Chapter 32
My wake-up call comes in the form of Edwin fixing a strip of duct tape over my mouth. I must have been pretty soundly asleep not to hear my cell door open. The excitement of knowing this could soon all be over kept me up for a while, but then I passed out. I scream into the gag, instantly afraid that something has gone horribly wrong. Why would a guard be coming to get me from my cell in secret?
“Quiet!” he growls, flipping me over to cuff my arms behind my back. I try flailing my fists, but he grabs my wrists and slaps on the cuffs.
“Come on,” Edwin says, pulling me to my feet. He slips a leash onto my collar and yanks it, dragging me out of my cell.
I have no idea what’s going on, or where he’s taking me. Is he looking to violate me, to succeed where Corbin and Jefferson failed? Maybe he thinks my deal with Byron means I can’t afford to start trouble, and he’s in the clear. What if he’s right? What if I fight him now, and Byron calls off the auction? After everything I’ve done to get to this point… I can’t let the plan fail like that, can I? But letting Edwin… it’s too disgusting to even contemplate. I’d rather die.
However, after a seemingly endless walk through the prison, we arrive in the same place he escorted me just yesterday: Byron’s office. My stomach drops and I moan, realizing, maybe my first instinct was right: something’s wrong. I doubt Byron had me brought here to report everything is peachy.
Edwin knocks, then opens the door. What I see inside confirms all my worst fears: Jacqueline is there, stripped to her panties and bound to a chair with zip ties. Byron sits at his desk; behind him stands Reed, arms folded across his chest.
Most distressing of all, though, is Prescott, who’s leaning in to whisper in Jacqueline’s ear when we arrive.
“Good morning, Ms. Harris,” he says as Edwin binds me to an empty seat next to Jacqueline.
I wish I could say something to Reed — I was hoping he would find a way to tell me what happened during the day, or I’d be forced to wait until after work hours. Now, though, I worry I may never find out. Amber’s warning murmurs in my mind once more, but I shake my head, mentally brushing it aside.
“No, it’s not a good morning? We did wake you early, I guess,” Prescott admits. “I have this mug that says ‘Don’t talk to me before coffee.’ It’s so true, you know? Anyway, you’re wondering what’s going on, yes? Byron, why don’t you explain?”
Fucking shit.
Prescott sounds way too chipper. Did Byron screw me over? It can’t be a coincidence that Prescott is here — he ought to be out campaigning.
Nodding, Byron clasps his hands together on his desk. “Yes, of course. Good morning, Quinn. Over the past month, you’ve spent a great deal of time with Reed. We know the two of you have been… intimate. Has he ever told you the story of how he became associated with the Prescott family, or with the Prescott Penitentiary Complex?”
What the fuck does that have to do with anything?
I don’t understand why he’s asking, but I nod.
Byron spins around in his seat and looks at Reed. “Darren saw potential in Mr. Nolan and gave him a job, saving him from a life of petty crime, incarceration and recidivism. Isn’t that right?”
“It is,” Reed agrees, though his face darkens.
“But he’s not Darren’s first outreach to a wayward youth,” Byron continues. “He’s had, and has, other wards. Did either of you know that?”
I shake my head — how would I know?
“I didn’t,” Reed says.
“Really?” asks Prescott.
Reed takes a second, thinking about it, then his eyebrows raise in comprehension. “Lance once mentioned ‘Dad’s freeloaders.’ I thought that referred to people in politics who wanted favors.”
Prescott chuckles. “I have plenty of those, but no, he was referring to my ex-wife Karen and the daughters she had with her new husband. They lived off my divorce settlement for years.”
I turn to look at Jacqueline, who stares down at the ground, a tear rolling down her face.
Shit. Oh shit.
“Lance never really talked about them,” Reed says, his voice gone gravelly.
“He never really knew them,” Prescott replies. “They lived in Nice for a long time, until Karen and Mel passed away in a boating accident.”
Jacqueline shakes her head. “You killed them, you asshole.”
Reed’s jaw drops, getting it now.
Ignoring her comment, Prescott continues, “After that, I offered to pay their living expenses back here. They visited the mansion sometimes, but I had to keep them away from Lance. I don’t think my son was enough of a freak to try anything with his half-sisters, but I wasn’t taking any chances. They were mine, and I wasn’t sharing them.”
I’d tell him he’s a sick fuck if not for the tape on my face. Reed’s gone deathly pale and looks about to vomit.
“That’s probably why Lance resented them,” Prescott says. “Wanting something you can’t have takes us all to dark places, doesn’t it? Lance and I had that in common, for sure.” He steps over and sets his hands on Jacqueline’s shoulders. “Except, there’s nothing I can’t have.”
“Fuck you,” she spits, shaking her head.
Icy aches claw inside my chest, and my heart pounds with rage. I thought I hated Prescott before — I had no fucking idea.
“Watch it, bitch,” Darren warns, running his hands over the scars on her back. “I could give you some fresh ones, or I could go see Isabel-”
“I’m sorry!” Jacqueline shrieks so loud we all flinch. “I’m sorry, okay?” she says, sniffing.
He grins, stroking her chin with a finger. “That’s better. She’s so well-trained these days, though I think Ms. Harris here is bringing out some of the old Jacqueline.” He turns to me and laughs. “You two really have so much in common. Both of you have come very, very close to killing a Prescott.”
My eyes go wide and I turn to Jacqueline. I’d love to offer her my sympathies that she didn’t succeed.
“Yeah, it was a neat trick too, poisoning my favorite bottle of bourbon. She could have killed me from a hundred miles away. I got lucky my house cleaner decided to sneak a shot while I was in Washington; Lance found her the next morning when he noticed her car was still in the driveway. What a way to go, huh? And it was such a waste: that bourbon costs four-hundred dollars a bottle.”
Jacqueline sobs, shaking her head, her eyes red with tears. I keep waiting for her to explode with rage, but she doesn’t — I’ve never seen her look so defeated.
“I moved the bitch here after that; I knew she’d try to kill me again, but I couldn’t turn her in. Walker was the perfect place to make her disappear. Thankfully I still have Isabel to enjoy, now that she’s of age. And, best of all, the bitch now knows not to make trouble, or I’ll punish Isabel, and Isabel knows to behave or she’ll end up at Walker with big sis.”
“What this means,” Byron says, cutting in, “is that the bitch reports to me. If she knows something important, like that Quinn expects an uprising in the prison any day now, she makes sure to tell me.”
No. No no no!
“She’s never made anything like that up, so I assume it’s the truth.”
She played me. I can’t fucking believe she did that. All this time I was worried about Reed and whether or not I could trust him, I didn’t even think to be suspicious of Jacqueline.
Byron gets up, steps around his desk and steps in front of me. He crouches down to look me in the eye.
“I’ll let you in on a secret, Quinn: the women here have wanted to revolt since long before you arrived. The bitch keeps them in line. Keeping them turned against you has taken a lot of work. Darren and I are truly impressed.”
A thousand terrible thoughts burn in my mind, but first and among them is, did Reed know about this? Sparing a quick glance, I see he looks as horrified as I feel. I think he probably had no idea.
“Unfortunately, she’s met her match in you, Quinn,” Byron continues. “It’s obvious to all of us that she’s losing control, and sooner or later they’re going to side with you. It’s a situation we’ll deal with soon enough.”
I shake my head, so full of rage that I can barely maintain a single train of thought. When I turn to Jacqueline, she’s so despondent and decimated that I can’t bring myself to hate her — and that makes me even angrier. She’s a victim too — she’s been protecting her sister — but if she’d told me this, I could have tried to help her.
At least I didn’t tell her about Reed. Any chance of escape would be gone.
“Edwin, take the bitch back to the workshop,” says Byron. “Send in Amber on your way out.”
“Hey bitch,” says Prescott. “You did well. I’ll give Isabel your regards.”
She nods back at him but doesn’t speak as Edwin clips the zip ties, freeing her from the chair. He doesn’t bother binding her again as he escorts her out.
Byron waits for the door to shut behind them, then turns to me. “What was your plan, Quinn?” He yanks the duct tape from my face in one pull, which doesn’t feel good. I’m glad to be rid of the gag, but he may as well have left it on — I’m not telling him shit.
“Come on, Harris. Make this easy.”
“I had no plan,” I say. “It was all talk.”
“I don’t believe you.”
I snort. “No one ever does.”
Byron rolls his eyes. “Reed, get out your toys.”
Without a word, Reed grabs the duffel bag at his feet and retrieves a whip, a ball gag, nipple clamps and more. Prescott takes two cigars from his jacket pocket and hands one to Byron.
“You think those are going to scare me?” I snarl.
Byron smiles. “They’re not for you.”
Prescott chuckles, lighting and puffing from his cigar.
There’s a knock on the door, followed by Amber shuffling in. Reed immediately gets to work removing her bindings and stripping off her prison uniform. She squeals in fear, shaking as tears drip down her cheeks.
Oh, you motherfucker.
“It’s been a long time since Reed worked his magic on Amber here, but clearly she hasn’t forgotten,” says Byron. “Quinn, are you really going to let poor Amber suffer for no reason?”
“Don’t tell them anything!” Amber shouts, her face twisted with hate. “They can do whatever they want to me, don’t-”
Before she can finish, Reed stuffs the gag in her mouth and buckles it tight. She grunts angrily, but doesn’t fight as Reed ties her wrists together with rope, then bends her over Byron’s desk.
“What happened, Amber?” asks Prescott. “You used to be so agreeable.”
He’s right. Not all of us enjoy getting whipped, Amber once said to me. Byron wasn’t kidding: the women really are starting to take my side. I’m sure Amber doesn’t want to get punished, but she’s willing to take it, and she doesn’t even know anything.
“There’s nothing to tell,” I say, trying to buy time while I think of a convincing lie. No matter what they do to Amber, I can’t tell Byron about Reed and his effort to enlist outside help.
Byron nods at Reed, who starts by fixing a pair of clamps on Amber’s nipples. She squeals from the pain, and then screams when Reed hangs several metal ball bearings from the clamps, weighing them down.
“Change your mind?” Byron asks me.
“I’ve told you everything,” I insist.
“Reed?”
As I watch, Reed strokes the whip across Amber’s ass, causing her to buck and writhe, biting into her gag.
“Oh that was a good one,” Prescott says, reaching over to the ashtray on Byron’s desk. “Give her another.”
Reed complies, swinging the whip again, eliciting a bloodcurdling shriek from Amber. I close my eyes, unable to bear the sight of her twisting against her bonds. I wish I could cover my ears, shut out her pain and Prescott and Byron and everything else.
“Quinn, just tell us the plan and this all stops.”
I shake my head, stifled sobs trembling in my chest.
Reed gently grips Amber’s thighs and spreads her legs apart. Setting aside the whip, he opens his bag again and gets out a flogger. He takes a couple quick practice swings in the air, letting Amber and I hear the whoosh it makes as it goes by. Then he strokes up between Amber’s legs, swatting her pussy. She screams, face flushed with pain; she nearly loses her balance on the desk, but she holds on.
I tell myself there has to be a way out of this. Amber may be willing to suffer for our cause, but I can’t watch this. I have to make it stop.
“Okay!” I howl, wrenching back and forth in my chair.
Reed stops the whipping, and his poker face slips for a second, revealing the wrath boiling under the surface — but only I’m looking at him. They’ve all turned to me now.
“I had a plan, but it wasn’t to start a revolt,” I explain. “It was to save myself.”
Byron and Prescott turn to each other, sharing the same amused grin.
“Go on,” says Byron.
“I was going to play along, be obedient and do whatever it took to get a sponsor. Once he got me out of here, I planned to wait for a chance to either escape or kill him, then go to the authorities.”
Prescott laughs. Byron shakes his head.
“That’s a terrible plan,” says the warden. “Although, knowing you, Quinn, it might have worked. But then why stir up the other prisoners to fight us?”
“Because if you didn’t go for the sponsorship auction idea, I was going to get the bitch to help me jump Edwin and then we’d fight our way out.”
“Fantastic,” says Prescott, clapping his hands slowly. “She had a Plan B. That’s outstanding.”
“You think she’s telling the truth?” Byron asks.
Prescott stares at me a while, daring me to look away. I don’t.
“She could be,” he admits. “I can’t tell one-hundred percent. Better keep her on lockdown until the auction.”
What?
“You’re still holding the auction?” I ask, stunned. “Why?”
Prescott sets his hand on mine and squeezes it. “Don’t worry, pet. You’re mine. That hasn’t changed.”
“We can’t have a prison full of inmates on the verge of throwing an uprising,” Byron says. “We’ll sell off as many as we can, but one way or another, they all have to go.”
“You can’t do that,” I growl, trying to get loose.
Byron sits down and takes out a bottle of Lagavulin. “We don’t want to, but we have to, thanks to you, Quinn. In a few days, every prisoner at Walker but you and the bitch will be sold off or dead.”