Images flash in my mind of what she’s describing, and how, at this moment, Will could be sitting in that place. My head falls.
“They’ve burned their bridges and decided not to be part of a family,” Banks goes on, “so now they’ll learn their place in the natural order.”
The natural order. Tough love on crack. They have their needs provided for. Food, shelter, medical attention, if needed… But otherwise, they’re completely alone and…at each other’s mercy.
“They will have resorted to base instinct,” Banks tells us. “Their lives are about survival now. The rest of the world does not exist anymore. They’re a system of their own with rules and laws…” She pauses. “And consequences.”
She might know more about Blackchurch since G
abriel considered sending Damon, or she might just know what happens to dogs in cages. Either way, I know everything she says is true.
“They’re hoarding food,” she says, “each one of them fighting for their share. They’re forming alliances to protect each other, and they will have made weapons with whatever’s laying around.”
My chest constricts.
“There will be an alpha,” she continues, “and Will…will not be it.”
None of us speak as, I’m sure, everyone’s mind is going to the same place as mine. Imagining Will and what he’s possibly living through right now. Those men are not his friends. Will isn’t strong by himself.
He isn’t Michael. He isn’t Kai.
“I’m going to be sick,” Winter chokes out, tears filling her eyes as she rises from her seat.
Damon gets up, takes her hand, and they both leave the room.
The door closes again.
“How did we let this go for so long?” Kai breathes out.
“We fucked up,” Misha says, his eyes now more worried than ever.
But Ryen chimes in. “Will’s okay.”
Alex looks over at her, a tear falling down her face. “How do you know that?”
“Because he has an advantage over those other prisoners,” she tells us. “He’s been in prison already. He’s done this before.”
I tuck my lips between my teeth and close my eyes, trying to calm myself. She’s right. I swallow and try to unknot my fucking stomach. If Will is there, he’s alive.
“Jack Munro,” Michael says, looking at Alex. “You make contact, and we want to hear from you as soon as it’s over.” And then he repeats, “As soon as it’s over.”
She nods.
“Let’s take a break, then,” he tells us.
The room suddenly feels too tight, and I push my chair back as everyone rises from theirs. I need some air.
The food on the table sits uneaten as everyone drifts out the door to stretch their legs. I turn to leave, but someone grabs my hand, stopping me.
I look up at Michael, both of us silent as the room slowly empties.
“Say my name,” he whispers.
The vein in my neck throbs.
“Michael,” I say.
“That’s not how you say it.” He inches closer, taking my face in his hand. “How you’ve always said it.”