He turns around. “Yet, of all the awful things I could do to you, I’ve kept coming back to one possibility as my favorite, even though you’ll probably laugh.”
“What’s that?” I ask.
“We’re going to talk!” His face lights up as he takes out some kind of wand-like object from the drawer, then shuts it. “Although if you prefer, I can just have some fun with this,” he says, holding up the device. Long and red, it extends outward nearly a foot before ending in two short prongs. Jefferson presses a button on the handle, causing a spark to sizzle out its ends. “Cattle prod. Very unpleasant, even for a masochist.”
I want to tell him to do his worst, but a burning smell hangs in the air, and I can’t work up the will to invite such torment. Besides, I want him to think I’m scared.
“What do you want to talk about?” I grumble, not taking my eyes off the prod.
The man sits down next to me, looking at my breasts.
“Making my mark,” he says. “I want to leave you with something permanent. Reed has already deflowered you, and I doubt I’ll break you with just physical pain, so I asked myself, what would really get you down? What would deprive you of all your resilience and courage? And it occurred to me that you probably don’t know where this is all going, and that I can be the one to finally tell you what’s going to happen to you in the end.”
He pauses, waiting for me to react, but I don’t. Is he really so confident his bad news will be worse than what I’ve already envisioned?
Jefferson brushes my thigh, which has now fully dried. “Do you know why we had to tell Mr. R. that you weren’t available?”
“No.” If I could squeeze my legs together and break his finger, I would. However, I want to hear this. If Jefferson wanting to talk means I finally get some answers, I’ll let him talk.
“I told Byron he should keep you hidden away somewhere so Mr. R. wouldn’t see you. I thought, correctly, that he’d be interested in a pretty, feisty little thing like you. Kneeing him in the balls actually did us a real favor — you convinced him in a way Byron and I couldn’t.”
“You’re welcome,” I grumble.
Jefferson laughs, brushing my hair out of my face. “Sometimes the best solutions are the ones that would never occur to you, aren’t they? It’s good to keep that in mind.”
Oh, I will, you piece of shit.
His hand is close enough for me to go for a bite, but… it’s still too risky.
“I wonder if Mr. R. is really up to the task of besting a Walker woman,” he muses. “Our sponsors love the idea of taming a man-killer: an immoral woman they can punish without a guilty conscience. But more importantly, they want an animal — a dangerous creature who will fight back, like a pet tiger. Even if they can’t tame you, they can cage you. They can teach you who has the real power. Trust me, it makes a man feel a form of power unlike any other. Who wouldn’t want the thrill of controlling a force of nature? Terrifying, powerful and beautiful — yours to command.”
Unable to stop myself, I steal a glance at Jefferson’s pants, confirming my suspicion — he’s made himself hard. I shudder, trying to fight back my nausea.
“Mr. R., he’s bold, but I doubt he could handle you, Quinn. Thankfully, he seems wise enough not to push his luck. He likes to run his mouth about only settling for the best, but at the end of the day, he’ll be quite happy with Hayden. As he should be; she’s a real treat.”
“He’s going to fuck her,” I say. I haven’t wanted to say it out loud, but there’s no point in denying it.
Jefferson sticks the tip of the prod against my breast and clicks the trigger, sending a searing jolt through me. I yelp, more from shock and anger than pain.
“Did I ask you to talk, Ms. Harris?”
Sneering, I shake my head.
Oh, you’re going to regret that, motherfucker.
“Yes, he’s going to fuck her. But Mr. R. isn’t just a customer. He didn’t come all this way for some tail. He could get that anywhere. Sponsors don’t just want a taste, Quinn. They’re here to buy.”
For the first time today, I start to consider the possibility the judge was right: talking might actually hurt me more than anything else.
“What did you think happens to the residents here? They serve their sentences and go back to their lives?”
My face burns as tears wet my cheeks. A churning mass in my stomach threatens to come up.
“Tomorrow, when you get back to work — assuming you’re well enough — Hayden won’t be there. She’ll be hundreds of miles away, getting used to her new home: a cage in Mr. R.’s basement, most likely. If she’s lucky, she’ll have a cell or even a little room to herself. What he does with her is up to him.”
Fucking hell.
“And since Mr. R. is a charitable man, he’ll make a hefty donation to the Walker Center, ensuring the continuance of the program for years to come.”