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“You’ll stay compliant?”
“Yes.”
“For how long?”
“As long as I need to.”
“That’s not very reassuring, Mr. Greene.”
She looks at me a few more seconds. Then, “Take off the right one.”
“Nurse…”
“One restraint. If he stays stable, we take off the other.”
Murphy looks at me. Then he unlocks my right wrist. I bring my arm down slow and rub the skin. No claws. Five minutes later the left one comes off, I sit up, and all three of them take a step back.
“You’ll stay in isolation pending a behavioral review,” the nurse says, checking the dart holes.
“When?”
“I don’t know.”
“Find out. I want my attorney.”
“Legal access depends on your classification after the…”
I look at Murphy. “Call Cillian Quinn.”
The nurse packs her bag. “Mr. Greene, antagonizing the people who decide whether you’re stable is generally a poor strategy.”
“I’ve been nice.”
Murphy can’t hold back a laugh. I look at him. He shuts up.
The door locks behind them. I’m alone, and I fucking hate it right away. Not because I’m alone. I’ve spent most of my life liking my own company. But because she’s not here, and now I know what that feels like.
Control. That’s the game now. Not because these pricks told me to behave. Because I want something.
And I’ve always been real fucking good at getting what I want.
* * *
It’s a long time before the slot opens again. Long enough for the drugs to wear off. Long enough for my ribs to settle into something mean. Long enough for the wolf to test me about fifty times.
He loses fifty times.
“Greene. Your attorney’s been notified.”
“When’s he coming?”
“Didn’t say.”
Of course he didn’t, asshole. “Tell him I’m stable.”
The guard looks around the cell. Nothing broken. No blood. No wolf. Just me, sitting on the bunk with my hands on my knees. He nods and shuts the slot.
Cillian will get the message. I’ve known that polished bastard fifteen years. He’ll know I’m behaving because I need access, and he’ll know exactly what I want access to.
