That’s where the humans get thrown.
Prisoners pledge to one or the other, kind of like fucked up sororities for the incarcerated. I’d rather keep out of both, but I’ll probably have no choice but to join The Guild.
My name might cut me a few breaks, even if I’ll still have to put up with Julian and dozens more assholes like him.
Ideally though, I’ll just get the fuck out of here right now and my potential gang-choice will be moot.
But.
My heart sinks as the reality sets in. Escape appears to be impossible. If the maniac-whirlwind behind me couldn’t break free, I’ve got no hope.
No hope, no hope, no hope.
My future really is going to be inside the walls of Quo Reformare.
Fuck.
My.
Life.
2. AURORA
Amazingly, I fell asleep.
Actually, I guess it’s not a surprise, considering it must be three in the morning.
But the van coming to a stop wakes me up.
I blink my eyes open to see lookout towers and a guard house, heavy gates and twenty-foot walls topped with razor wire.
End of the line, folks, and I’ll finally admit I’m fucking terrified.
The guard with the glasses gets out, and the night air rushes in. It smells awful: a mix of burning rubber, rotten eggs, and salt.
Plus it’s freezing. Now I’m full-on shivering as the wind pushes dirty ice rain through the door. Poofy gauze doesn’t exactly keep out the elements.
“Bit parky, isn’t it?” A rasping voice from behind makes me swivel around until I see those bright green eyes twinkling at me. They’re captivating, shimmering with a wild depth that calls out to me in a way I don’t understand. “But don’t worry, love. One thing they get right at Quo is the heat. Keep it cranked up until it’s hotter than my nan’s vindaloo.”
His right leg is jiggling in a frantic, rhythmic motion he doesn’t seem to notice. In fact, his entire lean body seems to be vibrating. Is that a leftover from the taser-blast?
“Don’t speak to her,” Julian pipes up, trying to find a spine. “She’s way beyond your league.”
Why the fuck he thinks he has any say in who I communicate with is beyond me. I cut a look at him, my lip curling. “Eat a dick, Julian.”
Whatever is ahead of me, it won’t involve Julian Walters playing the part of my protector.
The orange-jumpsuit guy turns his gaze toward Julian, looking at the preppy boy as if he’s the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen. He smiles widely, his teeth looking too white against the grime on his face. “Oh, I love boys who think money brings them status,” he drawls. His British accent is thick and dangerous. “They always taste like Daddy’s disappointment and Mommy’s apron strings.”
He starts to sing a weird, eerie rhyme.
“A hunting we will go, a hunting we will go. Ee, aye, addy, oh, a hunting we will go.”
Wisely, Julian shuts his mouth, sinking back into the shadows of the bench.
I turn to the failed escapee. “Why didn’t you run?” I ask him. “You had the key, why let them take you?”
The man leans forward as far as his neck chain allows, the metal links straining against the bolt. His eyes lock onto mine with an intensity that makes the air leave my lungs. “Got caught in the trap of two sparkly blue eyes, didn’t I?” He grins, and despite the grit and the blood, it’s a beautiful, terrifying thing. “My Pa warned me about blueballs. Didn’t think he’d been talking about a pretty girl’s peepers.”
