Crouching down to the ground, Edwin pulls me up onto my knees, holding the collar of my uniform. “Why? You going to rat on me, you dumb little cunt?”
“No, I don’t give a fuck… about you.” I look over his shoulder at Jacqueline. “She’s going to pay for all the shit she’s done.”
Edwin laughs for real, shaking his head. “Quinn, do you seriously think any of us would let you loose after what you did to Corbin?”
“That’s why I need to talk to Byron, so he can arrange it,” I argue.
“He won’t.”
“I’d like to ask anyway.”
Edwin pulls me to my feet, igniting a sea of pain from the damage Jacqueline caused.
“Hey Princess,” she spits. “Whatever you do, I’ll get you back. Count on it.”
Caressing the mark on my cheek, Edwin grins. “That actually sounds like fun. Maybe Mr. Ashworth will agree. Let’s go find out.”
“Fine,” I mutter.
Thank you, Jacqueline.
—
Edwin knocks on the door when we arrive at Byron’s office.
“One minute!” the warden shouts.
It takes longer than that, but not by much. Amber pops out of the door, shuffling in her restraints in the direction of the workshop.
“What is it?” Byron barks, sticking his head out into the hall. His cheeks are flushed, and sweat drips down his temples.
“Quinn wanted to see you,” says Edwin.
“Really? That’s a shame, I’d liked to have seen her ten minutes ago. What do you want, Ms. Harris? What happened to you?”
I look to him, then to Edwin, then back to Byron. “Can we speak in private?”
“I didn’t do this to her,” Edwin interjects. “Tell him, Quinn.”
“He didn’t,” I confirm, nodding. “Can we talk?”
“Sure,” says Byron, taking me by the arm. “Edwin, go make sure Amber doesn’t get lost. And shut the door behind you.”
“Yes, sir.”
I’ve never been inside his office before. It reeks of fast, unsatisfying sex, and right now I’d like to knee him in the crotch and stamp on his neck, but for now I keep a lid on my rage.
“It looks like you’ve had a bad day,” he says, dumping me in the wheeled chair facing his desk. “Too bad Reed’s not here to make you feel better.”
I’d agree with him, but what Reed’s doing now will make his absence worth it.
“Is that why you’re here, Quinn? To get your fix?”
“No,” I mumble, staring at the picture frame on his desk. I wonder, who’s in it? He never seems to leave the prison — does he have a family? Maybe it’s parents, or siblings or friends — like Prescott. That would be a good way to suck up to the boss, wouldn’t it?
“Only, do you want me to whip you, or fuck you? There’s not much difference to you, is there? What would you like, Quinn?”
“To get out of here,” I reply, looking up.