It’s the only choice.
No regrets.
Yeah, Rory. Keep telling yourself that.
Voss scowls, the mask of the “civilized governor” vanishing to reveal the sick, twisted man beneath. “So be it. You are now Red 27. Tindall, take this trash to holding. Release her into the yard in the morning.” The Warden narrows his eyes, looking at me as the guard grabs my arm. “We’ll talk again in a month, Red 27. I have a feeling you’ll be begging for yellow by then.”
I don’t give him the satisfaction of a reply.
I let Tindall shove me out the door, clutching the thin red fabric against my chest like a shield.
???
The holding cell is a six-by-eight-foot cage with bars for walls.
No bed. No blanket. Just a slab of cold concrete that leeches the heat straight through my cheap slippers. I thought the maniac from the van said they kept this place heated like a vindaloo?
Clearly, London’s sense of humor is as erratic as his fighting style.
Fuck.I huddle in the corner, glad my teeth aren’t actually chattering. The flickering fluorescent lights seem to be strobing in time with my headache.
There’s a guard station a dozen feet away. They’re eating pizza and drinking coffee. Even through the piss and bleach stench, it smells amazing.
My mouth is like a desert; I’m so fucking thirsty. But the only option for hydration is a water fountain thing set into the top of the rusty metal toilet tank at the rear of the cell.
Ireallydon’t want to drink from it.
And Ireally, reallydon’t want to have to use that toilet.
But I need to do both.
Who knows what tomorrow will bring, but one thing is for sure, pissing my only pants, and collapsing from dehydration willnothelp matters.
Enduring the jeers from the guards, I finish what I have to do, then crawl back to the corner. Eventually, I drift into a shallow, shivering doze. All through the night, buzzers sound and heavy doors clang. At one point I jerk awake to the sound of screams. My heart pounds.
Clapping my hands over my ears, I wish myself far, far away. Anywhere but here.
Hours pass, and when the lights hum to full brightness, two guards open my cage, batons drawn. They don’t say a word, just haul me out by the upper arms.
“Any chance of a coffee run?” I croak. It’s a pathetic attempt at bravado, but it’s all I’ve got.
“The Warden’s excited about this one, Copeland,” the first guard says, ignoring me. “He’s been laying down some hefty bets. I’ve got twenty on her breaking before lunch.”
My body instinctively stops moving.
“Walk, Red 27,” Copeland grunts, shoving me toward a set of heavy double doors.
Guard-two’s grip tightens, squeezing my arm so hard I think the bone might actually snap, then he pushes me outside.
For a moment, I’m blinded by daylight.
The freezing wind hits me like a slap, making my eyes water.
I’m not crying.
I blink furiously, my vision clearing as I take in the scene.
I’m in a small yard—a concrete pit surrounded by impossibly high walls.
