Byron directs the man to head for Laura and Christine, who tense up as the men approach.
“Very nice,” the man says, raking his gaze up and down their bodies. “How old are they?”
Byron opens his file and flips through a few pages. “Christine, on the left, is twenty-five. Laura will be twenty-eight in three weeks.”
The sponsor nods, moving on to the next group of inmates. One-by-one, Byron introduces all of them, answering the man’s questions, which mostly concern each woman’s age. He seems to perk up when he meets Hayden, who’s only twenty.
“Our youngest,” Byron confirms.
“And very promising,” Jefferson adds. “Extremely compliant.”
“She’s really pretty,” says the sponsor, eyeing Hayden’s small, but perky breasts.
Then he turns in my direction. “What about them?” he asks.
Byron effects the slimiest grin I’ve ever seen, something between a mob lawyer and circus ringleader. “I’m afraid these three are just here for show. They’re not available, for various reasons — but perhaps in the future they will be.”
Available? What the fuck is he talking about? Available for what?
Immediately, a few possibilities come to mind — none of them good.
“That sucks,” the man says, staring at me. “Who’s this?”
“That’s Quinn,” Jefferson replies. “She’s our newest resident. How have you been, dear? It’s nice to see you again.”
“Fuck you,” I spit. “I thought you were one of the good ones, you asshole. You’re a fucking liar.”
Jefferson laughs. “Forgive me, pet, but if I askedcriminalslike you if they’d like to be a slave, I wouldn’t get too many takers.”
“Can I see her file?” the sponsor asks.
“I’m sorry, but we haven’t prepared one for her since she’s-”
“Yeah, not available,” the man interjects. “I heard you. Tell me about her then.”
Byron flashes that smile again. “Really, Mr. R, let’s move on. I promise, you’ll love Hayden.”
I should be relieved that Byron’s attempting to keep this man away from me, but this “Mr. R” doesn’t budge.
“Look at her,” he says. “She’s a hellcat. You haven’t broken her yet. That’s what I want.”
“Maybe something can be arranged, but we’d have to make some calls,” Jefferson cuts in. “She’s a really special case. Off-limits.”
The man leans in close, inspecting the dark bruise on my cheek. “Looks like someone’s had a little fun with her.”
Byron checks my face, noticing the mark, I think, for the first time. “Reed!”
Oh shit.
“Have you seen this?” Byron asks, his face reddening. “Who fucking did this?”
“I don’t know,” Reed says, hustling over. “I just saw it an hour ago, and she refused to say.”
“She refused? Are you fucking joking?”
“No, sir. I was going to make her tell me later.”
Byron nods. “Oh, I see. How about you do that now? Give Mr. R a demonstration.”