Interrupted, we both turn to see Byron hustling to the center of the workshop, tapping the prisoners’ shoulders as he goes.
“Today could be someone’s lucky day,” he says, beaming. “We have a sponsor coming to visit. Guards, take them to shower.”
Nervous whispers break out as Reed unlocks me from my workstation and binds my hands behind my back.
“What’s going on?” I ask when he’s finished. “What does that mean, a sponsor?”
“It means be quiet and keep your head down. You do that, you’ve got nothing to worry about.”
Considering the expressions on the prisoners’ faces, I doubt the same applies to them. “Reed, what’s a sponsor?”
“I mean it, be quiet, Quinn,” he says, nudging me to get in line.
As soon as the rest of the girls are ready to move, Reed and the guards lead us to the shower. Once the doors are locked they free us so we can get undressed.
“Quinn, over here,” Byron calls out. I turn to look at Reed, so Byron shouts, “Now!”
“Go,” Reed whispers.
I do as I’m told, moving to the spot Byron wants. Though I expect the usual hosing — something I can’t believe I’ve gotten used to — he instead locks my wrists into the manacles hanging from the ceiling. After a minute, I spot Amber and Jacqueline heading in my direction; I wrench against my chains instinctively, but they simply take positions next to me and raise their arms, waiting to be locked up too.
“Hey, Quinn.”
“Hey, bitch.”
Jacqueline snickers, shaking her head. “You didn’t snitch to Reed about yesterday, did you?”
“No,” I snap. “But I still could, so don’t fucking tempt me.”
She laughs again. “Fair enough.”
Whatever the fuck is going on right now, I don’t need her shit. I’m trying to process a million things a second. Why did Byron make me take this specific spot, and why are Amber and Jacqueline here with me? If the other prisoners are so alarmed, was Reed lying to me when he said not to worry — and if not, why?
“Either of you want to tell me what’s going on?”
“Oh, you’ll see,” says Jacqueline.
Amber stares at the ground.
I close my eyes, focusing on listening, hoping a clue can reach my ears.
“Maybe he’ll be nice.”
“That would scare me more than if he’s not.”
I turn to Laura and Christine. They’ve both refused to speak to me, but I’ve gathered that they’re both relatively new, having been here less than a year. Yet, they sound like they know what’s going on, so it can’t be that rare of an occurrence.
We stand there for what feels like a really long time, so in reality it’s probably only about a half hour. Reed and the guards take positions around the shower so none of the women are more than a few feet away from one of them. Then the doors open.
Women hush and straighten their postures as Byron walks in with two more men. My heart nearly stops when I recognize the first: Judge Jefferson, the man who tried to convince me to come here, back before Congressman Prescott showed up in that interrogation room.
What the fuck!
He was in on the whole thing! He called it a “pilot program” — some kind of alternative to prison. If not for Prescott stepping in, I might have taken Jefferson’s offer voluntarily. What a piece of shit! I swear, I am going to kill that motherfucker.
The second visitor, I’ve not seen before — he must be the “sponsor.” Wearing a nice, custom gray suit, he looks to be in his mid-forties — I don’t see any gold watch on his wrists, but his stylish glasses frames look expensive. Something Jefferson says makes him laugh, and he claps the judge’s back like they’re old friends.
“Here they are,” Byron says. He has a thick manila folder in hand and uses it to wave across the room. “Every single one beautiful, trained and obedient. You’ll see, Walker women don’t disappoint.”