start a fight [muke af]

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Michael watched the officers walk past his cell. He stood straight, a smirk upon his face. There was something cocky about Mike, he seemed so proud of himself.

Luke didn't like that.

With a shaking breath he spat out, "What? What're you smiling about?"

Mike raised an eyebrow, his green eyes glowing with the thought of fighting. "Nothing, Rookie."

"Don't call me that." Luke faced him straight on. He spread his legs to shoulder width and puffed out his chest. Luke didn't have much muscle-something he has always lacked-but he had height. He had several inches on the pale inmate in front of him.

"Fuck off," he swore.

An inmate to the left let out a chuckle and Luke was ready to cry. The little nineteen-year-old patrol officer was in over his head for his first month at Las Vegas Prison.

Michael took a step forward, his breath able to be felt on Luke's neck.

Luke swallowed a lump in his throat. "Get back in line," Luke said, his voice quavering as he tried to sound forceful.

"I said, fuck off." Each word Michael spoke left spit on Luke's smooth chin.

Sergeant stepped in, his golden hair tied up in a bun shining in the fluorescent lights above them. He pressed his hands to Michael's chest, pushing him back to the white brick walls. "You're tryna fight?" He asked, a quirk in his voice. "You're actually trying to pick a fight with one of my men?"

"You call that a man?" Michael asked, squinting his eyes around Sergeant Ashton and to the scared blonde.

Ashton was built up and tall. He was threatening in every way. From his normally loud voice to his wide presence. "Yeah, Clifford, I do."

Michael turned his head, trying to get away from Ashton. He watched two officers walk into his cell, doing their weekly check in the smallest of the spaces. He clenched his jaw, feeling nothing but pure anger filled up inside of him.

Luke stayed back against the rails of the second floor, his hands clutched the rusting metal as if his life depended on it. Frankly, it felt like his life depended on it. He was too afraid of falling weak in the knees if he let go of the rail behind him.

He couldn't embarrass himself in front of two dozen inmates whom were supposed to fear him-or at least respect him.

"You done?" Ashton asked. His voice echoed through the beams of the six story cement building.

"Yeah," Michael whispered between clenched teeth.

"What's that?"

"Yes, Sir," he responded.

Ashton trained them like dogs. Luke wanted that power one day soon. He wanted to be able to look at one of the men and watch them cower in fear.

Currently, it was the other way around.

Michael stared at Luke as Ashton left to harass another inmate. Mike could feel the fear below Luke's sea blue eyes, he could see it in his wobbly knees and shaking shoulders. Luke was petrified of Michael, and that made Michael happy.

Michael liked being able to intimidate with only his eyes a man whom's been through sixteen months of training. He liked his presence scaring Luke, even though Luke was the one with a gun on his belt.

Luke didn't like it.