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“We’re meant to be in prison,” I point out, my voice trembling because of my anger, the weakness only serving to piss me off even more.
“I don’t see you escaping any time soon. You’re not that good a swimmer.”
Her dismissive, flippant tone makes me see red. Growling, I round the desk and advance on her, my hands outstretched ready to throttle her.
“Ah, ah, ah, I wouldn’t touch me if I were you,” she says sweetly, scooting her wheeled chair back a little from me. She holds up her hand and it takes me a moment to see what she’s holding. A small black device, about half the size of a regular car fob. Her thumb is resting on the single button and her expression is far too full of glee. “Or, maybe you’re a glutton for punishment. Go ahead, put your hands on me, we’ll see if your heart can survive another round with the shock chip. Only this time, I won’t go easy on you.”
I grind my teeth together and drag air in through my flared nostrils. I want to kill this woman more than any other cunt that’s fucked with me in my past – and that’s saying something. “I am not your puppet.”
“You’re right.” Her immediate acquiescence takes me back, my brow creasing, but then her smile turns serpentine as she adds, “You’re the facility’s puppet. Their property. I’m just unlucky enough to be in charge of you reprobates. You belong to the asylum now until you die. So you best make peace with that.”
“Never,” I spit. “I’ll never roll over and take what you’re saying as gospel. I’ll fight. And Iwillwin. And when I have this chip out of me, you’ll be the first one I come for.”
“I look forward to seeing you try,” she says with a laugh that almost snaps my control. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have actual work to do rather than dealing with your temper tantrums.”
Snap.
I’ve launched the glass paperweight on her desk at the wall before I even realise what’s happening. It smashes upon impact and shards of glass rain down all over her plush beige carpet. I hope the slivers get embedded in her skin when she has to clean it up.
Satan gasps, outraged. “Miss King—”
“Yousent me on a mission without any information or instructions.Youturned me into a french fry andyoulet six known psychopaths torture me for hours,” I seethe.
“What’s your point?” Her tone is laced with exasperation now, but she sounds wary too. Good. She should be.
“I passed your tests. I’m still alive.”
“What do you expect, Miss Kingfisher, a medal?”
“A reward,” I reply without hesitation, ignoring the way she shakes her head in disbelief at my gall.
“Really? And what would you like? Let me guess…your freedom? The chip removed? That’s not—”
“I want a way to communicate with Hatchet,” I demand, cutting her off.
She gapes at me.
“What?”
“You heard me. I want to be able to communicate with Hatchet. I think we should have phones.”
“Phones? In prison?” she snorts.
“This isn’t a normal prison though, is it?”
“No, but—”
“You want us to work as a team. Complete these so-called missions which are basically just kill orders for people who have wronged whoever’s in charge.”
“What’s your point?”
“My point is that you need a harmonious team. You have some of the best killers in the world within your walls, but something isn’t working.” I pause to see what she thinks, but her expression is unreadable.
“Go on,” she prompts with a raised brow. I think she’s mocking me, or humouring me at the very least. But if what she says is true and she’s just a glorified babysitter, I’ll wager that whoever’s really in charge is listening in. So my next words are for them, nother.
“I think that’s why I was brought here. Whytheywanted me.” I stress the ‘they’ because she’s made it perfectly clear she doesn’t want me here, doesn’t agree with the powers that be who chose me. “The better we all get on, the more effective we can be as a killing team. I can do that. I can bring everyone together. Make us unstoppable. And I want security clearance too. To use the lift, the roof garden, go outside without a chaperone. All of it. I want access to books.”
“You really think a lot of yourself, don’t you?” She scoffs.
