“Okay, okay. We’ll go.”
He drags me back to my cell in silence. I don’t want to talk to him anyway.
I’ve known Reed for less than two months, but under these circumstances, it feels like so much longer, especially since we’ve come so far from where we started. How can he say he trusts me but then still side with Prescott? Yes, they’ve known each other for many, many years, but he knew Lance for just as long. Is it really so hard to accept that I’ve seen the real Prescott and he hasn’t?
In a way it’s understandable — he’d have to acknowledge how misled he’s been this whole time, and that’s not easy. I know it isn’t, but right now there’s no time to build to this breakthrough gradually. The situation is about to get even worse than it already is — I need him to help end it. But if he’s still going to side with Prescott over me, after everything we’ve been through, then there’s not much hope for him. If our love isn’t enough for him to make that leap, then I’m on my own.
Reed shuts the door to my cell and watches me for a moment. When he doesn’t speak, I lie down in bed and face the wall. Soon I hear him walk away.
Have I been an idiot for trusting him? Has my fate been sealed from the moment Lydia and I went to that party? If the situation is hopeless, maybe I should stop worrying about how I’ll get out of here, and start thinking about what kind of damage I can do before it’s all over.
Lost in grim thought, it takes me a second to react when my cell door opens — I don’t have time to get up before Jacqueline pounces.
Straddling me over the bed, she presses a hand down on my neck. With her other hand, she points at the security camera. “Smile, Quinn.”
They’re watching. Of course.
“Fuck you,” I wheeze. I flail against Jacqueline, but she’s so tall, her weight far more than mine. I can’t get her off me, and I can barely breathe.
“I didn’t appreciate being stripped and tied down all fucking day so everyone here could eye-fuck me,” she growls.
Fumbling in the dark I feel her long hair and grab it. I yank as hard as I can, causing Jacqueline to cry out but not lose her hold on me. Instead, she slaps my face hard. With the darkness closing in, it doesn’t even hurt.
“Hey, did you hear me?” Jacqueline says, slapping me again.
“Go fuck… yourself,” I cough. “You’re as… bad as… them.”
This time when she slaps me I taste blood in my mouth, but Jacqueline lets go of my neck. Gasping for breath, I choke on the frigid prison air, but at least I can fill my lungs.
Jacqueline pins me down on the bed and leans in. “Listen, cunt,” she whispers. “We’re with you.”
What?
She nods, licking her lips. “All of us. Come up with a plan. Whatever it is, we’re in.”
Chapter 28
Two uniformed cops keep a private guard company outside the gated entrance of Flintlock Estates. Drinking coffee from thermoses, but they perk up when my Jeep approaches.
Rolling down my window, I hear the guard say, “It’s fine, I know him.”
They’re probably not getting a lot of vehicles tonight that aren’t limousines, and most have likely already arrived. I’m late.
“Pete, how’s it going?” I say to the guard, shifting the car into park. “It’s been a while.”
“It has,” he says, wiping his fingers through his gray mustache. “But no explanation needed.”
It’s nice of him to say — or, for him not to say — what we’re both thinking: without Lance around, there’s no reason for me to be here. I’m not his dealer anymore, or his designated driver or even his friend, although that part I’ll keep to myself.
“I assume you still know the way,” Pete jokes, lowering his clipboard with the guest list. I’m not sure I’m even on it, but Pete doesn’t check.
“I’ll yell if I get lost,” I say, giving him a grin. “It’s good to see you.”
“You too,” he replies, patting the top of my Jeep.
One of the cops jogs the ten feet to the booth and hits the button to open the gate for me. I give them all a wave as I drive through.
I blow past the valet stand outside the Prescott mansion and find a spot fairly far off, then huff it back. The neighborhood feels a lot bigger on foot, the homes each occupying several acres. My suit — the only one I own — isn’t very warm, but I’m sweating by the time I reach the front door.