Honor Among Thieves (The Honors #1)(14)

“I don’t know how the hell that helps,” I said. “Understanding something doesn’t change what happened.”

“It helps you decide whether or not you want to keep making the same decisions, once you understand why you made them.”

Huh.

Yu offered me a bottle of water, which I accepted. It helped wash the dry, vomity taste from my throat. I felt . . . cleaner. “Do you want to talk about the camp?” he asked me.

Turns out, I did.

The next week my schedule shifted around, so immediately after breakfast I went to work detail: the laundry. It was where all the newbies started, and I’d been on this rotation before. I knew all about sorting, treating, loading, unloading, folding. It was soothing, mindless work, and in my spare moments I daydreamed about being out in the world, free and clear.

The routine, the boring familiarity of fresh-smelling clothes and the tang of detergent, made me careless.

I was at the folding table, making sure the edges of a sheet were crisp and even, when something brushed my curls on both sides. Weird sensation, like a breeze, but I felt no puff of air . . . and then a blur skimmed over my vision.

It took me a second to realize something had just gone over my head, and then it was too late.

The thin cord pulled tight.

I had just enough time to jam my fingers under the garrote, which hurt, but saved me from immediately choking. Only one thing to do: I threw myself backward on my attacker. We hit the floor, and the cord slackened for a second—long enough for me to yank it loose—and as I dropped it, I twisted like a cat. The floor was smooth concrete, nothing I could use to my advantage, kind of a problem since I specialized in environmental fighting and the folding table was solidly bolted to the floor.

The sheets weren’t. I kicked my leg up, hitting the metal hard enough to make the folded stack topple, and grabbed a handful of cloth. The first thing I did was shove some in her open mouth to muffle her, and then I pushed the stringy hair back from her forehead to look into her eyes.

“Got to do better than that, Clarice,” I said. She’d been trying to fight, but now she stilled, signaling surrender. Or biding her time, whichever. Didn’t matter. “I’m taking away the gag. You yell, I punch you in the throat. Nod if you understand.”

She nodded. I pulled saliva-slick cloth out of her mouth, and Clarice sucked in a deep breath—but when I raised my clenched fist, she let it out again, quick. One of my fingers registered a sharp stab of pain—broken, I realized, from the force of her garrote. She really had meant to kill me. If she’d gotten me facedown and put her weight into it, I’d have been unconscious in thirty seconds, dead in no more than three minutes. Which she knew. I looked at the cord I’d kicked away; it wasn’t just cord. It had solid little handles tied on to it, the better to strangle with. Professional.

Clarice had earned the A on her ID tag.

Shit. I thought it was safe here.

Close up, she reeked of adrenaline sweat, her eyes bloodshot, but she still smiled. “Sorry, Z. Just business.”

“Got to step up your game. You know how long people have been trying to kill me?”

“Relax. I give.”

“Who sent you?”

She managed to shrug. “It’s just cash in my commissary account. Going after you got me a deluxe movie package, gourmet meals, and a bunk upgrade.”

Deluca. Of course. I figured he would find me, but I’d been hoping Camp Kuna was beyond his reach. They featured this place on the vids a lot, highest success rate in the nation, so I’d thought maybe that meant extra protection. Money always made way, though, and people like him didn’t let things go. For him, this hit hadn’t been expensive at all.

Wasn’t in my nature to let things go, either. As I looked at Clarice, I thought about how I could never turn my back on her again, and I had to sleep sometime. Killing her would be as easy as using that garrote she’d brought, or stuffing a sheet down her throat and holding her still until she choked to death. But where did that put me? I was already third-strike antisocial. I’d go to one of the max houses for sure, and I couldn’t deal with that. No rehab, just prison, with hard-time crims. Way harder than Clarice, or anyone else in here. Surviving max was for monsters.

“You going to kill me?” Clarice asked as if she could read my mind. I sat back, still watching her. I also saw the red alarm light flashing on the camera, which meant security had been alerted that we were out of view. They’d be coming to check. Any minute.

“Not right now,” I said. “I’ve got to rewash all these sheets.”

She blinked. “Why? You can’t trust me.”

“It’ll take Deluca a while to catch on. So enjoy the hell out of those movies, eat all the special meals. Once he figures it out, he’ll cash out your account balance and bribe somebody else.”

“Might pay somebody to come after me too.”

“He might,” I agreed. “Chance you take, friend.”

She gave me a look I couldn’t read, and I stood up and offered her a hand. After a long hesitation, she took it, bent, and picked up the cord.

I grabbed it from her and tucked it away in a pocket.

She grinned. “Can’t blame a girl for trying.”

Right on cue, a guard walked in the door, trying to look casual. We both turned toward him, and I had a moment’s doubt what Clarice would do.