But what about Corbin?
“If you think you can’t escape, why do you obey them?” I ask. “Why not fight back?”
“Not all of us enjoy getting whipped, Quinn,” she replies as the door shuts behind her.
The dungeon’s hardwood floor shines, spotless. She did a good job — I hope she doesn’t get punished for taking too long.
Once she’s gone, I shut my eyes and try to rest, but there’s too much noise in my mind. Reed, Byron, Prescott — Jacqueline and Amber. Their words and actions play on repeat until all I want to do is bang my head against the wall. My arms hurt from being shackled for so long, and my stomach is starting to rumble.
Reed returns after a while, his shoulders slumped and face grim. He takes weary steps toward me while I shake off my drowsiness. I’m not sure what to say to him. I feel like apologizing, but I’m not sorry.
He takes a cloth out of his pocket and spits in it, then uses it to clean Corbin’s blood from my skin.
“Thanks,” I say.
He doesn’t respond, he doesn’t even make eye contact. Without a word, he releases me from the shackles along the wall and cuffs my hands behind my back. He could be mad at me or just exhausted. I can’t tell.
“Reed,” I whisper as he walks me back to my cell. “What’s going on?”
“When I know, I’ll tell you,” he replies.
When we reach the cell block, all the women are there, locked up, but none speak. He releases me from my cuffs once I’m in my cell. The second he’s gone, a dozen conversations begin, everyone speaking at once. I can’t make any sense of it and don’t try, opting to lie down. Feeling more comfortable than I have in hours, I start to doze off when a whistle cuts through the cacophony.
“Hey! Shut the fuck up!” Jacqueline hollers.
Across the hall, I see she’s leaning against her cell’s door. Pressing her face against the bars, squeezing her lips through, she stares at me. “We’ve been on lockdown for hours. They won’t tell us why,” she says, once there’s quiet. “I have a feeling it’s because of you.”
I give Amber a glance; she nods.
“Corbin’s dead. I killed him,” I say. “He was going to violate me, so I killed him. I hope you all don’t get punished, again, because of me. I mean that. But I’m not sorry. I hope you can understand.”
I expect Jacqueline to curse me out, make some threats or at least give me her psycho bitch glare, but she just sits back down. Her eyes dart back and forth in shock and calculation. I’d love to know what she thinks this means for us all.
“Did you have to?” she asks.
“No,” I admit. “I wanted to. He deserved it.”
Getting up, I march to the bars of my cell and lean out. “I saw my chance and I took it!” I shout, feeling a fire in me. “I chose to fight, and so should you. If we stick together, maybe we’ll get out of this place alive.”
Chapter 21
There’s not much of a crowd at Scott’s Tavern, which became Lance’s new favorite bar after getting us banned from Champs & Tramps. It’s still a bit early, so I find a seat at the bar easily. Tending to a pair of younger guys is a well-endowed brunette with a warm smile and a low-cut tank top. I haven’t seen her here before. She chews gum with her mouth open and pours shots with sloppy aim.
I try not to stare, but all I can think about is how much easier life would be if I just had a job like this. Pour drinks, take cash, clean up. Maybe toss out a belligerent douchebag once in a while. Then again, I wouldn’t get to tie up and torment women like Quinn on a regular basis, that’s for damn sure.
The best things in life are worth the effort, I think with a tired grin.
I came here expecting to spot Glenn and Travis; I don’t see them yet, but I can wait. Byron was gracious enough to put the girls on lockdown and give everyone but himself the night off. Sometime later tonight he’ll run through the cell block tossing water bottles and saran-wrapped sandwiches like a kid on a paper route.
That means I have time to blow off some steam. There’s baseball on TV above the bar, eighties hairbands playing on the stereo and no responsibilities to bring me down.
“Hey there,” the bartender says, the chewing gum rolling around her mouth like a lone sock in a drier. “I’m Stacey. Can I get you something?”
“Two shots of Patrón, please. And a Jack and Coke.”
She tilts her head back and grins. “Alright then, you got it.”
Getting plastered won’t help me forget the splash Corbin made going over the side of the boat, or the way Quinn looked with his blood on her hands, but it’ll be a good start.