Between his icy stare and biting tone, I don’t doubt him.
Chapter 6
Keeping a smile from my face takes effort. Quinn’s fun to watch, though I don’t know why. I refuse to let myself forget what she did to Lance, but I have to admit she’s not what I expected. The way she stood up to the other prisoners when they refused to help her didn’t surprise me — but her willingness to take the punishment for them, that caught me off-guard. How can an unrepentant killer also be selfless?
She can’t be. There’s another explanation, I’m just not seeing it yet. She could be posturing, playing the hero so others will feel bad for her, so they’ll revere her for trying to help. But to what end? What does she think they can do for her? She hasn’t been at Walker long enough to know the prisoners are utterly powerless, but she’ll get it soon. Give it a few days.
Or a few hours, I think as Quinn rips a shirt out of the machine and hurls it away.
“What are you doing?”
She lowers her head so she can brush a tear from her cheek. “I messed it up,” she says, voice hitching. “I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, no shit.” I hop out of my seat and pick up the discarded shirt. “You’re crying over this? Please. You’re not fooling anyone.”
Anguish drains from her face and she smiles, and for a second I think she’s throwing off the mask — but then she shakes her head in disbelief and lets her tears break free. “It’s not about the fucking shirt, you asshole.”
“It’s not?” I ask, forcing a grin. I shouldn’t have to pretend to enjoy her suffering, to relish her tears — the joy should spring forth naturally. It doesn’t feel right, though. That’s not to say it feels wrong… does it? I’m actually not so sure.
No, this is what she deserves, I remind myself.You think she’s cried for a second over what she did to Lance?
“Tell me, then. What’s it about?” If she’s putting on a show, she’s going to have to put some effort into it — I know how easily women turn on the waterworks. That’s not going to impress me.
“Seriously? Fuck you,” she spits.
Oh, here we go.
“Fuck me? That can be arranged. Would you rather get on your knees? Maybe you’re better at that than you are sewing.”
She doesn’t have to know I’m bluffing. Right now I wouldn’t let her near my cock, I don’t care how cute she is. She looks like she’d have half a mind to bite it off.
“You’re such a piece of shit, you know that?”
“At least I’ve never killed anyone.”
Quinn seethes, hands balled in tight fists; if not for her restraints, I have no doubt she’d take a swing. She’s a foot shorter than me and a hundred pounds lighter, but she’d still throw down. She’s ballsy. Maybe putting Lance in a coma gave her a taste for blood.
“That’s not what happened,” she mutters.
“Really? Lance Prescott isn’t in a hospital bed right now, just waiting for someone to pull the plug?”
She shakes her head and squeezes tears from her eyes. “It was an accident. It wasn’t my fault.”
“It never is, is it? The residents getting punished today wasn’t your fault either, huh?”
“I’m not the one who beat them,” Quinn counters. “You did.”
“That could have been avoided if you’d helped them,” I snap, pointing my finger in her face. “Are you seeing a pattern? Other people suffer because of you, Quinn, and you don’t seem to care.”
She sighs, resting her face in her open palms. “I do, Reed. That’s why I was crying before,” she explains, her voice steady and calm now. “They were fucked no matter what they did, all because you and Byron are fucking monsters. I was crying because I’m scared we’re all stuck with you, and we’re going to suffer until we die — because of you.”
Don’t listen to her. We’re not monsters — they are. They’re the ones who kill, who destroy the lives of good people.
“And Lance didn’t suffer, by the way,” she concludes. “There wasn’t enough time.”
My eye twitches and I have to turn around. “You don’t know that.”
“You don’t either. Have you even visited him in the hospital?”