“This is bullshit,” Jacqueline grumbles, but she resumes her sewing.
Is he really worried about us making quota, or did he not want to punish me for real because he feels guilty?
At the end of the workday, as promised, Reed separates me from the rest and drags me to the dungeon. For the first time in weeks, I don’t want to go with him — I’d rather go back to the cell block so I could talk to Jacqueline, maybe start working out a plan.
The second Reed shuts the door behind us, I spin out of his grasp and back away. “Why don’t you just fuck off? I have nothing to say to you.”
I expect him to free his whip from its holster and rip my ass raw, but he just nods.
“I’m sorry, Quinn. Forgive me. You were right about Prescott; I should have listened.”
Sneering, I wait for him to continue. A late apology is better than none, but it’s not going to wash away the hurt he caused in doubting me.
“Prescott has to be stopped,” he continues. “I see that now. He’s not the man I thought.”
“What happened?” I snap. If he jeopardized our shot at escaping, he better keep me handcuffed or there’s no telling what I might do.
He points to one of the tables and takes out his whip. “For the cameras,” he mutters, keeping his lips still.
Whatever.
I move to the table and bend over, giving him a clear shot at my ass. He leans in so he can speak into my ear and pulls down my pants. As he delivers the lashes, he tells me about Prescott’s party last night and the conversation they had.
“And that’s when I realized, Darren didn’t change because of what happened to Lance,” Reed concludes. “This is who he is.”
He pulls up my pants but doesn’t command me to change positions, so I stay put as he paces back and forth.
“I’m glad you can see the truth about him now,” I reply. “But it fucking hurts that you wouldn’t just listen to me in the first place.”
“I know,” Reed says. “I’m sorry. I’ve known Prescott for so long, I’ve felt indebted to him for a decade — I couldn’t believe he was just manipulating me. And you know what he did before I could leave? He promised to get my criminal record expunged. He probably could have done that years ago, but he’s been saving it until he needed a carrot to dangle in front of me.”
“Makes you angry, doesn’t it?”
“It should, but mostly I’m just sad,” he says, taking a seat on the table beside me. “I saw the truth the night that girl almost OD’d. I should have seen that he was helping himself, not me. I’ve been an idiot this whole time.”
Yeah, no shit.
I could tell him that Prescott’s got a couple hundred thousand people fooled — he is a congressman, after all — but I don’t. Should I? I’m not really in the mood to comfort him, to absolve him of his failings, but it could be what he needs. In the long run, that could be more important.
“Thank you for admitting that,” I say. “Coming to grips with that must be hard.”
He smiles sheepishly. “I’ve done it enough lately, I ought to be getting better at it.”
I don’t find him particularly amusing right now. His apology doesn’t change the fact he doubted me after everything we’ve been through. It’s still too raw a wound. Actually, it is almost funny that of all the things he’s done to cause me pain — all the torture and restraint, mind games and intimidation — this is what hurts the most. Nothing is worse than betrayal.
“Quinn, what can I do to make this up to you?” he asks, caressing my bruises.
“You could get me the hell out of this place,” I mutter. “That would be a start.”
“I will,” he says. “Once Darren’s election is over, he’s going to sponsor you and get you out of here. When that happens, I’ll make sure I’m put in charge of transferring you. Along the way, I’ll figure out how to get you free.”
“How would that work?”
Reed paces back and forth, doubt etched on his face. “I don’t deliver you. We just run.”
“Prescott would come after us,” I argue. “He’s got cops and judges in his pocket — we wouldn’t stand a chance.”
“I’d make sure Prescott knows he can’t do that without us going public. We’ll expose everything if he doesn’t leave us alone.”