He chuckles, poking my nose. “Best of luck to you, Quinn. I’ll tell your buyer to watch out.”
Yeah, keep laughing, I think to myself as he walks away, joining the others.
I turn to look at Amber, who’s tied to the post next to me. With her eyes closed and her body shaking, she gives an appearance of abject misery, but in reality it’s the opposite: she’s shedding tears of relief. The satisfaction she’s feeling right now is the purest she’s ever experienced. I haven’t seen Byron’s body, but from what I’ve heard, she used handcuffs on him in some truly unthinkable ways. Picturing it makes me flinch, which is pretty impressive considering I don’t have a cock. I remind myself that Byron deserved it.
The sun has started its descent when the last of the sponsors arrives, leaving a train of limousines parked out in front of the prison. When all the seats have been taken, Reed jogs in, climbing to the podium built into the stage and waving.
“Good evening, everyone,” he says, projecting his voice to make up for the lack of a microphone. Technically, this is all being recorded — there are hidden cameras everywhere, capturing the scene from every conceivable angle.
“My name is Reed Nolan, and it is my regret to inform you that Congressman Prescott will not be leading the auction today.”
Panicked rumblings emerge from the crowd, and several get to their feet, trying to wade their way out of the audience.
“As it turns out, he’s come down with a bad case of getting arrested for crimes that will put him in jail for the rest of his life. It’s a surprisingly rare condition among politicians, but it’s very contagious.”
Reed smiles, and then the show begins. A series of floodlights go on, and FBI agents pour through the trees. Boats waiting on the lake motor to shore, spilling soldiers and K-9 units. Barking and panicked screams explode around us, and I laugh and laugh as the assholes get tackled, tased and cuffed.
It all happens too quickly — I’d like to enjoy the scene a lot longer, but after a few minutes all of the sponsors have been rounded up and taken to an FBI truck. Half of them yell about lawyers and entrapment, their faces red with rage. It’s beautiful. I hope they’ll give me a copy of the surveillance footage.
As soon as its over, Reed, Marla and Carson, as well as several of the agents, start untying us and taking us to shelter.
“That went perfectly,” Marla says as Reed helps me dress in FBI-branded sweats. “Thank you for your help with this. Again, anything you need, we will help in any way we can.”
“Thanks,” I reply. “For now, just somewhere Reed and I can go to rest.”
“Of course. You’ll need to give a statement, but it can wait until tomorrow. If you’d like, we can arrange for a hotel room,” Marla offers.
“I can take her to my apartment if that’s alright,” notes Reed.
“No problem. We’ll make sure there’s a unit parked outside, in case they’re needed.” Marla smiles. “Go get some rest.”
—
Considering how much time Reed spent at the prison, I’m not surprised that his apartment barely looks lived-in: bare shelves in the kitchen and refrigerator, dust on nearly every surface, a musty smell in the air. There’s a home gym in his spare bedroom that looks like it gets more use than anything else here.
“Let’s order in,” he suggests, opening a window. “What would you like?”
“Pizza,” I blurt. “No, Indian food. I mean, I’d kill for both of them.”
“Good. We’re getting both,” Reed says, grinning.
We make out on his couch until the food arrives, and then we eat until I’m nearly sick. After months of bland cereal and sandwiches, every bite tastes like heaven.
When we’re finished, Reed takes me back to the couch and holds me in his arms. Although I’m used to being held by him, and it feels as good now as it did back in the dungeon at Walker, I start tearing up. It seems so surreal to be relaxing, freely, with no more worries or fears. Just being in an apartment instead of a cell block feels bizarre, though in a wonderful way.
“Quinn, I don’t know what’s going to happen next,” Reed says, rubbing my back. “I don’t want to lose you, but if you feel you need to get away from everything — including me — I would understand.”
“I don’t want to lose you either,” I reply, turning over so I can face him. “None of this would have been possible if not for you.”
“That’s nice of you to say. If not for you, I don’t know if I’d have realized the truth about Prescott, the prison or myself.”
I smile, nodding. “I think we needed each other.”
“I like that,” says Reed. “But I’m not even sure I know who I am. So much of my life has been defined by my connection to the Prescotts. I haven’t even thought about what I’ll do now for a career — assuming I don’t go to jail.”
I kiss him, feeling the comfort and peace of his embrace — and the extreme fatigue of the past few days. My eyelids get heavy, and I groan as I dig myself into the couch.
“Well, you better… get a good job. I’m going to need your help,” I say, stifling a yawn.