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“A tip off,” murmurs Camilla from the other side of me. “They do these cell tosses if they think they know where drugs are hidden.”
Something painful rises in the pit of my stomach, growing like an unstoppable mass. I sneak a glance at Ronnie, but she’s no longer looking at me. Her eyes are on Jaxon, who is in the middle of checking her mattress for hideaways. I look at Lace, whose eyes are cast to the floor, silent. After a few moments, Jaxon and Mia come out of our cells, empty-handed. Mia looks pissed as she glances at Jaxon.
“Nothing,” she says. He doesn’t say anything, but we all know that he didn’t find anything, either.
“As you were, ladies,” Jaxon says, nodding at us. At that moment, an animal-like shriek echoes down the hallway, bouncing off the cold brick. We all turn just in time to see the asshole screw Jake Evans dragging Lulu down the hallway, trying to restrain her.
“It’s not mine!” she screams, eyes wild. “It’s not mine, I swear!”
Behind Evans, Warden Flynn steps into view. Both hands are placed behind her back, and the smirk on her face is clear. She got what she wanted.
“Mr. Jaxon, your assistance, please,” she says, and Jaxon steps forward to help Evans restrain her. Everyone is silent as Lulu’s screams get fainter and fainter. We all stand there and stare at Warden Flynn, who is standing in the doorway of our unit, still smirking.
“Good day, ladies,” she says finally, and then she’s gone.
The rest of us seem to let out a collective breath of air.
“Where are they taking her?” I ask the room. Ronnie ignores me and walks away. Even Lace is quiet.
“Isolation,” Camilla says. “Downstairs. It’s punishment.”
“How long will she be there?”
“Until the warden decides otherwise,” adds Sabine. She reaches out and squeezes my arm. Her smile is sad. She doesn’t say anything more.
I take Lace’s hand in mine and we go to my cell, which has been completely and utterly ransacked. Blankets and sheets lay in a tangle on the floor; the photo of Julie and me that had been hanging on the wall has been ripped off, and it’s lying still in the dry sink. Many of my books have been torn from the shelves, and they lay open on the cold floor. Just seeing them there makes a lump rise in my throat.
“I guess they felt this was really necessary,” I mutter, tacking up the faded photo first. Then I reach for the books, shut them, and put them back on the shelf. Lace helps me, but she’s not saying much as she closes the last book and places is gently back on my shelf. Together, the two of us wrestle the twin mattress back onto my bed and pick up the blankets off the floor.
“I’m sorry you had to see that,” says Lace finally, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. I shrug and toss the pillow back to the head of the bed.
“I get the feeling that this happens frequently.”
“Yeah,” Lace says. “It’s always hard to watch, but they’re just doing their jobs.”
“Sure,” I agree. “If their jobs are to make our lives a living hell. Even more than they already are, anyway.”
Lace cracks a smile and stands up, drawing me into her. The warmth of her body is welcoming, and I feel a heavy sense of relief fold over us. Without her here, I don’t know how I would survive.
“Who do you think tipped them off?” I ask, reaching one hand up to twirl a strand of blonde hair that has escaped from her braid. She shrugs, leaning in. Her lips brush mine, teasing, and I kiss her hungrily. After a moment we both come up for air, but I can’t let her go. I won’t.
“Who cares?” She slips a hand under my sweatshirt and finds my breasts, her fingers kneading the sensitive nipples. I bite my lip to keep from whimpering and bring her closer, until our bodies nearly become one.
“Ronnie does, I’m sure,” I gasp as Lace’s hand moves from my nipples and down my abdomen, her fingers lightly teasing the skin of my midsection. I moan and close my eyes, clutching her to me, but she keeps going.
“Fuck Ronnie,” Lace says quietly. “Fuck them all. Lulu got what she deserved, in my opinion.” She pulls my bottom lip between her teeth, biting hard, but it only makes me crazier for her.
“Fuck them,” I whisper. “But I’d rather fuck you.”
Chapter Twelve
Multiple units worklaundry the next night. Lace and I are there, and so are Camilla and Ronnie, along with some of the women in B-Block, including Bull and Deadeye. Lulu is still gone. For all we know, it could be days, even weeks, before the warden releases her from confinement for hiding drugs in her cell.
Ronnie works the steam press, and Lace and I fold while some of the others transfer the laundry back and forth. It’s not a bad job, really. Better than cleaning the bathrooms, in my opinion. Nobody talks much; word of the bust hangs like frigid ice in the air. Nobody wants to say anything, because nobody wants to piss off Ronnie.
Twenty minutes before shift is over, I look up just in time to see Ronnie nod toward the door. One of the women in B-Block, Tris Callahan, catches Ronnie’s eye and nods back. I don’t know Tris, but Lace and Camilla have told me things. Apparently, despite her tiny stature and muted silence, Tris can shank a person quicker than the blink of an eye. She’s deadly. Silent, slithering, and deadly. When Lulu doesn’t have Bull trailing her around the prison, it’s Tris I see the most often.
My gaze follows Tris, who looks away and nods at someone else; another prisoner, probably from C-Block. I don’t recognize her. The prisoner nods back, sets the bag of clean laundry down on the table, and puts her hands over her abdomen, wincing.
