“I don’t know,” says Edwin after a sip of his coffee. “Reed gave it to her pretty good, and it didn’t help. Maybe she’s just a total cunt, and nothing can change that. She wouldn’t be the first.”
I glance at the monitors and spot the bitch. Edwin is no doubt thinking of her, but also several others who don’t fit his description.
“Time will tell,” I say in a low, menacing voice.
The intercom system crackles. “Reed, can I see you a moment?” asks Byron.
“On my way,” I respond. To the guards, I say, “Break’s over.”
They nod and return to their duties, and I head to Byron’s office.
When I enter, I find Byron’s not alone: Darren Prescott’s seated across from him, a half-full whiskey tumbler in his grip. “Hi, Reed,” he says, getting up to shake my hand.
Putting on a smile, I return his shake, though my mind flashes to Quinn. I fucked the woman who destroyed his son’s life, and I enjoyed it. I look Darren in the eye by sheer force of will. “Good to see you,” I reply, taking my seat. “Did you have a nice trip here?”
“Byron’s updated me on everything,” he says, ignoring my small talk. “He tells me Ms. Harris has had a pretty rough month or so, thanks to you. They say you took her to the dungeon for a little personal attention.”
He speaks with a lilt of amusement, his eyes twinkling excitedly. Sure, he must be happy to hear about all of Quinn’s pain, but the gravity of the situation seems lost on him.
“She needed some serious punishment,” I say, trying to sound nonchalant. “There’s only so much I could do on the work floor,” I add, shrugging.
Byron chuckles. “Don’t sell yourself short, Reed. The way you’ve handled her in front of the other residents has had quite an effect. Their productivity is up, consistently meeting higher quotas. You and Quinn have improved our bottom line quite a bit.”
Prescott laughs. “It’s true. You’re doing a great job, kid. And let’s not bury the lede: I’ve seen the videos, and Ms. Harris looks miserable. She acts tough, but she’s learning how screwed she is, and it’s taken a toll. She’s even lost a few pounds since she’s gotten here.”
They usually do. We don’t feed them more than we have to.
“Thanks, Mr. Prescott,” I say. “Making Quinn suffer has been a pleasure. I look forward to continuing. Unless you’ve come to collect her?”
The congressman laughs some more, shaking his head. “No, not yet. It’s not even August. The polls may say I’m a lock, but I still have to run a campaign. So she’ll be staying in your hands for a while still. But when I win in November, she’ll be a real hit at my victory celebration. I’ll look forward to seeing all of you there.”
I’ll believe that when I see it.
I’ve known the family a long time, and have yet to warrant an invite to such an event.
“It’ll be an honor,” I say, though the thought of being present while he parades Quinn around, uses her, violates her, maybe lets his friends have their way with her… My hairs stand on end, fury swirling in my gut.
“Reed, is something wrong?” Byron asks.
Fuck.
“I’m fine.” I smile. “Just imagining that bitch’s face when she finds out she’s the entertainment.”
“Oh, by then I’m sure she’ll be used to it,” says Prescott. He turns on a TV set hooked into the security system and pulls up a video Quinn languishing in her cell. “Look at her. A month ago she was a stuck up, snotty college girl. She thought she was better than us and wasn’t even sorry for what she did to Lance. But she’s sorry now, isn’t she?”
“No, not really,” I blurt out, my anger rising. “She was defending herself, so she feels justified.”
Prescott finishes his whiskey and sets down his glass; he points at it, prompting Byron to pour a refill. “Lance would never do something like that,” Prescott says, boring down on me with an icy stare. “I raised him better than that.”
I meet his gaze, but without conviction. “It’s what she thinks,” I murmur.
Nodding, Prescott grips his drink so hard I expect it to break. “And what do you think? Are you going to trust an unrepentant fucking slut, or a friend you’ve known for half your life? A friend who kept you from being out on the street; a friend who gave you a future.”
“I trust you, sir,” I say, without hesitation. I tell myself I’m not lying, hoping to sound genuine.
“Good,” Prescott grunts. “I gave you a chance to work here because I knew you were smart, capable and loyal, most of all. I trust you with Ms. Harris because in all the years we’ve known each other, you’ve never made me question your commitment to me and my family.”
“Thank you, sir.”