Now they’ve found their voices. Almost as one, the entire collection of inmates throughout the yard shouts, “I do!”
An officer forces me to my knees, but I’m not shutting up. “Then kneel with me, brothers and sisters! Until we are set free, and the Sins of the Father bill is thrown out, we will not move a single brick!”
Triumph roils through my veins as every single inmate sits down, abandoning wheelbarrows and shovels.
The officers are shouting at us to get up, but we sit in our position of power.
I don’t see the baton aimed for the back of my head, nor do I care when a blow hits me so hard, my jaw goes slack.
Charlotte sobs as my head bobs, and finally, the world goes black.
30
Play the Hand You’re Dealt
Arlanna
Sloan is terrible at poker. Maybe it’s because I know his tells too well, or perhaps it’s because he’s just plain bad at the game.
Then again, maybe he’s doubly dreadful today because Nurse Jen is playing with us, along with Officer Johnson. It’s weird to see the two in street clothes. Nurse Jen is exactly how I would have guessed: ripped jeans, dark t-shirt with the sleeves rolled up to show off her ink, and red converse to match her cherry hair.
Johnson, on the other hand, is prone to showing up in loud, tropical button-up shirts and jeans that might be older than I am. It’s a strange look on him, to say the least.
“You guys are sweet for coming here to lose at poker.” I adjust my cards. “Nothing better to do on a Friday morning?” It’s the third time I’ve hinted at neither of them clocking in for their shifts at Prigham’s.
Jen, I understand. She was just attacked and has only been on her feet for a few days. But Johnson should be at work for sure.
“They sure have relaxed the dress code at Prigham’s, Officer Johnson.”
He casts me a simpering look (because his cards are rubbish. I know this, because I am nothing short of delightful). “You know my first name now. Out here, I’m not your officer.”
I look between him and Jen, and then to Sloan, who’s studying his cards as if there’s going to be a quiz later. “Alright, John. John Johnson.” It’s such a funny name, I can barely say it without grinning. “Are you really not going to tell me why you’re not at work? As much as I love kicking your butt at poker, I’m guessing you’ve maxed out your vacation days.”
Johnson’s eyes dart toward Sloan, who sits back and sighs, throwing his cards on my tray.
I’ve felt better since yesterday, and today I’m supposed to get the green light from the doctor that I’m well enough to go back to prison.
Sloan runs his thumb and forefinger over his eyebrows to smooth them—a thing he does only when Nurse Jen is in the room. It’s clear he’s attracted to her, but worrying over the tidiness of his eyebrows is a new one. “Arly, things have been happening that maybe you should know about.”
And that’s when my stomach drops. “Out with it.”
Johnson chews on his upper lip. “Prigham’s lost their account with Natalia’s Secret. The company complained that the clothes were sent unsewn, and the material ruined. Apparently, they lost two weeks’ shipment, and the warden wouldn’t cop to the problem being on our end, because the garments were all inspected before they were shipped. So Prigham’s lost a major bit of funding.”
I do what I can to bite back my grin. Cass will be beaming when she learns that she single-handedly took out a corrupt company’s connection to nearly free labor. They wrongfully profited off the backs of prisoners, using us as slaves.
Sloan catches my smug expression. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”
I shrug. “I couldn’t possibly. Like Johnson said: the clothes were all inspected before they were shipped. Shame Prigham’s lost some funding. They might have to actually take money from legitimate businesses who don’t undermine the value of human labor. That’s tough. Plus, the payments our parents put down to get us into Prigham’s is more than enough to fund the place. Strange that Prigham’s would seek outside funding. Must be a hole in someone’s pocket. Pesky, that.”
Sloan narrows one eye at me, but that’s the most he’ll interrogate me in front of the others.
Jen kicks her foot up onto the seat of her chair so she can retie the laces of her red Converse. “Natalia’s Secret isn’t the only company suffering. The prisoners have organized a sit-in. They’re refusing to work until they’re all set free. They’re even enduring a hunger strike to drive their point home.”
My mouth falls open. “Are you serious? Everyone? They’re all working together on this?” When Jen nods, I try to picture the scene. “Never thought I’d see the day. What was it that brought them all together?”
Jen keeps her eyes on her laces, and now I can see she’s avoiding my gaze. “Paxton and Grayson were assaulted by an officer during brick duty, so everyone decided they’d had enough.”
Too many emotions roil inside me. I want to race to them and see if they’re okay. I want to rage at the officer who did such a demeaning and dangerous thing. I also want to choke King Regis for letting his own son be in such a perilous position in the first place.
My throat is suddenly dry. “Are they alright?”
Jen nods. “They’re okay. When I go back to work tomorrow, I’ll check on them.”
There’s a hesitance I can see to all three of them. I can’t believe my intuition’s been down so much that I’ve indulged them in two hands of poker before picking up on it. “Tell me everything. You’re holding back.”
When Jen and Johnson clam up, Sloan takes the lead. “I was waiting until you were out of the woods, which I guess is now. In the lobby are about three dozen reporters, waiting to get a picture of you.”
I bristle. “That’s nothing new. Remember when I had my tonsils out? They made it out to be like, a national crisis or something. Am I supposed to talk to them now?”
But my gut tells me there’s more to their dodgy glances than that.
Johnson leans forward and takes the lead. “I’m not sure how much of your rescue you remember, but before I got you to the ambulance, we made a detour to the warden’s office.”
“Right. You needed to grab those files so I could smuggle them out.”
“That’s not the whole of it. I laid you down on the warden’s desk. Do you remember that?”
I swallow hard. “I do. You took pictures.”
I expect Sloan to tighten up, since he usually does when people take pictures of me compromised, but he sits there, staring at his hands and not looking at me.
Now I know something’s off.
Johnson rests his elbows on his knees and hits me with a level gaze, coming at me as an equal, not as an authority figure. “Well, I took those pictures straight to the press. Sent them to as many news stations as I could. My plan was to send the pictures under a fake account and walk away, pretending it wasn’t me when I went back to work. But when I went to clock in the next day, my badge wouldn’t work. I’d been terminated.” His lips tighten. “We all were.”
My mouth pops open as I glance at Jen for verification. “Except for me,” she clarifies. “Not many people lined up for my job, so if you were hoping to get rid of me, you’re out of luck.”
My relief is marred by confusion. “They let all the officers go?”
Johnson gives half a smile, as if sudden unemployment doesn’t bother him at all. “Apparently we’ve been too soft on the inmates, so the king’s sent in stricter officers to replace us. The pictures of you looking barely alive started hitting the papers, and then news of us all being sacked for not going hard on you all, so the warden’s in a bit of a mess. Brutality being brought to light, then combine that with a whole new staff who draws their batons without thinking about who they’re hitting.”
A fire lights under me, and I throw the pink cashmere blankets off my lap. “I need to get back there. Gray, Cass, Charlotte and Paxton need me. They must be fr
eaking out.”
Sloan holds his hands up to keep me from ending my “vacation” prematurely. “The main picture that’s circulating of you is pretty brutal. Turned my stomach just to look at it. The warden’s under a lot of fire for not taking care of his inmates. And now he’s got a whole slew of authoritarians the king is insisting he use. The longer you’re out here, the better.”
“I’m not leaving them to fend for themselves!”
Sloan taps his temple. “Think it through, Arly. The best way to help them is by fighting with the tools you have. You’ve always had the press at your beck and call, but now they’re ravenous for a word. They want to know how it really is inside the walls of Prigham’s. My advice? Play the hand you’ve been dealt. You have a right to your voice, and finally, the world is ready to listen.”
“My voice does nothing!” I shout, though my anger is directed at myself, and not at Sloan.
My best friend takes my frustration in stride. “Protect your people from where you’re sitting.” He meets my gaze with one that has purpose attached to it. “And when you get back inside, remind them that they already have the tools to protect themselves.”
I don’t know what tools he means until his eyes glance at my wrists, noting the cuffs I’ve long since rendered useless.
My breath catches, and suddenly, I know what I need to do.
One way or another, we’re going to be free. If the king won’t grant us the freedom we deserve, then we will take it.
King Regis quieted our magic. I want to see his face when he finds out that five hundred citizens not only will have their magic back, but his own son will have tapped into ancient power, beating his father to the punch.
A thrill zips up my spine as the path to our freedom finally opens up and shows me the last few steps it will be to me to take.
Jen stands to pour me another glass of water. “This is your chance, Princess. Tearing down a corrupt system is going to take everything we’ve got.”
I situate my blankets and smooth my hair. “Then let the reporters in. If I’ve only got this span of time to tell my story and tear the Sins of the Father bill to shreds, then I need to get started.”
There’s a twinkle in Sloan’s eye that he only gets when he’s proud of me. I savor that glimmer of hope and do what I can to organize my thoughts.
The world is about to see that it’s time for a change.
31
It’s Coming
Paxton
Our strike has lasted three days, which means we’ve gone nearly half a week without food. Sitting in the yard all bunched together is the only way to fend off the chill that comes when the sun sets. I never thought I’d be this close to the other men in the pen, but I find I’m grateful for the body heat, however paltry it may be. The women have been shunted toward the center of our circle.
There’s a deep sense of unity among the outer ring, because we know that we are the first line of assault. When the officers start up their ritual of rage, we are the ones who take a baton to the back of the head. When the surly officers come out, we take our position seriously and with a modicum of pride, because we are protecting our fellow inmates.
Cassia is sitting inside of Gray’s open legs, and has a woman sitting in front of her in the same position. Charlotte is cradled between my open legs, and my elbow is pressed to Gray’s. The four of us hold tight to each other, because we know that there is much at stake. A beating, sure, but more importantly, we might just be on the cusp of catapulting true change.
It’s an empowering message, thinking you might be able to alter the mind of a king. I mean, I’ve tried my whole life, and have come up empty every time, but I was only one person. This is an entire community of people.
I refuse to think of us as oppressed or as prisoners any longer. We are warriors demanding change.
Charlotte sniffles, though not from sadness. We’re all chilly and in need of blankets or something to stem the nightly breeze from freezing us over. The jumpsuits offer little protection from the elements. All I can say about that is I’m glad it’s not the dead of winter, only the midpoint of autumn.
I band my arms more firmly around Charlotte, shielding her as much as I can when the wind picks up and bites at my back.
“It’s coming,” Charlotte reminds us. She’s said the same thing for days, so much that trying to engage in conversation with her is, for the most part, fruitless. Her mind is on a loop, like she’s preparing for the big finale.
Something is coming. I can only hope Charlotte’s vision is promising us relief, and not the end of our last shred of courage.
How I wish she’d let any of us in on what’s about to happen. We’re freezing and starving, but we’re hanging on to the hope that the world shouldn’t be allowed to continue on like this.
Cassia pats Gray’s forearm and sits forward. “It’s been an hour. It’s your turn to rally the troops, brother.”
So endeared to each other are we that the four of us have stuck to claiming each other as our family. I love it.
I love us.
Gray cracks his knuckles and rolls his neck. “An hour’s passed already?”
Cassia taps her fist to Gray’s boot. “I love that you have the bravery to question my perfection. Makes me smile that you’re still capable of imagining I could ever be wrong.”
Gray chuckles, which, I’ll admit, is a soothing sound. There’s been precious little levity, what with the officers circling us with their batons, daring us to do anything even remotely rowdy, so they have an excuse to beat us again.
We’ve been relying on Cassia’s militarily perfect internal clock to keep the time. Every hour, the three of us take turns giving a rousing speech to the inmates, reminding them all why we’re doing this, and that we can’t give in just because our stomachs are starved and our fortitude is waning.
Gray’s speeches are more to the point, and the shortest by far. But they’re effective.
Cassia’s speeches are filled with anger that rouses even the most deadened spirit.
Mine are probably too long-winded, but I don’t care.
Charlotte’s have devolved into a terrifying loop of “It’s coming,” so we’ve decided to take her out of the rotation.
Gray grips Cassia’s hand, and then leans over to kiss Charlotte’s cheek.
“It’s coming,” Charlotte whispers in response.
Sympathy softens all three of us. “I know, Charlotte. I know. It’s going to be okay.” Gray boops Charlotte’s nose, but she doesn’t blink.
Of all the things that worry me, Charlotte’s near catatonic loop is at the top of the list.
I reach over and hold Gray’s other hand. I don’t have bolstering words for him. I ran out of those yesterday.
Gray rocks toward me and kisses my cheek, stunning my heart with something unfamiliar that doesn’t need words to offer up an explanation.
Gray and I are family. Brothers cut from two vastly different cloths. I am certain that no matter what the future holds, we will never let go of each other.
I cannot remember the last time my father kissed me, or if something so intimate has ever been passed between us. Gray knows the type of familial environment he wants to create in us, and doesn’t care that the world will never accept us as brothers. Gray has precious few hang-ups, and has never much cared for what people think about him. I’m drawn to his steadiness, and wear his kiss with pride.
Gray stands and steps carefully toward the center of the long series of concentric circles. We learned a couple days ago that whomever is delivering the speech needs to be on the inside. If the officers can reach the speaker, they’ll bludgeon them until the hope stops flowing from their lips.
My stomach churns as I recall Cassia lying unconscious after we learned that lesson the hard way.
The ring of guards tenses up, but as usual, there’s no cause for them to draw their batons. It’s just words, which apparently, they don’t believe can change a bloody thing.
&nbs
p; Gray doesn’t stutter. He also doesn’t let anyone off the hook for how they’ve treated their fellow inmates. It’s an echo of the speech he gave three hours ago, but we all need its repetition.
“The biggest crime is not our incarceration,” he shouts through the night air. “The biggest sin, more than the Sins of our Father, will be if we are set free, but still hold on to the prison of our prejudice.”
I helped him iron that part out. Alliteration is the friend of all public speeches if you want them to stick in the minds of your listeners.
“I’ve sweat alongside all of you, and deserve to be treated like an equal. When we get out of here, I’m charging all of you with the mission to find a shifter and befriend them. Help them. Make their lives easier as much as you can. I will be looking up each and every one of you in exactly one year from the day we’re set free, and I will ask you how you’ve treated my kind. I will ask you the names of the shifters you’ve had in your home.”
This speech is a little more direct than usual, but I like its message.
Gray beats his chest. “I’ve treated my fae girlfriend far better than you’ve treated her. When she gets back, things are going to change around here. I won’t stand another day of being this ashamed of her people. Arlanna Scarlett Valentine is one of you, and she’s had it far worse than anyone here. She took your brutality with a raised chin, not blaming anyone for the bruises you put on her body. It ends today!”
His voice scrapes raw in his throat, and I know he’s beyond desperate to see Arlanna again.
“Today, we stop punishing each other for our parents’ sins! Today, we’re brothers and sisters who have been through a battle.” He locks eyes with Officer Meade. “All we want is to be seen as people and not cattle.”
I’m surprised anyone has the gusto to cheer, but I startle when everyone—hundreds of inmates—shout their allegiance to this cause.
Sins of the Mother: A Paranormal Prison Romance (Sinfully Sacrificed Book 2) Page 19
