.”  

Miko was the driver of the yellow Mad Dog, Sunny. She was a temperamental sort. Maybe she just needed to have a FAP session, courtesy of Brady.  

***  

It was all fun and games and Brady was a frat boy so he was familiar with the fun. He was well acquainted with the games. He was a seasoned professional at it.  

He had made his real mark on a day at the Kingsgate campus where their rivals Sigma So resided. It had been early days and Brady had only just completed his hazing. He was a bonafide bro now so he was called upon by Buddy Owen, their Chapter leader, to show Sigma just what the Kappa bros were made of.  

I’m sure that when Seth Bergman first started to pull the event together for his Alma mater he didn’t realise the mess that would be left to clean up. He was a smart man so you would think that would be exactly what he expected. He had had his experiences with the frat antics. His sister, Elsa, had really done all of the heavy lifting for the event. He was so proud of her achievement as he observed the many expecting faces, the happy families, the excited children running around. The poor unfortunate souls had no idea what was about to befall.  

It was a warm, spring day full of promise on the Kingsgate lawns. The palace of the Chamberlains looked over them with Majesty. The Bergman sponsored afternoon was drawing a crowd and the funds raised for the Verga Bergman foundation was sure to make a difference. What was also sure to make a difference was the bus that had arrived in from Filton.  

“Kappa So!” They could be heard chanting from the open windows.  

Joshua, Anthony and Michael of the Sigma rivals had waited in their own transport. They had arrived early from Cardyne but they insisted on making some kind of entrance too.  

“Can’t let Kappa think they’re going upstage us, playa,” Anthony had told Seth.  

“Just try to keep it friendly,” Seth urged.  

“Oh, I’ll keep it friendly,” Anthony assured. “I’ll keep it real friendly. When me and my boys see those Kappa colours it gets a mother fucker really riled up.”  

Brady was experiencing this too in the bus as Buddy was offering the rousing speech to his troops.  

“Those assholes think they’re better than us because they’re all smart and shit,” he said.  

“Yeah!” The bros replied with passion.  

“They think we’re dumbasses but we’re Kappa So and ain’t nobody gonna think they’re better than us!”  

Chad jumped in with an excitable addition.  

“We’re going to tickle their balls!” He cheered. “Then they’re gonna suck our balls!”  

Brady was so pumped. He was so steamed. He was so up for anything it didn’t really matter what Chad was suggesting.  

The bus shuddered as it hit the lawns. Buddy raised an eyebrow to Dale Cooper, son of Marshall and heir to the Cooper empire.  

“Coops?” He put to him. “Why the fuck are we on this piece of shit bus? We should have Cooper transport.”  

“We did,” Cooper sighed. “We did.”  

Buddy frowned.  

“I don’t remember that.”  

Cooper nodded. “I know. Sorry, Bud.” 

“Yeah, sorry Bud,” added Chad. 

“Sorry, Bud,” added Brady.  

“Sorry, Bud,” before long there was a chorus of repentance for the loss of the only Cooper bus ever made and for Buddy’s memories of the event that took her.  

It might have been a shoddy bus that they had been left with but Cooper managed to donut the big bitch right onto the Kingsgate lawns.  

“Kappa So!” They all cheered.  

Then every window of the bus cracked. Buddy looked among them.  

‘Wow,’ he thought to himself. ‘Sometimes I underestimate the Godballs. They just cracked the windows.’ 

“Oh, it is on!” Anthony cheered as he and the rest of Sigma praised their sonic boom simulator.  

Not to stoke any flames of these fraternity rivals but at least Sigma had aimed their device at their target. If it had been in the hands of Kappa then I suspect every window in Chamberlain Palace would have had to have been replaced.  

Brady and the Kappa So bros filed off what was left of the bus. They made a lot of noise, they called a lot of obscenities to Sigma that they probably shouldn’t have when families were present but the fact was, they had arrived and it was time for the games to begin.  

Most of the day had been a show of who was better and that’s what a great portion of Coldford had come along to see.  

“Are catapults really necessary?” Seth asked Anthony.  

“Damn right, playa,” was Anthony’s response.  

Anthony was the designated competitor for Sigma. Brady had stepped up for Kappa So.  

“You can toss me as far as you like, brah. The further you toss me the better,” he had said to Chad.  

Normally Chad would be the designated one from Kappa to be tossed but he felt it was time for Brady. He had learned so much. He was ready. He was something of a protégé for him they way Cam Brady was for his dad Austin. Chad was so proud as Brady climbed into the catapult ball.  

Sigma fired and Anthony reached tremendous heights. The Bergman siblings showed their admiration. The gathered crowd applauded.  

It was time for Brady and the Kappa bros to show what they were really made of. They might have had their technology, their smarts, their looks, their money, their fancy window cracking guns – I had to stop Brady at this point as he was starting to lose track again. The point was Sigma might have looked impressive firing their catapult but they were up against the skills of a Cooper, the brazen ‘I’ll do whatever it takes to make a point’ of an Owen, the out of the box thinking of a Perry and a seasoned FAPPER ready to prove his worth.  

“You ready, Brady?” Asked Buddy.  

“Fire me up,” Brady urged.  

SNAP!  

The catapult fired. At first the crowd were equally as impressed as they had been with Sigma. Then their eyes started to widen in wonder as Brady was catapulted much higher than Anthony had been. Then shock began to wash over them as he cleared the Kingsgate Lawns. There was no pullback.  

“Only pussies use pull back,” said Buddy.  

Medical staff eventually found Brady on the Chamberlain family’s croquet lawns. Lord John Chamberlain had been trying to practice when the Brady ball landed and tore up the grass.  

“I’m good,” he said with a thumbs up, real credit to Cooper engineering and attention to safety features.  

“Don’t fuck with our shitty bus, beeeatch,” Buddy teased.  

The two frats raced, they fought (with swords from the museum, medieval style), Sigma had Kappa believe they had fallen into an alternative reality, locking them in a simulator. Cooper had to take some time to be brought round. The idea of being trapped in a computer had really freaked him out. When the day came to an end Brady had been appointed the honour of thanking their host.  

Seth was busy assessing the damage that had been done and the cost of the clean up.  

“This is for the repairs,” Brady told him pulling an Owen Inc cheque from the bag he carried. It was a large bag. Seth couldn’t remember him arriving with it.  

Seth accepted the cheque graciously. 

“Thank you.”  

“This is for the dead chick,” Brady said giving him another cheque.  

“You mean my mum?” Seth put to him.  

“That’s the one, brah,” said Brady.  

Seth passed the cheques to Elsa which was just as well because from the bag next Brady removed a gun. Before Seth could react appropriately Brady fired the super soaker, leaving Seth completely sodden. Elsa stood beside her brother gob smacked.  

“That’s from Buddy Owen. He says you’re a wet pussy.”  

He reached into the bag again and when he drew his hand back out he had raised his middle finger.  

“That’s from Coops. He says, ‘sorry bro’”  

Seth was frowning now as one would expect with this charade. Brady dropped the bag on the ground. Whatever he was pulling out for Chad was really heavy and required both hands. Before whatever carnage Chad had cooked up could ensue Brady had caught sight of Anthony charging at him. He took to his heels, leaving the bag of tricks behind.  

“Don’t worry, playa,” said Anthony. “I’m just going to knock a mother fucker down.”  

They could hear Brady cry back over his shoulder.  

“That’s great form, brah. You’re really working it! Do you FAP?” 

“Will I get you a towel?” Elsa asked.  

“Please do,” Seth replied.   

*** 

“With some fitness and a little bit of Perserverance you can overcome anything brah.” 

“Excuse me, Brady,” I had to warn him. “Do you mind if I write my own sum up?” 

“Sure. You’re the reporter dude. You go ahead.”  

I sighed then. It was really quite an interview.  

So, with some fitness and a little bit of perseverance you can overcome anything. Held behind the bars of Coldford Correctional Brady learned that life still goes on. He had the opportunity to make decisions for the future. It was a luxury we shouldn’t take for granted inside The Boss.


Brady has a unique spirit that even The Boss has diffiuclty in breaking. How would you cope? Parts 1 and 2 of The Boss trilogy are available now.

Caution: Contains scenes and themes some may find distressing.

Prayer Time In Solitary (an extract from The Boss Part 2 – Servitude)

The Prayer Room is located in the Herod Halls of the castle, just off the overpass. It’s an original part of the building where St Wigan, when he was in residence, would lock himself away seemingly with no food or water for days. He emerged when God had delivered his message. Normally this meant someone was burned, hanged, or buried alive in Gregor Court. God could be a nasty bastard if Noah Wigan was to be believed, and Francesca Chamberlain made the perfect nasty vessel to operate through. However, that’s another grisly tale for another grisly day. For now, our story focuses on the Prayer Room in more recent times. The room has no plumbing. It doesn’t have a bowl or sink on offer. You eat and drink very little whilst you’re in there so you find yourself with little to excrete anyway.  

As the famed monk said, “God provides the nourishment.”  

He may have been able to get a fat soul with conversations with a figment in sky, but for our inmates it drained what little will they had left. There are no windows. You are completely engulfed in darkness. You are left alone with only time to think and to say your prayers.  

Jake tried to keep himself awake for as long as possible. He didn’t know how long he would be left to rot. He had no means of counting the hours. He could only try and keep himself awake for as long as possible – not that he would find much of a cosy bed. It was a moss covered, granite floor. In fact, the dampness within the Prayer Room really attacked the lungs. It was common in the prison to hear the cough of an inmate that had spent some time in solitary.  

Jake had to keep himself awake. He wanted to stay alert should some of the ghoul guards come for him. That was what the inmates were calling the guards who lost their minds. Jake didn’t pray. He never was the praying sort but the voice inside his head was ringing loud. He tried to keep it ringing as his eyes started to feel heavy. He was slumped on the floor. His issue trousers were damp from the moss. He was in the most discomfort he had ever felt but he couldn’t resist sleep. Those beta brain waves were crying out to him.  

“Come on, Jakey. Just close your eyes. Sleep it away. Sleep. Sleep…”  

He was jerked awake by a sharp pain. Something had bitten him. He could hear a squeak and felt a draw of a long, worm-like tail across his hand. He pulled it away and as he did so he caught the feel of matted fur.  

“Fucking rat,” he grumbled to himself.  

There was another sharp bite on his lower leg where the trousers of his kit had slipped up. There was another one there. He could hear the hungry rodents squeak at each other. Then there was another bite at his hand. This one was harder than the others. The broken rat teeth must have pierced skin.  

Jake tried to kick his leg out to make them scurry away but they were brave and they were hungry so they took another bite. One ran across his chest, the worm tail drawing underneath his chin. Jake was on his feet by then, trying to shake them off. They finally did scurry away when the doorway was opened.  


Parts 1 and 2 of The Boss trilogy is available now.

Contains scenes and themes some may find distressing.

The Boss Part 2 : Servitude (extract)

The Prayer Room is located in the Herod Halls of the castle, just off the overpass. It’s an original part of the building where St Wigan, when he was in residence, would lock himself away seemingly with no food or water for days. He emerged when God had delivered his message. Normally this meant someone was burned, hanged or buried alive in Gregor Court. God could be a nasty bastard if Noah Wigan was to be believed and Francesca Chamberlain made the perfect nasty vessel to operate through. However, that’s another grisly tale for another grisly day. For now, our story focuses on the Prayer Room in more recent times. The room has no plumbing. It doesn’t have a bowl or sink on offer. You eat and drink very little whilst you’re in there so you find yourself with little to excrete anyway.  

As the famed monk said, “God provides the nourishment.”  

He may have been able to get a fat soul with conversations with a figment in sky but for our inmates it drained what little will they had left. There are no windows.  You are completely engulfed in darkness. You are left alone with only time to think and to say your prayers.  

Jake tried to keep himself awake for as long as possible. He didn’t know how long he would be left to rot. He had no means of counting the hours. He could only try and keep himself awake for as long as possible – not that he would find much of a cosy bed. It was a moss covered, granite floor. In fact, the dampness within the Prayer Room really attacked the lungs. It was common in the prison to hear the cough of an inmate that had spent some time in solitary.  

Jake had to keep himself awake. He wanted to stay alert should some of the ghoul guards come for him. That was what the inmates were calling the guards who lost their minds. Jake didn’t pray. He never was the praying sort but the voice inside his head was ringing loud. He tried to keep it ringing as his eyes started to feel heavy. He was slumped on the floor. His issue trousers were damp from the moss. He was in the most discomfort he had ever felt but he couldn’t resist sleep. Those Beta brain waves were crying out to him.  

“Come on, Jakey. Just close your eyes. Sleep it away. Sleep. Sleep …”  

He was jerked awake by a sharp pain. Something had bitten him. He could hear a squeak and a draw of a long, worm-like tail across his hand. He pulled it away and as he did so he caught the feel of matted fur.  

“Fucking rat,” he grumbled to himself.  

There was another sharp bite on his lower leg where the trousers of his kit had slipped up. There was another one there. He could hear the hungry rodents squeak at each other. Then there was another bite at his hand. This one was harder than the others. The broken rat teeth must have pierced skin.  

Jake tried to kick his leg out to make them scurry away but they were brave and they were hungry so they took another bite. One ran across his chest, the worm tail drawing underneath his chin. Jake was on his feet by then trying to shake them off. They finally did scurry away when the doorway was opened.  

“2011?” The voice of the warden came through the dark. “What’s the story?”  

“My daughter,” Jake began. His voice sounded hoarse having not spoken in some time. “My sisters. My cousin.”  

“I’m sorry about your family,” Remar told him sincerely.  

He had put in a call to Fullerton Villa to find out what he could. 

“Lucy’s with her mum, from what I’m told,” Remar said. “She’ll be fine. Lionel received a shot to his shoulder and to chest but from what i hear he’ll be fine.  I’ll let you have a call and catch up a little later but if you get out of here you don’t bring me any trouble are we understood?”  

Jake nodded. He cleared his throat. “Of course.”  

Cerberus held 2011 in his searching gaze. There was something going wrong with the guards and he needed people among the inmates he could rely on should the worst happen. 


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The Prayer Room

It’s damp and it’s cold.

It was a dungeon of old.

Many men have wept on Her floors, even the bold.

When the door closes you are absorbed in the dark.

At least you’ll no longer hear the dog’s bark.

You are all alone with only the company of rats.

Spending your time pondering over this or that.

It’s too late now for any sorrowful regret.

Your time has come. It’s all been set.

What you deserve is what you’ll get.

Just pray it’s not yet.


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Buzz, buzz, buzz!

Some lives are lived to excess. Some lives are lived well. Some lives are zapped right out of the good for nothing so and so which brings me back to the most shocking resident of this castle. Buzzkill is the end of the line for most of our inmates. His strap-like tentacles are one size fits all. When his three sister switches – past, present and future – are flicked, and Buzzkill begins to shake the life from his prey it causes the lights to flicker deep down here in the lowest depths right up to the dizzying heights.  

They say Buzzkill is humane. I ask you, would you find it humane to park your rear in his grasp? As his long arms tighten around you I defy anyone to think to themselves, ‘what a delightful way to go.’ 

As guards lead in Buzzkill’s next meal, inmate 2000 (incidentally the amount of voltz he’s about have fired through him) we can see from the expression on his face he’s not feeling like it’s all very humane.  .  

His name was Elder McEery on the outside. He was raised on Hathfield Bay island. He spent his time frolicking in the sands, playing in the sea and bashing the heads of tourists in on behalf of the Church of St Wigan. They were vengeful types and not the hippy, loving, religious sorts they would seem. St Wigan was all about the righteousness and he had Elder believe he was just in dispatching heathens. The High Court of Coldford strongly disagreed. Death was his sentence and a seat on Buzzkill’s lap was the method.  

“Do you have anything you wish to say before sentence is carried out?” Inmate 2000 was asked.  

Elder sniffed. He would swear he could already feel the electricity firing through his body. The switches hadn’t been pulled yet. It was just the ice cold shards of nerves.  

Looking upon Buzzkill’s layer is the viewing room separated by a thick glass partition which Christie and her grief counsellors gathered behind earlier in our tale. Some gather there to bear witness to the end of someone who did them wrong. Others might want to be the last thing the victim sees before that almighty bolt is thrown at them.  

The viewing room is rather empty and somber for Elder. There is a woman dressed in modest clothes. She isn’t looking at him. She has her eyes closed. She is praying, clutching a purple ribbon in her hand. A filthy braid with more ribbons tangled in it flows down her back. There is another man there too. He’s a peculiar looking fellow who seems to have a mischievous grin about him even though he isn’t smiling. Mr Kutz has been tasked with assuring Elder is sent on his one-way trip to ask St Wigan himself it the dead tourists were necessary. They can all meet up in Hell and think, ‘well this is embarrassing.’  

“For the heathens do not repent,” Wigan had said.  

It is tough to repent when you have just watched your baby being crushed under rocks and know you’re going to be next.  

“Do you have anything to say?” the inmate was asked again.  

Elder could barely breathe. Buzzkill embraced him so tightly.  

“Praise Wigan!” he gasped.  

Praise him indeed.  

The knowing grin of Kutz spread into an actual smile.  

“Faithful to the end,” he said. “I suppose that is somewhat admirable.”  

The first switch was pulled. 

Buzzzzz.  

It began as a gentle tremor as Elder’s past caught up with him.  

The second switch was pulled  

Buzz. Buzzzzzzz.  

Elder shook a little harder. He was locked in the present. He was locked in Buzzkill’s layer.  

Buzz. Buzz. Buzzzzzzz. 

The future lit up as the third switch was pulled. The future for Elder was one of eternal torment which is ironic considering the all knowing Wigan had him believe that was what he was saving himself from. I’m sure he can take that up with the manager when the ferryman ushers him to his final destination.  

Buzzkill gnashed and Elder shuddered violently in his jaws. The lights flickered. The Wigan girl had interrupted her prayer to observe.  

“No need for alarm,” he said in a way that was pleasant but not all reassuring. “That’s to be expected.”  

“Gentlemen, for your crimes you are now in servitude to The Boss.”

Available on Kindle April 15th 2022


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Sentence has been passed

Gather around for a tale of men on society’s ultimate time out. They call this prison The Boss because the inmates are in servitude to the great granite mistress.

Lock them. The judge has thrown whatever book at them they deserve.

Sentence has been passed. Dates have been set. You are not leaving these gates without Her say so.

AVAILABLE ON KINDLE 15/04/2020


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Hitting the Big Time – Extract from The Boss

Lucca Markov didn’t visit Bournton often. The cold, unforgiving land north of the city didn’t hold much appeal for him. The smelly farmlands and uncivilised people who drank beer and belched weren’t his particular cup of tea. The last time Lucca had been there had been on a visit to the Perry Wildlife reserve. His companion at the time had been quite the nature enthusiast. They trekked through mud, snapped photos of rarely spotted birds and discussed the various trees. For Lucca it was more of a lecture. He didn’t know trees at all and had very little opinion on the subject. Still, he did his best to enjoy the day but when the rain started he became downright miserable. One thing that he did note though was the people of Bournton loved to tell stories. When they stopped for some pub grub at the Bournton Arms the regulars were gathered around like a great big family swapping stories of the area and the hard work they put into the lands. They mostly spoke of The Boss that overlooked all of them. When The Boss was the subject of conversation the tones became hushed. A lot of them had never seen the inside of it despite having lived in the area their whole lives (they would proudly state). They didn’t care to see the inside either way.  

At the time Lucca had thought to himself, ‘why would you be stupid enough to go to prison?’ We ain’t all that lucky, are we Lucca? 

As the prison van trundled up the hill towards the great castle fort, Lucca was focused on his breathing.  

In through the nose and out through the mouth. Count, two, three. Count, two, three. At least this steadied his heartbeat. There was another man in the van with him so he wasn’t completely on his own in the darkness. They had the whole van to themselves but the guards had cuffed them side by side. The man was staring straight ahead. He was so close to him he could feel him shiver. He was only wearing a light jacket and the northern chill was setting in so he could have been cold. Lucca suspected it was more than that though.  

In through the nostrils. Out through the lips. Count, two, three. Count, two, three. 

“Will you stop breathing so fucking loudly!” the fellow prisoner barked impatiently.  

Who can blame him for being a little nervous? There were no windows on the van so there was no telling where they were on their journey. They couldn’t see how close the prison was. That was if in fact they were being taken to prison. There have been rumours of certain people of particularly foul character being sentenced at the High Court of Coldford, sent on their way but never actually arriving. For all intents and purposes, they just disappeared.  

I guess Lucca’s trembling van mate knew this and was putting a lot of stock in those rumours. Either that or he knew just what The Boss had in store for him. So what are you in for Mr Trembler? Murder? Rape?  

The van mate wasn’t in much of a talkative mood. He just wanted to sit in silence until the van shuddered to a stop. That was a bad idea. It’s a dangerous thing for a person to be left to their own thoughts, especially when they were about to be enslaved. Thoughts can be fraught with all kinds of problems. It can be treacherous to be reminded just how fucked you really are.  

Lucca managed the silence. It wasn’t easy but he managed. When the van did come to a halt he gave a great sigh. The trembling van mate began to bump his head against the wall behind him. They could hear the doors slam as the transporting officers climbed from the cabin. The trembler hit his head harder and faster. 

Lucca was just about to tell him he was going to hurt himself when … 

WHAM! 

The van door was pulled open. They had missed the delightful journey up the hill towards the castle. They missed that breath taking view. Maybe they can appreciate it when The Boss decides to release them. If She does …  

WHAM! 

The man slammed his head against the van wall again. This time he gave a wail. There was blood. He had cracked the parietal bone on the posterior of his skull. He was crying. I did warn it was messy to leave a condemned man to his own thoughts.  

“Get him out,” the senior officer ordered with little sympathy.  

The trembling van mate was positively convulsing by now. Guards ushered him from the van. They were already in the castle grounds from what Lucca could see. Through the open doors he caught glimpse of his home for the next five years – at least. No parole, no understanding, no hope. The blood stain where the man had smashed his head was left untouched. It would do good for other prisoners to see what happens when you think too much.  

Lucca watched the man stumble a little in the courtyard they had been brought to. He looked dizzy, possibly concussed. He was handed off to other guards and taken inside. Lucca was then removed from the van. The first thing to catch his attention was how quiet it was. For a place that housed thousands of lost souls there was not a peep, only the tapping of guard shoes across the cobbled ground. The guards on the gun towers were as still as statues. If it weren’t for one of them craning their neck to look out they could have been assumed to be mannequins.  

The eery tranquility of the court yard was completely contrasted by the chaos of the processing building. The vans had been coming all morning, delivering new slaves by the looks of it. They were lined up in a never ending queue. That queue moved along fast. Next! Step. Next! Step.  

When it came to Lucca’s turn that was when he met Remar for the first time.  

“I’m the warden here,” he said. “If you don’t give me any trouble I don’t give any to you. Really piss me off and you don’t see the light of day. Observe meal times, keep clean, don’t fight and no wise ass comments, cursing or disrespect to our librarian. Your number is 0902. For your crimes you are now in servitude to The Boss. Next!” 

Lucca was offered up to the jaws of a scowling guard named Trevor Gould.  

“Strip,” he ordered.  

Lucca started to peel his clothes off. If there was ever a body shy prisoner it wasn’t our lucky model boy but when he had gotten down to his Brad Shroeder undies he stopped.  

“I said strip,” Gould snapped.  

Lucca acquiesced.  

“Bend over.”  

Lucca frowned. “Is that really necessary?” he asked. 

“Cavity search,” said Gould. “It’s very necessary. Just pretend you’re at the doc getting the old prostate tickled.”  

Got to be thorough when you’re dealing with degenerates.  

“Shave him,” said Gould to one of the other guards who was assisting him.  

Lucca was sat in a chair.  

“I don’t want my head shaved,” he protested.  

Gould laughed heartily.  

“Would you listen to this one?” He said to his fellow guard. “I don’t give a fuck what you want, sunshine,” he said. “Shave him.” 

“No disrespect to the librarian …” he could hear Remar tell the next fresh new inmate.  

After Lucca was shaved, very thoroughly, delousing powder was thrown onto him. Then he was dressed in a standard issue kit. Across his back read the words ‘Property of The Boss.’  

Gould grabbed his arm and hissed, “you’re in The Boss now so step fucking lightly.” 

He looked into a greasy, filthy mirror that hung on the wall. The shaved head made his nose seem longer. It made his entire face look like that of a stranger as a matter of fact. Losing control of his appearance wasn’t suiting our model boy. Strike a pose there Lucca. Give us some prisoner chic. 

In through the nostrils. Out through the lips. Count, two, three. Count, two, three. 

We claim individuality in what we wear, how we style, make up, no make up, cosmetic procedures. None of this mattered. 0902 was now but a number.  

Lucca pulled the hood of his prison issue hoody over his freshly barbered head. His full lips tightened. 

“He’s in North Unit,” he overheard Gould being instructed by Dante. At that he was chained and led deeper into the belly of the great stone beast.  

“Hands on your head,” Gould ordered him.  

As he was led along the gangway to his cell he could hear other inmates call at him. They were screaming and wolf whistling. If promises were to be kept Lucca was going to be a lucky boy indeed. 

“You’re going to be popular around here,” Gould commented.  

You are a shoe in for winning the popularity contest behind these bars, Lucca. Got to be careful what you wish for though. This isn’t really the place you want to be that sought after.  


COMING APRIL 2020

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Death Stare

They called it his death stare. His eyes would become completely absent of any emotion. The inmates knew there was no room for messing with the warden.

They nicknamed him Cerberus because when he barked, “get behind the lines!” even the toughest prisoner would scramble.

When you are an inmate of Coldford Correctional you are under the care of Warden, Remar – codename: Cerberus.


Coming 2022

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Inmate 1204: Wayne Grundy

“I didn’t do it. It wasn’t me!”

Name: Wayne Grundy

Occupation: Bamber Bear mascot

Charges: Multiple murder (mostly children under twelve)

Sentence: Life

Wayne Grundy is a burly man with a natural strength about him. He has a naivety about him too that some see as a child like innocence. Others see it as simpleton stupidity. Then there are those who see it as frustrating psychopathy. And why wouldn’t they? They call him the Bamber Bear killer and he is caged in Coldford Correctional for the massacre that happened at the restaurant for little tykes. He maintains that he is innocent. Is anyone really innocent behind the walls of The Boss?

Raised by his father, Lenny, Wayne was bullied badly growing up. He was kicked around his whole life and some feel he just snapped. He played the role of cartoon favourite, Bamber Bear, at the restaurant for years. Perhaps it just finally got to him.

Wayne learned to escape into the imagination from his dad. Lenny was a delightfully delusional man who taught him to escape on fantastical flying machines made out of blankets and sofas. There’s not a flying machine that will get him out of his current predicament. Not even a heavily armed army helicopter would dare fly over the prison without permission.

Physically large and strong Wayne can take the beating. He is a bear after all but even the mighty bear has been made to dance in chains. If he is innocent he is in the wrong place. If he wants to prove it he’s running out of time.


They say he’s the Bamber Bear killer but anyone who knows Wayne Grundy would say he didn’t have it in him. Maybe he snapped. Maybe he was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Coming April 2022

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Inmate 1708: Matthew Lane

“I loved my wife but a decision had to be made.”

Name: Matthew Lane

Occupation: Exchange worker/ poet

Charges: Murder

Sentence: Ten years

Matthew (you can call him Matty) is a mild mannered man with the spirit of a poet. He hails from an artistic family. His cousin, Harper, owns the Dalway Lane gallery in City Main and his younger cousin Moony is a junior cartoonist for Roby Studios. Having lost his mother at a young age he was raised by his Aunt Gladys. Originally from the country of Subala the Lane family settled into Coldford and thrived for generations. When Matty meet his wife, Wanda, and she gave birth to their son Walter, it seemed like the perfect life.

After the birth of Walter, Wanda became absorbed in post natal depression. With a stubborn pride she feared being seen as a terrible mother so she shied from what little help there was available to her. When she fell to severe depressive episodes Matty was at a loss to be able to help her. He supported her as best he could but it appeared to be a battle he could not win.

Tragedy struck (and was somewhat prevented) when Wanda tried to kill their infant child in a murder suicide. She saw no way forward. Matty in turn shot his wife dead in order to save little Walter. It didn’t matter his intentions, a grisly murder was still committed and he was given ten years at the behest of The Boss.

Quiet, polite and agreeable Matty never poses any trouble for the guards of Coldford Correctional. He is pleasant to the other inmates and he is always where he needs to be and when. Not that he has much choice in that matter.

A decade behind bars is a long time but he knows his son is safe in the hands of his Aunt Gladys. In the meantime it is up to his legal representative, the well known and respected Ronald ‘Ronnie’ Owen, to appeal to the Office of Law Makers on his behalf in the hopes his sentence can be reduced due to the circumstances.


In a desperate attempt to save the life of his child, Matty Lane wielded a gun. Now his wife is dead and he has been imprisoned in Coldford Correctional for ten years … At least.

Coming April 2022

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