“You murdered more than a dozen people,” the older one snaps. “Shut your fucking mouth.”
The back of the van is empty. A heavy metal grill separates the two front seats from a pair of metal benches—one on each side of the vehicle. There’s nothing to hold onto, so when the driver accelerates, I slide three feet before I can stop myself.
Thank God it’s not a long ride. Twenty minutes later, a woman in a dark gray uniform leads me into a sterile room with polished tile floors, a row of showers in one corner, and an exam table in the other.
The strip search is humiliating, but after that, she tells me to shower and put on the bright orange prison “uniform.”
Washing away the scent of Doc’s shampoo breaks me. Sobs wrack my body until a guard comes in and tells me to hurry the fuck up.
Then comes the doctor. Questions about my medical history. Allergies. Surgeries. I don’t bother telling her that I’ll be dead soon. I don’t tell her much of anything.
I’m so tired. The clock on the wall must be lying. It’s only 8:37? Will they come for me right away? Doubtful. After lightsout will be easier. They’ll have to get me somewhere…private. Somewhere no one will hear me—or Doc—scream.
Another guard shows up to take me to my cell. I don’t look at her, keeping my head down, trudging along beside her until she stops. “This is you, sugar.”
Sugar?
My head snaps up, and Raelynn passes me a small, resealable bag. She doesn’t smile and barely makes eye contact. “Toothbrush, toothpaste, comb, washcloth, soap, deodorant, feminine hygiene products, and ear plugs. No one sleeps well the first night. Once you’re alone, make sure you have everythin’ you need.”
“Wh-what happens now?”
Raelynn glances up and down the cell block. All the doors are still open, but only half the cells are occupied. “This here is our intake wing. It’s a little quiet at the moment. Lights out is in ninety minutes. I reckon you’re gonna want to brush your teeth, comb your hair, and use those ear plugs. Maybe wash up a bit too. Go on. I’ll radio up for them to lock you in. After that…try and get some rest.”
I back up three steps, and Raelynn reaches for the mic clipped to her shoulder. “Close 21-B.”
The loud metallicclangsends a shiver down my spine. I can’t help but wrap my fingers around the bars. “Please. Tell me something,” I whisper.
“Nothin’ to tell, darlin’,” she says under her breath. “We’re wingin’ this one. Don’t know nothin’ from nothin’ yet. But we’re here with you until the end. That’s a promise.”
I wait until I can’t see her anymore, then sink down onto the thin mattress. A fresh sob tears from my throat, and I let go, helpless to stop the terror from ripping my heart into shreds.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Doc
In the backof the SUV, I flex my legs under a thick blanket hiding me from view. Sutton and Doherty dragged me from that tiny motel tub half an hour ago. I couldn’t see much in the minute or so I was outside, but it’s dark. The kind of dark you only get at least an hour or two after sunset.
I don’t have much time. The women’s prison is in D.C., but the city isn’t that big. They had me in Virginia somewhere. I don’t know why it’s so important that I figure out where. I should be concentrating on what I’m going to do once we arrive.
Every time I shift my focus, though, it’s Natasha’s face I see. The fear in her eyes as they took her from me on the plane. The way her voice cracked when she said goodbye.
How shealmosttold me she loved me. Twice. Why didn’t I say it back? I didn’t want Bastian to take that moment from us. But what if it was the last one we’ll have?
I lose track of time. The SUV stops, starts, and stops again. The hatch opens, the blanket is ripped away, and I’m muscledup a set of steps and through a loading door at the back of the prison.
“Where the fuck are you taking me?”
No one answers. Or cares if I make noise. My legs are free, but I let them think I’m too weak to walk. They don’t need to know I’ve been working my muscles for hours to be ready for anything.
Plastic-wrapped pallets are stacked three high in long rows. Instant potatoes, rice, oatmeal, flour, detergent. I don’t see a single person around. Even late at night, there should be patrols.
“This way,” Bastian calls. “Hurry. We only have half an hour before lights out. I want some time with the doctor before Natasha joins us.”
“I didn’t know you cared, asshole,” I mutter as Collins and Sutton carry me past him, through another door and into the prison’s laundry facilities.
The fluorescent lights are dimmed, lending too many shadows to the large room. A dozen washing machines line one wall. The dryers, another. Water pipes stretch across the ceiling. They ping from time to time, but it’s otherwise quiet.
Doherty pulls out a piece of thick rope and tosses it over one of the pipes. There’s no point fighting as he loops it around the middle of the flexi-cuffs, then pulls my arms high over my head. The position tugs at the stitches in my side. One of them rips, and I hiss out a breath.
