Then I hear it again: fast, heavy footsteps. This is real: people are coming.
Sure enough, I hear the door to the room open, followed by a motor powering up. The box rises painfully slowly, but I don’t care. I stare out the locker’s slats, spotting two pairs of loafers pointed in my direction, waiting for me. Their pants come into view, then finally their shirts and suit jackets. Neither of them are Reed.
Shit.
When they come fully into view, my worst fears are confirmed: Jonah Jefferson and Byron Ashworth watch as the box ascends, their expressions full of malicious anticipation. Jefferson has cleaned himself up, and a dozen tiny bandages cover his face. Irritation reddens his skin around the five long scratches.
That’s going to be hard to explain back at the courthouse, I muse. What will he tell them? That he was attacked by an animal? Will they believe him? Or will they be too scared to question his story?
Maybe someday I’ll tell them I did it, and why.
Byron opens the door to the safe, letting in a flood of cold air that starts me shivering uncontrollably. His eyes widen when he sees me, no doubt enjoying my plight. Jefferson just sneers.
“Why are you smiling?” the judge asks.
“Because now you’re as ugly on the outside as you are on the inside.”
He balls a fist, but Byron grabs his arm and holds him back.
“Cool it, Jonah. Let’s not get off on the wrong foot, all right? Quinn, have you enjoyed your time in the locker?”
“You b-bet,” I say, my teeth chattering from the cold.
Byron grins. “If it was up to Jonah, he’d keep you in here for a week. I’ve convinced him to show some mercy, and offer you a chance to earn a reprieve.”
“What d-does that mean?”
“First you’ll apologize, obviously,” Byron explains. “That’ll be the easy part.”
“Not a f-fucking chance I’ll ever-”
“Second,” he practically shouts. “You’ll make Jonah a peace offering. You’ll serve him obediently for the next week, doing anything he asks. If you can agree to that, you can come out of the locker.”
He must be out of his mind. Does he really think that would be better than being in the locker? I’ve been lucky not to suffer much from claustrophobia; I can handle being bound and confined. Byron knows this by now, so I have to wonder if this offer was Jefferson’s idea, and Byron’s just acting as his representative.
For a minute I stare down at my feet, pretending to consider the deal. I’m reminded of my socks and sneakers, and silently thank Reed for them.
“I’m going to p-pass,” I say at last. Turning to Jefferson, I add, “I’ll never submit to you. Ever.”
He snorts, nudging Byron out of the way and reaching into his pocket. “That hurts, Ms. Harris. You gave it up to Reed easily enough. Do you think I’m so different than him?”
I want to laugh in his face, but I stay silent, not wanting to give away our feelings for each other. “He’s a bastard, just like the rest of you.”
Jefferson retrieves a black ball gag from his pocket — an especially large one, with several sets of heavy-duty leather harness straps. He steps in close and shoves the ball into my mouth, then reaches around me to fasten the harness in place, tightening it until he can’t physically pull any harder.
“That’s good to hear,” he says. “We’ve been grooming him his entire adult life. In many ways, Darren has made Reed into the son Lance could never be. Reed could be just as sadistic and vicious as Lance, only he’s capable, clever and responsible too. Most importantly, Reed is loyal. He does what we ask of him. Any mercy you think he’s shown you? It’s nonsense. We’ve given him free reign to deal with Walker residents as he chooses, but if we tell him to hurt you, that’s what he’ll do. He’s not your savior.”
That’s not true, I tell myself.Reed cares for me.
But I do have to admit, he’s known Byron, Prescott and Jefferson a lot longer than I’ve known him. What if they’re right? Isn’t it possible Reed is playing me?
Stop it, Quinn. They’re just trying to rattle you.
“You don’t believe me?” Jefferson asks, stepping back to admire his handiwork. I press my tongue against the gag, but I can’t get it to budge at all. Drool drips from my lips so much I can hear my breath whistling past it.
“That’s fine, Quinn,” says Byron. “We’ll prove it to you. We’re going to task Reed with doing some truly nasty shit to you, and you’ll see the results for yourself.”
His words play in my mind as Jefferson shuts the locker door, leaving me frozen in the dark with nothing but my pain and fear for company.