Attest (Centrifuge Duet Book 2)(8)
“I’m not a rat.”
My objection is ignored as they move en masse toward the exit. I watch them leave, then slowly glance around the dining hall in search of the only two people who can help me. Clocking sight of the guard I’ve nicknamed Mr. Chatty Porn Lover, I push to my feet and make my way over to him.
As I approach, I make eye contact. His eyes widen when I incline my head subtly. They widen further as I pass and mutter, “Tell her she has a deal, but I need out tonight before the shit hits the fan.”
“Consider it done,” he replies just before I reach the door. A heavy hand on my shoulder stops me from leaving and the guard jerks his head toward the exit at the opposite side of the room.
I ponder my next step while he radios for someone to take his place. This door leads to an area of the prison I have never been to before. Over this side, there is only one person with enough clout to protect me from Mark-Lee.
The goddamned Warden. I’m not sure if I’m interested in opening that can of worms. It’s seems counterintuitive to involve the authorities in B’s plan to have me evicted from this prison.
“Follow me.” The guard steps out of his position and another one takes his place. “She told us this might happen. We can have arrangements put into place right now. Ain’t no shit gonna be hittin’ the fan tonight.”
I should feel a weight lift at his breezy assessment of the situation. But, I don’t. Because when your hand has been forced by circumstances beyond your control, there’s no victory or relief to be had.
There is only the stark notion that you’ve been outplayed from the get-go.
FOUR
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“Xander,” her voice is honeyed as she sashays into the Warden’s office half an hour after I first entered. Her pleasure at seeing me is evident in the way she lingers on my name. “It makes me immensely happy that you came to your senses so quickly. I was expecting to collect you from the infirmary tomorrow, not the Warden’s office this evening.”
When I don’t give her the response she’s seeking, B turns her charm to the Warden. She uses a syrupier tone on him, one that leaves me with visions of treacle and treachery. “I want to thank you for your generous assistance in this matter, Bill.”
The Warden’s cheeks turn pink as he accepts her thanks with an incline of his head and a fumbling adjustment of his tie. “Anytime I can be of service just let me know, Ma’am. A friend of Harry’s is a friend of mine.” I file the mention of “Harry” away for future reference. Maybe, B has a boss of her own? The Warden continues, after a pause where he appears to muster the courage to lift his gaze to hers. “Nothing brings me more pleasure than seeing wrongs being righted, especially by a beautiful lady such as yourself.”
Long hair is flipped over her shoulder and she manages to smile even wider at his compliment. Tanned fingers with red fingernails pats the back of the Warden’s hand and the atmosphere in the room fills with a palpable level of flirtatious enjoyment.
“Well, I couldn’t have done it without you.”
I’m beginning to detect a pattern with B, and it brings a quick flare of hope with it. She is ripe for wooing and a sucker for a praise. I decide to bide my time, so I can dig a little deeper into her psyche to find a way to use this neediness to my advantage.
“Let’s go, Xander.” She focusses her attention back on me and the spark of happiness that I find in her eyes reiterates my need to get under her skin. Maybe there’s more than one way to create a chink in her armour?
One can only hope.
Like a dutiful puppy dog, I follow her out of the prison. B thrives on the way that we are waved through at each check-point like royalty; her already perfect posture managing to straighten a little more with each deferential “Ma’am” she receives. A winsome smile is sent in my direction each time I’m allowed through behind her without being questioned.
I’m still dressed in my orange overalls. My status as a prisoner should have the guards pouncing. Yet, my presence is ignored as we are permitted to leave unencumbered. She knows I’m impressed, smug satisfaction billowing from her when we find ourselves alone in the parking lot.
I lift my face to the sky and relish the cool nip in the air, the breeze that ruffles my hair, and the light sunrays of the early dusk that beat down on my pale skin. It’s exhilarating and something that I didn’t know I’d missed until I’m standing back out in it, free of handcuffs, armed guards, and electric fences for the first time in two years.
“Do you see how nice I can make your life?” B asks me across the roof of her ruby-red sportscar. From her dyed blonde hair to the classy but sexy outfit with the expensively tasteful accessories, and now the status symbol automobile, the woman is a walking cliché. “A little more appreciation wouldn’t go astray.”
“I’m very grateful.” The words leave my throat by sheer necessity as my brain revolts at the thought of thanking the She-Devil before me. “I would love to learn how you’ve gained so much influence as a dead woman. Considering you were a nobody when you were alive.”
Her eyes narrow immediately. Flames of fury and red-hot acknowledgement that I have uttered the truth leap within the glare that she sends in my direction. Mentally, I pat myself on the back for the point scored. Outwardly, I refuse to gloat. Every reaction uncovers another piece of the puzzle that makes up my new boss, and I can’t let her know that I’m playing her as much as she’s playing me, until it’s too late for her to stop me.