by Ivy Asher
I gape at him. “He can’t fucking bribe me.”
The beta shrugs, unconcerned. “You get more privileges, fitting of an alpha leader’s mate.”
“I’m not his mate!” I hiss.
“Have a pleasant day, Miss Sinclair.”
“Suck on a shit-covered rock,” I fire back.
His silver-tipped tail flicks as he hangs up the phone and smoothly walks away.
I sit back down in a rush, my knees practically giving out as the adrenaline from our verbal contest drains out of me. I hang up the phone and rest my head in my hands. Fucking Alpha Bowen and his fucking arrogance and barely-there threats. Why the hell can’t I get away from this dude? You’d think a girl getting herself thrown into prison would be a big enough hint for him.
The door behind me opens, and I swing around to find Sandbag ready and waiting. I guess that means I’m done with the visits for today.
“Come,” he barks at me like I’m a dog, and I’m tempted to rip the phone receiver off the wall and junk punch him with it.
Instead, I do as I’m told. The memory of magical tasers keeps me in line. Well, that and the fact that I really don’t want to go back into solitary. My shop is officially opening for business tomorrow, and with all the work I’ve been putting in, I can’t wait to see the other inmates go mental trying to get their hands on the kickass shit that I’ve got. I need to be smart, no matter how much this guard pisses me off.
Sandbag pushes me to walk in front of him. It’s a favorite game he likes to play where you have to guess where you’re supposed to be going and if you guess wrong, he punishes you. Usually, an inmate will earn a well-placed kick to the knee or a slap to the back of the head. It’s just enough to piss you off and rob you of your power, but not enough to leave any lasting marks that could be used as evidence in the event that an inmate tried to report him.
One of the few things I look forward to when I do get out of here is tracking this fucker down and letting my cockatrice play with him.
The smell of food reaches me just before the hallways converge, leading to either the cafeteria or my cell block. I let my nose lead the way, and I’m surprised when no smacks or jabs come at me. Sandbag pushes me to join the line for food and then leaves. Relief washes through me when he disappears around a corner. The dude pisses me off and gives me the fucking creeps.
I grab a lunch tray and wait patiently for my turn to get a bologna sandwich, mac ’n cheese, and some cinnamon apples scooped onto my tray. The chatter and noise of socializing inmates enjoying their meals helps lift my spirits, and I try to not let myself be too weighed down by the problem with my lounge and the problem with Alpha Bowen. I’ll find a way to fix it all. I know I will. I won’t be a coward and hide away like Rook accused me of doing. I’ll figure out a way to solve all of this.
Sophie the wolf shifter scoots over for me as I slide into my usual spot with the crew. Zen smiles at me around a mouthful of gooey baked cinnamon apples, and I giggle at the blissed-out look on her face. I’ve never seen Zen go gaga for the food here like I always do. Maybe I’m rubbing off on her.
“Where have you been?” Sophie asks me.
“I had visitors,” I answer and then turn back to Zen. “Have you heard back from your guy about that thing I asked him to look into?” I inquire hopefully.
She swallows her bite, and her face falls when she looks down at her tray and sees that her plate is empty. She looks so sad that I push my tray toward her.
“You can have my apples, Zen,” I offer, and I swear, you’d think I just handed her a winning lottery ticket.
She doesn’t say anything, just digs into them while I dig into my mac ’n cheese. She finishes faster than me and wipes her mouth before pulling out a phone. Pausing with a spork in my mouth, I stare at her and at the phone, shocked. I look around, prepared to see guards scrambling our way to confiscate it and haul her off to solitary, but everyone just pretends not to see it.
“Hey. Yeah, I’m checking in about that info on that lounge I asked about. Anything yet?” she asks as she picks at non-existent dirt under her nails.
She makes a sound and then holds the phone out to me. I stare at it and then at her, unsure what I should do. It’s one thing for untouchable Zen to whip out a phone in the middle of lunch and use it with no consequences, but I doubt I’d be that lucky.
“Go on,” Zen encourages, and I pluck the phone from her extended hand and hold it like the precious and priceless artifact that it is.
“Hel…” I clear my throat. “Hello?” I ask as I press the phone to my ear. It feels so natural and so naughty all at the same time.
“Is this Miss Sinclair Denali?” a smooth feminine voice asks.
“Umm, yes,” I reply hesitantly.
“I haven’t been able to procure the information you requested about Alpha Bowen. But I did acquire details about your lounge and their financial issues.”
I’m shocked that Zen’s info guy is in fact a girl, but I shove that aside so I can focus on what’s being said. I hold my breath as she speaks, wondering what she’s about to reveal. Have my mat and pat been skimming? Could they be involved in something worse?
“It appears that your lounge acquired another lounge from an Alpha Arin sometime several years ago. When they absorbed that lounge, the Denali’s also absorbed a great deal of debt too. They’ve been slowly paying it off ever since, and even borrowed from other lounges to attempt to pay it off,” she tells me. “I must preface this next bit by warning that it’s hearsay as I’ve not been able to confirm anything on the side of Alpha Bowen and the Bowen pack, but it appears that Alpha Bowen claimed all the debt and then claimed you, or at least, that’s what I put together when I was able to get a brief look at the contract.”
I nod my head and then remember that she can’t see me. “Okay, thank you,” I tell her, my mind reeling with what she just told me.
“Rest assured, I will continue to work to get the rest of the information you wanted.”
I thank her again and then hand the phone back to Zen. Zen proceeds to start chatting away with whoever that female is, catching up with no worries about her surroundings and the rules. The guards don’t even blink in her direction. I’m in awe, but what else is new?
I pick at my sandwich and try to think through what all of this means. The info about Alpha Bowen and trading me for the debt relief is nothing new, but where the debt comes from is blowing my mind.
When I was younger, Alpha Arin pissed my mat off somehow. I think he called her a name at a cockatrice gathering—probably something that was true—and it enraged her. She declared war on his lounge, and a couple years later, she got what she wanted and Alpha Arin was dead. She wasn’t keen on having to take responsibility over his people, revenge was all she cared about. Apparently, she didn’t care that she took on a mountain of debt to acquire that lounge. She just did it to prove a point. Now, it’s caught up to her.
I shake my head, frustrated. She’s too damn prideful. She couldn’t let his slight go and, because of that, the Denali lounge now finds itself in the position that it’s in. I mean, for fuck’s sake, she sold me to help keep her mistake quiet. There’s no way of knowing how many cockatrices have suffered or been punished to stay silent in order to cover her messy tracks.
I’m so disgusted by all of it that I don’t even know what to do or think. I suppose on one hand, it’s good to find out that no one in my lounge is stealing or messing shit up that way, but the fact of the matter is, my mat’s pride is too destructive to be ignored anymore.
I sigh, suddenly tired. I know the how of it all, but I still don’t see a way to fix it. Not one that doesn’t involve my ownership or having to challenge my mother. I scoff at that thought. She’s so damn slippery I don’t even know if I’d be able to get a formal challenge in. She’s exiled or killed everyone who’s ever tried before, and I’m not confident I could force her hand. The lounge needs solutions now before my mat gets everyone hurt.
&
nbsp; I have to find another way to fix this. If I can’t, then...maybe I need to start thinking about mate life. From the minute I was told that I belonged to Alpha Bowen, I rejected it. I fought it and ended up here, but if I had known then what I know now, I wouldn’t have chosen prison. I’m not selfish enough to let my lounge suffer when I could fix it. And as much as I hate the thought, I might just end up at Alpha Bowen’s feet with my tail tucked between my legs. It might be the only way I can settle the debt to save my lounge.
I get up from the concrete bench and take my tray and stack it with the others, determined to find a solution that doesn’t end up with me throwing my life away to a stranger.
If there is one, I’m going to fucking find it. I just have to do it soon.
11
“Inmate 11764. Get up and put your back against the wall.”
I groan, my awareness coming in like a bad radio signal. Licking my dry lips, I yank the thin blanket over my head and ignore Sandbag’s voice.
“Inmate!”
“Ungh,” I groan. “What?”
“Get your ass up and put your back against the wall.”
It’s too early for this shit.
I flop the blanket over to the side as I hear the cell door open, but then I accidentally fall back asleep. I was up way too late last night, working on my products to get ready for market day today.
Suddenly, my mattress is being ripped off the bed frame—with me still on it—and tossed to the floor. I go sliding, the back of my head slamming into the wall. I sit up and glare at the guards. I open my mouth to curse at Sandbag and ask what the fuck is going on, but I stop short when I see what they’re doing.
A brand new, triple-thick mattress is being put down where the old prison-issued mattress and I just were. I stare at it in shock as two guards put it down while another one tosses down a package of brand new sheets.
I watch, mouth gaping like a fish, as more guards file in, one after the other, dropping stuff off into my cell. Blankets. Pillows. A small, battery operated TV and DVD player. A battery-operated mini-fridge. Even a blue and green tie-dye beanbag chair. Pretty.
I scramble to my feet, standing on top of the stained, rail-thin mattress that’s slumped on the floor. “What is all this?”
“Luxuries,” Sandbag replies with a sneer. “Your fucking cock boyfriend set it up for you to have all of this shit.”
I stare at him for a moment, confused as to why Rook would get me all of this stuff and wondering how he convinced the guards to set it all up. Then the sleep sluffs off my brain, and it all clicks. Ah. Alpha Bowen’s bribes have arrived.
The guards file out of my cell, taking my old mattress with them, and Sandbag shakes his head at all my newly added goodies and then storms out, slamming the door behind him.
I look around in awe.
I walk over to the new mattress and whistle at how plush and thick it is. The sheets are bright blue to match my new beanbag chair, and they’re silky soft. And pillows! So many pillows.
When Beta Trex told me that Alpha Bowen was going to give me luxuries, I was ready to be an ornery martyr about it and not use a single thing. But damn. Scratch that idea. I’m going to enjoy every damn perk that just got delivered because the thread count on these sheets is through the roof.
Besides, despite what Alpha Bowen might think, sitting in a beanbag chair that he paid for does not equate to accepting a marriage proposal or agreeing to his claim of ownership over me. So there.
I quickly make up the bed, and then I test out all my new stuff. I collapse into my beanbag throne, letting the bright colors wrap around me. My mini-fridge is stocked full of soda, water, sandwiches, yogurt, and candy bars. My TV has a stack of brand new DVDs beside it, and my eyes run over the titles.
Pride and Prejudice. 10 Things I Hate About You. The Proposal. How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days. Overboard. The Ugly Truth.
There’s a shit ton more, and every single one of them is an Enemies-to-Lovers romance.
I grit my teeth. Alpha Bowen thinks he’s so fucking funny and clever. I’d like to let my cockatrice peck his ass. If he thinks he’s gonna go from enemy to lover status, he’s sorely mistaken.
I’m still gonna watch all of those, though. Not because I’m falling for his shit, but because I have serious TV withdrawals, and I’ve always been a sucker for Mr. Darcy.
“Right there, Joe, that’s perfect,” I tell my troll BFF as he drops down another chunk of broken concrete.
It’s very handy to have a dude around with so many muscles. He shoves the block up against the others that he’s gathered so that I have a broken hodgepodge surface that somewhat functions as a table. I needed something to display what I’m selling today.
I walk around the surface laid out on the ground of the rec yard, eyeing the patchwork concrete. “Hmm,” I say, going to the left where I see one of the clumps has a sharp edge poking out. “Can you take care of that, big guy?” I ask, pointing at the piece of concrete that’s jutting out.
Joe clomps over, grabs the heavy slab, and takes a bite right out of it. Now that he’s chewed off the jagged part, he sets it back down, and I have a much smoother edge for my “table.”
I beam at him. “Perfect. You did such a good job!” I say, giving him my best encouraging voice as I pat him on the side.
With a table to work with, I’m ready now. Let’s hope everyone likes these more than the shanks.
I put my fingers in my mouth and let out an ear splitting whistle, calling attention to everyone in the rec yard. The forty or so inmates around look over, and I know it’s go-time.
“Hey!” I wave excitedly.
No one waves back.
“Tough crowd,” I mumble to Joe. He picks up another piece of concrete and starts eating it.
The inmates go back to doing whatever they were doing, and the guards continue to stand around the perimeter, talking shit and doing their best to look intimidating.
Alright, guess I’m gonna need more than just my shining personality to draw people in. Time to pull out the merchandise.
Since we aren’t allowed to actually bring anything outside with us, I had to stuff everything into my pockets. I start pulling the pieces of fabric out one by one and laying them on my concrete table, smoothing the wrinkles out.
The moment I start laying the pieces out, people start to take notice. By the time I put down the last one, I have an audience. Bingo.
“What’s this?” Zen asks, coming to the front of the gathering crowd.
“My new store,” I tell her proudly.
Everyone’s eyes are riveted on the fifteen pairs of underwear I’ve displayed like a Victoria’s Secret employee putting out the BOGO sale on V-day.
Zen picks one up by the corner. “How the hell did you make these?” she asks, staring at what once was a pair of standard, prison-issued, white granny panties and is now a super fun thong, complete with pink rhinestones in the shape of an ice cream cone on the front. “Lick me until ice cream,” she reads, and I beam at my ingenuity of stitching that on.
I nod and pluck them from her fingers to hold up for everyone to see. “I’m tackling an injustice here, people,” I tell my fellow lawbreakers. “We are self-respecting females, and we deserve better underwear than the bleached butt bloomers we’ve been forced to endure,” I say with complete seriousness. “No more,” I declare, passionate enough to be giving a women’s rights speech. “Our asses deserve better than these,” I say, holding up one of the plain pairs of underwear that we’re all issued to prove my point. “These are sad, and I’m here to make sure no one has to go through panty shame ever again.”
The females in the crowd nod emphatically. A few of the males do too.
“I’ll be taking bids today,” I announce, letting them look their fill at all the pairs I have to offer. I set the pretty panties in my hand back down, as well as the granny panties to remind them of what they’ll be doomed to wear if they miss out. “Make sure you offer up something good. Th
ese bad boys are gonna go fast,” I say with complete confidence.
“How did you dye the fabric to be different colors?” someone asks, holding up a pair that I managed to dye light pink.
“Stolen kitchen items mostly.”
Instead of looking grossed out, she nods like I just really impressed her. She probably wouldn’t be so impressed looking if she knew that one in her hand was colored from an entire bottle of ketchup, but...trade secrets and all that.
“Is this one decorated with Pop Rocks?” my broken-eyed Medusa squad member asks, staring at the pair in the very middle. It’s my crowning glory.
I smirk. “Yep,” I say, stepping forward. “The Pop Rocks panties are my masterpieces.”
Somebody snorts, but I toss them a glare over my shoulder, shutting them up instantly. Putting my attention back on the panties, I admire the three Pop Rocks pairs that I made. They look downright high fashion.
I’m still in awe over the pretty bow I made on the back of one, and the lavender color I managed to dye the other. But all three have a nice Pop Rocks collection glued on the fronts to make them look like they’re covered in gemstones. Total masterpiece stuff right there. It also took a hell of a lot of willpower to glue those candies on instead of eating them.
Someone else picks up a pair that I made to look like camouflage. It’s very sexy G.I. Joe. “Ah, don’t wear that one if you’ve got a peanut allergy,” I warn. “Oh, and wash at your own risk,” I add. “I can’t guarantee they’ll hold up for multiple wear, but I can guarantee that I’ll have more to buy every Friday. And all sales are final, so don’t try to return any. That’s just nasty.”
I clap my hands. “Let’s start this panty pride parade, yeah? Just think, no more embarrassing granny panties when that sexy guard you’ve had your eye on feels you up in the hallway or that hot asshole inmate talks dirty to you from the vent. Now you can drop your pants for them with confidence,” I say with a nod. “Alright! I’m accepting bids starting...now.”
