Watch my back?
“You think that will stop anyone assaulting me?” Seems more likely that these animals would just cheer any attacks on.
“I do. Dimitry agreed to a no-touch rule. My enforcers will make sure that agreement stands.”
I take a breath. I’ve got to pull myself together. Hysteria will not help anything. “So, no touching at all?” I have to force the words past the lump in my throat. “You’re sure?”
He nods once, his jaw tight. “That’s the deal. No one touches what’s mine.”
Mine?
We arrive back at the cell, and I feel just as filthy as I did before the shower. “You make a habit of sending out girls half your size to do your dirty work, Bevan?”
Taliesin’s jaw tightens. He shoves me back into the cell and slams the gate. The iron vibration rattles my teeth.
“Cut it out, Princess,” he growls. “I’ve had enough of your moaning for one day.”
And I’ve had enough of him.
I don’t bother to throw another insult, just raise my middle finger, then collapse onto the cot, staring at the gray sheet I’ve tied up. It’s pathetic.
The bruises around my wrists from the shackles sting, the skin raw and weeping.
I feel sick to my stomach.
Taliesin doesn’t hang around to gloat. “I’m going out,” he grunts, still avoiding my eyes like a coward. “See if you can keep your stupid mouth shut for a while.”
“Where are you going?” I ask, but he’s already gone.
Alone at last, my body feels battered, vibrating with a thousand different kinds of tension. I can’t just sit here and wonder what will happen tomorrow when the Guild take me.
If I think too much, I’ll break.
So, I do the thing that always brings me peace.
Standing up in the cramped space of my cage, I kick off the shitty slip-on sneakers, and place my bare feet into fifth position.
I start with a simpleplié, my stiff, underhydrated muscles complaining in protest, then move into atendu. I use the rustediron bars as a barre, my fingers gripping the permanently warm metal as I stretch my leg out.
Reach. Breathe. Forget.
I’m halfway through a deep hamstring stretch, my forehead nearly touching my knee, when the back of my neck prickles. I straighten up, wiping a stray lock of damp hair from my face, and freeze.
A guard is standing in the doorway not saying a word. He’s just watching me. It’s the one who “escorted” me to the yard, Copeland. The silence grows. I want to look away but I force myself not to.
He’s older, with a gut hanging over his belt and a badge that gleams under the flickering strip lights. His eyes rake over my body, a slow, greasy leer spreading across his face, as he adjusts himself in his pants.
“Anything you need, girlie,” he sneers, “all you got to do is ask…nicely.”
That’s it. I can’t.
I pull away from the bars, retreating into the shadows behind my gray sheet, my heart hammering against my ribs. Taliesin might control the inmates, but he doesn’t control the men with the keys. Does this perv have a way to get into my cage?
Copeland laughs. “I’m always around, you can take me up on my offer anytime.”
I stay huddled in the corner, clutching my knees, for what feels like hours until Taliesin finally returns. He’s drenched in sweat and carrying a small paper sack.
“Dinner,” he declares, tossing a plastic-wrapped sandwich through the bars.
