And lining Prescott’s wallet, no doubt.I almost open my mouth to say it, but Jefferson points the prod in my direction.
“Mr. R will even get a write-off on his taxes, thanks to the program’s non-profit status. Isn’t that nice? It’s a great system. The only downside is, sometimes the resident you want most is too expensive or isn’t for sale. Like you, Quinn. You’re spoken for.”
Oh no.
Jefferson sets the prod down on his lap, grinning gleefully. “Ask me by who.”
I don’t need to ask. I already know.
“I said, ask me.”
He brings back the prod. It’s inches away from my nipple when I obey.
“Who?”
“Congressman Darren Prescott.”
Yeah.
I should stand up, give him a show of defiance and strength, but the room begins to spin. Retching, I lean over the bed instinctively, but nothing comes out.
“That’s the response I expected,” Jefferson says, rubbing my back. “That was so much more satisfying than some screaming or crying. Those are such easy reactions to provoke. Inspiring disgust so viscerally… It’s too bad Darren couldn’t see it.”
I heave again, wishing my hands were free so I could brace myself. Jefferson grabs my shoulders, keeping me from keeling over, but when I’m done, he doesn’t let go. Instead, he pushes me down to the bed, pinning my face against the coarse blanket.
“I wasn’t lying when I said your sentence would be no more than a year. Darren’s going to take you once the election’s over and he has the time. So if you hate being here, don’t worry — it’s only going to be a few more months.”
He lets go, reaching underneath me. With one good pull, he flips me over, onto my bound arms and my back. I don’t fight him.
“Now, I’ve been talking this whole time,” he says. “Tell me what you’re thinking, Quinn.”
I’d rather he just whip me. Even the cattle prod would be better than having to talk to this ghoul.
“Come on. I know there’s some threat you want to make. Whatever you like.”
Swallowing down more queasiness, I ask, “Do sponsors ever let their slaves go?”
Jefferson shakes his head. “You mean, do they ever go free? No. If a sponsor gets tired of a girl, he sells her to someone else. There’s plenty of buyers abroad who don’t mind a slave with some mileage.”
My sob comes out choked, my body lurching.
Reaching into his pocket, Jefferson takes out a set of handcuff keys. He leans over and pops the cuffs on my ankles, allowing him to spread my legs. “Oh, don’t be stupid,” he says. “Darren’s keeping you, Quinn. You’ll always be the bitch who killed his son. He’s not going to forgive you, and he’s not going to get tired of torturing you. Even if he did, he owes it to Lance never to give you a moment’s peace.”
Every word tears through my heart. I wish I could make myself believe he’s lying, that he’s exaggerating to scare me. Crying, I feel like I’m drowning, tossed by a storm into the sea.
I barely feel it when Jefferson lifts my back to pull out my arms. He unlocks the cuffs around my wrists, sets me back down and spreads my legs wider.
“Try to relax, Quinn,” he whispers in my ear. “This will all be so much easier if you don’t fight.”
“Yeah,” I murmur, closing my eyes. My stomach wants to rise up my throat, and I’m close to letting it.
Jefferson stretches my arms out over my head, pressing them hard into the bed. “By now you should have learned to do as your told, or suffer the consequences — today that changes.”
“Yes,” I whisper, a tear trailing down the side of my face.
“No fighting, Ms. Harris. It won’t be worth it.”
He waits for me to react, to show any sign of lingering defiance, then lets go. With my eyes shut, I don’t see it, but I hear the zipper of his pants and the rustle of pants sinking down his legs. An unbidden mental image springs into mind: the judge’s unclothed body, all pale and wrinkly, liver-spotted and spider-veined, his corruption made manifest in the flesh. The real thing stands a foot away, and couldn’t possibly be any more grotesque than what I’ve pictured, so I open my eyes again.