Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 112416 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 562(@200wpm)___ 450(@250wpm)___ 375(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112416 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 562(@200wpm)___ 450(@250wpm)___ 375(@300wpm)
“Yes, we must eat and drink as much as we can. You’ll also start a scuffle with the guards, pushing some of them toward my cell.”
“Where you’ll lift a key card off an unsuspecting moron.”
“Exactly. When it’s time, I’ll unlock my cell, yours, and the door. We turn right.”
“Ten paces and then a left. You’ll fight a guard or two. Steal their weapons.”
“You’ll hide behind me,” Shey teased.
“Hey! Not all of us are built for fighting. My job is to serve as a lookout.”
“And a human shield.”
“Jerk!” Ty squawked, but Shey could hear no genuine anger in his voice.
He walked over to the wall that separated his cell from Ty’s and put his hand on the cold stones painted with thick white paint. “I’ll keep you safe. I promise.”
It was the least he could do. He might not know the truth behind Ty, but he trusted the man to some small degree. Ty had kept him sane these many days, kept him from losing all hope and doing something incredibly stupid.
“What about—” Ty’s voice cut off, and Shey straightened from where he was leaning on the wall. He heard it too. Footsteps echoing in the outer hallway. People were approaching.
Muscles tightened across Shey’s chest, and he retreated from the wall, moving toward the center of his cell. A few more steps and the door to their cellblock buzzed before being jerked open. He strained to pick out the footsteps. There were the usual rubber-soled boots of the guards and the sharp click of Scarella’s heels. Just as Shey was moving for his bunk to grab a bit of stuffing for his ears, he heard another set of shoes. Hard-soled.
And an unknown man’s voice.
“Huh. You’re still here.” His voice was deep and rough, as if he’d spent a lifetime drinking and smoking. Since Shey couldn’t see this newcomer, he could only figure the crowd had stopped in front of Ty’s bars.
Not surprisingly, Ty said nothing. There wasn’t a peep of movement or a breath from Ty’s side of the wall. Whenever someone entered their block—regardless of whether they were guard or Scarella—Ty never spoke. It was as if he ignored their very existence, and that in itself drove Scarella crazy.
“Don’t worry. We’ll get you sorted out soon.”
Shey clenched his teeth, biting back scathing words even as a chill swept through him. No one was allowed to “sort out” Ty. They weren’t killing him.
Scarella snickered, and the footsteps resumed until a barrel-chested man of average height stopped at his cell. He wore a tailored gray suit and a burgundy tie with a diamond tiepin. Gray sprinkled his nearly black hair, and there was more gray threaded through his beard and mustache. Beady dark eyes glittered at him from over rounded cheeks. Standing with his legs spread as if he were preparing for Shey to attack him, the man smirked and rested his pudgy hands on his waist.
“Now, aren’t you an interesting one?” the man stated.
Shey held his ground in the center of the cell, glaring at the suited asshole. He looked like someone in charge of this nightmare. He carried himself as if this were his domain. More than even Scarella. Yet, Shey didn’t speak. He was adopting Ty’s approach for now and remaining silent.
The man lifted a hand and waved it at the door of Shey’s cell. “Open it up so we can talk.”
Scarella took a step closer to the man. She rested both of her hands on one of his shoulders and placed her chin on top of her hands. “I wouldn’t, Ruben. He’s a feisty one.”
As soon as she opened her mouth, Shey’s entire body flinched, but there was no shockwave of pain and terror that assaulted his body as she spoke. Whatever device she used to inflict fear was turned off, likely so she wouldn’t harm her boss. The woman wore her usual faux-chic guard gear and high-heeled boots. Her blond hair was piled on her head in an artfully messy bun while her large, red mouth remained an open wound on her angular face.
“The strong ones always are,” Ruben murmured. He glanced at her and smiled. “You need to learn to appreciate the strong ones more, Yasmine. They are the very best ones to break, right?”
“Yes. The rest gets so boring,” she complained.
Ruben motioned for a second time, ignoring his clingy companion’s advice. A guard lurched forward and used a key card to unlock Shey’s cell door. It swung open with a loud, metallic whine, and Shey took a step back.
Stepping away from Yasmine, he strolled into the cell as if he were walking into a fine restaurant, expecting everyone to fall at his feet, eager to serve him. Two guards trailed him inside the cell, making the tiny space even more cramped. Yasmine remained in the open doorway, draping herself over it and wrapping a hand around the bars as if she were posing for some kind of BDSM catalogue. Not for the first time since meeting her, Shey mentally thanked whichever god had made him gay.