(no subject)

The twist of muscle against his skin thrust upward with his arms as he raised the heavy weights. Had to keep with the weights. in his imprisonment, it was the only thing that kept him going. Just like jail. Sometimes he woke up disoriented and thought he was back in the slammer, but no. Not in jail. He'd volunteered and got out, just like they'd promised. They hadn't told him he'd be going right back into another jail.

He didn't mind. No other inmates to hassle him, although he missed the conversation sometimes, until they came back. They'd let him have his weights. He hadn't even asked for them. They'd just showed up in his cell one morning. No. Not a cell. They'd just showed up in his guest room one morning.

It wasn't like he hadn't been warned. There had to be a reason why they'd pick a con out of prison and send him on a mission this important.