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I tip my head to her and walk out, wondering how in the hell I can get word to Folsom.
SIX
PHOENIX
If a female bird of paradise doesn't think the male’s dance routine is smooth enough, she walks away.
I told Jackal we had to rehearse a few hours earlier this morning just to be a brat, but when the alarm goes off, I curse myself for this idiocy. I got even less sleep than usual last night, dancing until four this morning and up at six. I drag inside the building, slogging my way down the dark hallways, and fumbling with my keys to open the door to the studio. I turn the music on and start stretching, feeling the comfort that comes when I move. I like my body to hurt, to push itself to its limits. It’s the only time I feel like I exist. The rest of the time I’m numb. It’s why I dance nonstop most days—that, and because the only way to be any good at ballet is to domoreballet.
I face the mirror as I move into Dancer Pose, lifting my leg higher and higher until it’s well over my head. I study my hair as I try to relax, the curls coming out of the knot in my hurry to get here first. It’s good that it’s not perfect, I tell myself; otherwise, it would look like I’m trying too hard. I am wearing my best leotard today. Not because I care what Jackal thinks. At all.
I see him in the mirror first. He’s ogling my ass like he’s never seen one before, which is the furthest thing from the truth.
I release my foot and lower my leg, gently stretching before moving to my Silverbook to turn down the music and switch playlists.
“Motherfucker,” I whisper when I scan the article.
“What?” I hear behind me. I jump when I hear Jackal’s voice.
“Gwen Allison.” I shake my head, reading the article as fast as I can. “Gwen Allison has escaped from prison,” I tell him absently. A few paragraphs down there is a picture of her baby, Rebel, with his guardian, Langley.
“Gwen’s escape changes nothing.This baby is in my custody and will be guarded even more carefully now.”Langley is quoted as saying.
“What?” Jackal steps closer and reads what’s in front of me. He makes little noises as he goes, curses and clicks and sighs. When he’s done, I turn around to see him rubbing his jaw thoughtfully. “She just walked out of there,” he says, incredulous.
I read the paragraph again. “Not alone. She took a hundred prisoners with her, some of them guards.”
Jackal and I exchange a glance before turning back to the article.
“They’ll be caught,” I say with finality. “How long can a hundred people evade capture?”
He shrugs. “I wouldn’t put anything past her. There are people willing to help.”
My mouth suddenly goes dry. I’d be willing to help. I have no strong feelings about the End Men. No attachment to the cause. But to be part of something...
“Well, Folsom definitely knows how to pick them…” He sounds proud.
I glance at him, confused. “You know her?”
“Met her,” he says. There’s a hint of a smile on his lips.
“What’s she like?” I can’t help myself from asking.
I’ve been following the story ever since Gwen made her first speech. I felt so sick when they arrested her after Rebel was born, that I faked a stomach bug and skipped rehearsal.
He purses his lips, enjoying the fact that I want something from him. And I wish I could take it back, stuff my damn words back in my mouth.
“Forget it,” I say.
I spin on my heels, but he grabs my hand before I can get two steps away and pulls me back. His eyes are on my lips. My reaction—or lack thereof—drags across ten seconds as I look at our hands in alarm. Our hands are clasped like two people in love, fingers intertwined. How did that even happen? Each of my fingers are spread wide to accommodate his very large, tan ones. I blush at my own thoughts and the heat that appears between my legs. I’m trying to tug away from him, but he holds on, raising his eyebrows like he can’t fathom why I’d want to pull away.
“She’s strong,” he says, and I stop struggling. “But in a very gentle way.”
I nod because I want him to go on.
“Yea high—” He holds his free hand in the air about four inches below the top of my head. Seeing his hand in front of me makes me aware that we’re still holding hands, but I don’t try to pull away.
“Folsom…” he pauses.
