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“You’ll be in here for a while,” she says. “A few years, probably. I talked to some people and we decided that we want you in.” I wait for her to go on, but when she doesn’t, I frown.
“Into what? Hell? I’m already there.”
“Helping us,” Lulu says fiercely. Nothing on her face implies that anything I said was funny.. “With Ronnie’s … special interest.”
“Special interest? You mean, like bringing in drugs for the women?”
“Keep your fucking voice down.” Lulu glances over her shoulder, but no one busts down my cell door to have a throw-down over it. I fold my arms over my chest, smiling, looking Lulu straight in the eye.
“Thanks, but no thanks. I’m not interested.” I turn away, just for the effect, and grab my book to imply that the conversation is over, but Lulu doesn’t leave.
“That’s not how things work here.” Her tone is vicious, snarling, but she says it just quietly enough that the threat is implied. “When the Boss tells you to do something, you fucking do it. Besides,” her tone gets quieter and she smiles that ugly smile. “There’s money in it for you. Or drugs. Whichever you prefer.”
I sigh and shake my head, putting the book down again. Then, I approach her, slowly, until we’re less than a foot apart. Lulu doesn’t back away, so I lean in and put my lips next to her ear.
“Fuck the Boss, and fuck you.”
Lulu’s jaw tightens, and I’m sure she’s about to sucker punch me. As she pulls in a deep breath like she is about to respond, my cell door swings open and Lace comes in, stopping short behind Lulu. The smile falls from her face as her eyes flash back and forth between us.
“Is everything okay here?” she backs toward the door, ready to shout for help if needed.
“Everything is peachy,” I say, my eyes still locked with Lulu’s. “She just came to express her concern about my long sentence.”
Nobody believes this, of course, but Lulu doesn’t say a word and Lace looks too afraid to say anything at all. After a few more moments of tense silence, Lulu’s eyes drop to the floor and she turns away, muttering something under her breath as she stalks out, slamming the door behind her.
Lace turns back to me, her blue eyes wide and questioning.
“What was that all about?” She crosses the few feet between us and takes my hands, forcing me to meet her gaze. I swallow and shrug, trying to pretend that I haven’t been holding my breath for the last five minutes.
“Nothing you have to worry about,” I say, drawing her into me. Her lips meet mine and she hesitates. I know she wants to know the truth.
“Joey—”
Instead of answering, I slip my tongue between her lips and draw her hips to mine, one hand caressing her ass and the other tangled in her hair. Lace moans, and the day’s anxieties melt away as I push her down on the bed, trailing my lips down her bare skin, wondering somewhere in the depth of my mind how soon it will be until I face Veronica.
And what will happen when I do.
Chapter Ten
Warden Flynn’soffice is ugly. Not ugly in the traditionally ugly way, of course, but ugly in a way that makes me inwardly cringe when I look around.
The space is immaculate; not a pen is out of place. The warden’s window looks out over the exercise yard, and now I know how she knows everything about everyone. The desktop and windowsill are dust free, freshly polished, as though someone comes in every night just to polish her furniture. There’s not a single crumb on the floor, but a mini fridge stands behind the desk, locked by a padlock. She must worry that one of us crazies will break in and steal her diet soda.
“So,” Warden Flynn says after I sit down. She takes a seat behind her enormous mahogany desk and folds her hands on top of the table, looking at me. “How are you fitting in, Ms. Taylor?”
“Oh, well, you know. This is the dream. It’s a five-star luxury resort here at Ashgate.” I shrug and slide down into the steel chair. “Room service could be better, though. Do I make that complaint here, or to Mr. Jaxon?”
A heavy silence settles between us. Warden Flynn looks away, but I swear to God I see a tiny smirk flash across her lips. Then she looks back at me.
“You’re very clever,” she notes.
“My parents didn’t think so. Neither did school.”
“Ah, well, who needs school?” The warden asks. “Some of the most brilliant people in the world failed in school.”
“You’re right. I’m probably a hidden genius disguised only by an alcoholic mother and abusive father.”
This time, she doesn’t smile. A tense silence settles over the room, and I try to pretend like I’m not feeling smothered from the inside out.
