Never fucking once had Shane proclaimed himself anything, let along king of the fucking castle. If anyone asked, he would have referred them to Graham without blinking a goddamn eye. He looked to the woman again and he didn't answer her.
At the side door emblazoned with a spraypainted 'C' in sun-melted black, he just jerked the thing open and ducked inside into the morning dimness. Everything offered itself in a shade of slate, some lighter, some darker, but all gray. The bars blocking the open area of C-block were reared back, and shelves were spotted with a few canned goods, random toiletries, a lot of torn rags, oil, a one-stop shop low stock. He passed through the room in the gloom and into C-Block itself. To the left, cells sprung out like hexagons in a honeycomb, curtained off with repurposed sheets and staples. It was quiet inside, but the heat permeated. The prison was a convection oven.
Shane pointed to the cell the other new blond had taken up. "You're in there."