I glance over at Charlotte. “You’ve taken a vow of silence? That’s pretty heavy. Any particular reason? Silence until you’re free again?”
Charlotte shakes her head and flips the page in my manual, indicating I should ask her if I have any questions about the machine once I get started.
“Silence until she knows how to set us all free,” the other girl explains, still not looking at me.
I gape at Charlotte, unsure what to do with something so noble and entirely impossible. “You’re not speaking until you’ve got a plan for setting everyone here free? How close are you on that?”
Charlotte holds her hand level to the floor and tilts it from side to side.
Her spokesperson answers for her. “Charlotte doesn’t believe children should have to pay for the sins of their parents, no matter what the law says. She’s been silent for two years, focusing her energy into healing the judicial system.”
What the actual…
“Wow. I don’t think I’ve ever heard of anything so bloody impressive. Good luck to you.” Then to her friend, I ask, “What’s your name?”
“I’m Cassia Chang. You might want to figure out your machine. We’ve got a quota to meet. Let the new girl be, Charlotte. She can figure out the rest on her own.”
The fact that Cassia hasn’t once looked at me sinks in my stomach. “Gotcha.” She doesn’t want to be associated with me, because I’m likely to be targeted until the disruption of my arrival at Prigham’s settles. She doesn’t want to catch any fallout.
Smart girl.
I dab at my leaking chin with Malrick’s sleeve scrap, steeling myself to get through this day without further incident.
But Charlotte doesn’t move her desk from its new spot beside me. In fact, she scoots her desk closer, motioning to her machine, so I can follow her silent hands-on tutorial.
Man, I want a friend. Just one person with whom I can share exasperated sighs.
But it’s clear Cassia speaks for Charlotte, and she doesn’t want the two of them associated with me.
“That’s okay. I’ll figure it out. You’re not exactly going to win any popularity points, sitting this close to me.”
Charlotte casts me a wry look, and then crosses her eyes to bring out a smile on my face, giving me the impression that she couldn’t care less what anyone thinks of her or her affiliations.
Okay, now I really like her.
Charlotte’s hands move slowly, giving me time to mirror her actions as she positions the soft pink material. She presses the pretty sides together, and leaves the faded insides facing outward.
When I finally get it right, Charlotte grins in time with Cassia’s harrumph. “Oh, fine.” Cassia ambles her desk across from ours, connecting her gaze with mine. “But if Charlotte gets backlash from helping you, I’m holding you responsible, Princess.”
“You and everyone else,” I mutter, training my focus on the work at hand.
I will not feel sorry for myself. I will not wallow. I’ll let myself feel it all when I’m out, in five years. Until then, I’m going to make clothes for… I flip a few pages, but don’t find the information I’m looking for. “What company are we making these for?”
Cassia stares at me for a few beats, as if waiting for the irony to build. “These pants are Natalia’s Secret.”
I gape at Cassia, who sits with her knees far apart, like a cowboy. “Are you serious?” My stomach churns.
My contract with the designer brand was ended prematurely because of my incarceration. I’ve been the face of Natalia’s Secret since I turned nineteen. Their underwear line was designed with me in mind.
And now I’m sewing the clothes I’ve been modeling.
Bile rises in my throat. “Natalia’s Secret slacks cost nine hundred dollars a pair! And they’re being made by inmates for eight cents an hour?”
When I learned the hourly wage in acclimation, I’d laughed out loud. Now I want to throw my desk across the room in protest.
Cassia’s jaw sets with all the things she probably wishes she could voice, but no one wants to hear. “You say that like slave labor should be frowned upon. Like companies using us to make their products for practically free is wrong. What’s so terrible about companies profiting off of people who have no choice but to work for them for barely any pay?”
Immediately, I like Cassia, and forgive any sandpaper that’s come about in her personality.
A snicker slips through my lips, and the corner of Cassia’s mouth quirks while I engage in her ire-laced banter. “Sounds admirable to me. They don’t have to waste their time paying people a fair wage out in the real world who claim they need jobs to feed their families. Less paperwork, not having to deal with unions and whatnot. Smart.”
Cassia grins, but doesn’t look up at me.
I’ll take it.
I feel completely foolish, modeling clothes made by legalized slave labor. I should have researched more, done more digging before signing on with a company who would do something so despicable.
But I can’t change that now. “Regret is a useless emotion,” Daddy always says.
I wonder if he regrets sending me here.
We work in silence for a few minutes until something dings at my hair, followed by several sniggers. I curl my lip in the offender’s direction. “A spit wad, Malrick? Seriously? How old are you? I thought you had to be at least twenty years old to serve time at Prigham’s.”
“Malrick,” Officer McGregor drones, not looking up from his novel.
“Sorry, sir,” Malrick replies, sounding nothing even close to apologetic.
I fish the gross, damp bit of rubbish from my long chocolate waves, silently bemoaning the fact that I won’t see my hairstylist for five more years. “I sincerely hope this is as close as any woman’s come to wearing Malrick’s DNA,” I mutter to the girls.
Charlotte shoots me a look laced with compassion, and Cassia softens. “Just ignore him, Arlanna. Ignore them all. Everyone here is a different shade of miserable, being stuck how we are. Some of them like to take it out on each other, since we can’t punish our parents for sending us here.”
“Arly,” I correct her. “Arlanna’s my name for the papers. The people I like get to call me Arly.”
Cassia smirks and then jerks her thumb to her chest. “Cass. Welcome to Prigham’s, Arly.”
And for the first time in a long time, I finally feel like I found a friend.
Maybe even two.
2
Chow Line
The cafeteria is loud. I can see the relief of fewer restrictions and no more labor expectations lifting everyone’s spirits. I didn’t think laughter would be a thing behind the intimidating iron gates of Prigham’s, but there are pockets of it breaking out as friends regale others with the perks of their morning.
Cass and Charlotte direct me to the food line, and I notice one of them takes the spot in front of me, and the other takes the position behind.
It’s then I realize too many people are staring at me. “I’m guessing you all don’t get all that many new people in here. I feel like the only giraffe in the squirrel pen, trying to crouch down to fit in.”
“Something like that. You’re the biggest name we’ve had in here so far. Might want to lie low as much as possible.” Cass takes a tray for herself and hands me mine.
Duh. I’m in a food line. Grab a tray, Arly.
“Brilliant.” My sarcasm can’t be helped as I scan the food options, my mouth pulling to the side. “I’m guessing asking for a vegetarian plate wouldn’t make tofu magically appear.”
Charlotte sniggers and points to a salad bar at the end.
Cass grabs a ladle and slops mashed potatoes onto her plate, followed by a… is that a meat brick? And then some gravy on top. Her ivory arms are lean and muscular, her movements laced with confidence. “They don’t much care about your dietary restrictions here. They’re expected to keep us alive, keep us on our jobs, make sure we can’t use magic, and that we don’t escape. Personal cho
ice is a luxury.”
I bite my lower lip through my internal groan. Then I roll my shoulders back.
Head held high.
“No matter. Salad bar is fine.” I snag some carrots and mashed potatoes, and then head on down to the salad bar.
Chickpeas for protein. Perfect.
It shouldn’t bother me that a few elbows catch my ribs as I pass. Just like the burgeoning bruise on my chin shouldn’t bother me. I hold my ground as best I can, not detouring from my path.
I didn’t care about the pale lettuce before, but now I’ll be damned if I don’t get some on my plate. No one’s going to intimidate me.
“Hasn’t your family ruined enough lives? Now they’re sending Princess Arlanna Scarlett Valentine to Prigham’s?”
Another person I’ve never met suddenly gets all bold as I reach for the tongs.
“Your father’s a monster! One of his men broke my dad’s arm because he was late on a payment!”
Yep, that sounds like Daddy.
Another insult hurls itself at me from my left. “Your stuck-up mum didn’t like the food at my parents’ diner, so she had it shut down!”
That one’s on Dad, too. He was protective of Mum, back when she was alive years ago and struggling to understand how her gift of reading people’s auras translated into helping Dad run his many businesses. In his mind, I think every time he grew overprotective of her, it compensated for all the times he cheated on her throughout their marriage. If she didn’t like the food somewhere, he addressed the issue.
“Addressed the issue” can cover a myriad of sins.
I ignore everyone as best I can until someone slams their palm across the top of my tray, sending my food splattering to the floor.
Venom courses through my veins. This would be the point where Sloan talks me down, reminding me that Valentines don’t get their hands dirty. Then he would “address the issue” for me after escorting me to my car and hiding me behind the black tinted windows.
Only Sloan isn’t here.
But neither is my magic.
I glance down at the black titanium cuffs on my wrists. They fit all of us with these when we enter Prigham’s Penitentiary. My family’s magic is the stuff our name is built on, and this place has utterly castrated me. I don’t have my mum’s ability to read auras, or my dad’s ability to persuade people. They’re giants, as far as magical abilities go, but as it’s been going through the years, each generation is slightly less powerful than the one before it.
The fae magic has been fading for decades, but the cuffs taking it completely away? It’s a cruelty that cuts deep.
Five years without fae magic.
People are crowding around me now, watching my fists clench as if they’re anticipating a show of power they logically know isn’t coming. My family comes from old magic, which is more powerful than what they’re used to. But we never flex our muscles in public. Once you make that mistake, then your enemy knows all that you can do, and they can form a counterattack.
“Get lost,” a velvety voice says from behind me.
The person who hates me for getting his family’s diner shut down, whose name I still don’t know, suddenly pales as he takes a step back. Four more do the same.
I turn, wondering who is bold or daft enough to stick up for me. All words die in my throat when my eyes land on the towering form of a shifter, fangs and all.
A shifter at Prigham’s? I didn’t think that was a thing.
Finally, a guard trots toward the fray, a bored lag to his voice and a nametag that reads “Johnson”. “Break it up, break it up. Go find your seats and eat.” His brown eyes fix on me. “I see you’re off to a fantastic start. Making a mess and making friends already? Pick up your tray and stop fooling around, Princess.”
I gape at the audacity of him acting as if I’ve dropped my tray for no reason. I gear up to give him a piece of my mind.
His icy glare cuts me before a word comes out. I’m not sure he means for me to read into it, but I can see clear enough his loathing. Not for all inmates, but for me in particular.
He knows my family. I recognize that look. It’s the bravery mingled with memories of defeat. He’s been roughed up by Dad and his guys.
And now he’s in charge of making sure I stay safe for the next five years.
Brilliant.
Instead of speaking in my defense, I gather up my food on the tray, meeting his dislike for me with a punishment of my own for him. “Sounds like you really know how to keep the peace. I think my new lunch spot will be wherever you are. That your post over there?” I motion to the corner from which he came.
The shifter chuckles at my moxie as he trots back to his table. I don’t even know his name, but I’m grateful he intervened.
Officer Johnson’s salt-and-pepper eyebrows raise, as if unsure how he’s supposed to respond to me. “It is, but you’ll sit at a table with the others.”
“But I’m so much safer with you. Look how quick you came to my aid. I mean, without you, how will I learn not to make a mess and drop my tray on the floor?”
Officer Johnson’s cheeks color, and he spins away from me, beelining for the furthest corner.
True to my word, I move to get myself another tray, but Charlotte’s already on it. Cass isn’t quite as chipper as her friend, but the two follow me to the table nearest Officer Johnson, who grumbles under his breath. It seems the tables near any of the guards dotting the walls are left empty, which makes sense. No one wants to dine near tasers and batons.
Except for me, apparently.
“Charlotte, isn’t Officer Johnson just the best?” I coo loud enough for him to hear as I munch on a carrot stick. “I mean, if he wasn’t around to let people throw my food on the floor, what would I do? Such an honorable man, he is. A cut above my father’s men, I’m sure.”
Charlotte laughs silently with wide eyes, as if she can’t believe I’m indulging in the scandal of mockery. Oh, how little she knows me.
Cass shakes her head at Charlotte, her inky hair swishing around her shoulders. “Boy, you sure know how to pick your charity cases, Charlotte. This one’s going to be a handful.”
Charlotte merely beams in response.
When I cast Cass a quizzical raise of my brow, she explains. “Charlotte and I mostly keep to ourselves. It’s not often we stick our necks out for anyone. But she’s got a plan, and apparently, you’re part of it. You, me, the shifter, Nurse Jen and someone still coming. Not sure who.”
I study the girls with a healthy dose of skepticism. “I’m part of your plan, am I? The one to free us all?”
Charlotte nods proudly.
“Splendid.” I do what I can to keep my face composed. “I saw him. The shifter. I didn’t know there were shifters here.”
“Just the one.” Cass jerks her head in the direction of the table two over from us. “That’s Gray. He helps the women here.”
My brow raises. “How’s that?”
Cass leans her elbow on the table. “Did you think it was strange that the number of feminine products we’re allotted was limited to twelve a month?”
My mouth drops open, but somewhere in the back of my brain, that factoid registers. “I think I remember something like that in acclimation. It was so much information. But we can earn money to get more products if we need them, right?”
Charlotte snorts derisively, so Cass speaks for them both. “If you want a normal month’s supply, it’s going to take twenty-one hours of labor. If you want to see the nurse, it costs a day’s labor. Why do you think not a single inmate doesn’t work in here?”
I guess I never put it all together before. I have no problem with working while I’m in here. But half a week’s work for just supplemental pads and tampons? An entire day’s labor for a visit to the nurse?
“That seems out of balance. It’s like the women are purposefully chained because the warden controls if we’re allowed to take care of our bodies.”
Cass nods. “It’s how th
ey can treat us like slaves and not have to call it slave labor. Anyways, Gray doesn’t keep his money. He gives it to the women to help us buy our feminine products.”
I gape at the shifter, who keeps his gaze to himself. “That’s… That’s a good man.”
“He is. The three of us usually sit together, but he’s not good with new people. Or maybe it’s that most fae aren’t good with him.”
I stab at the wilted iceberg lettuce. “I thought Prigham’s was a prison for fae.”
Cass straightens, her jaw turning to iron. “And why do you think that?”
Other than it being common knowledge? Let’s see… “Because for parents to make their children do time for their crimes, they have to pay a hefty chunk of money to the government to get their kids into Prigham’s. Shifters don’t…” It’s then my words die on my lips.
“Shifters don’t have enough money for that kind of thing? Don’t you think that’s wrong? I mean, it seems like a systematic problem if the races are economically divided so steeply.”
I like Cass. I can’t help it. She says what’s on her mind and doesn’t care what anyone else thinks, mainly because she doesn’t care to think like anyone else.
“That is a problem. I’m guessing you have solutions lined up?”
Her eyes lock on mine. “Complaining to the right people seems to be job one. If Charlotte latched onto you, there must be a reason. Maybe they’re her reasons; maybe they’re my reasons.”
My mind spins. “Wait, you’re serious? You two think I’m going to be part of Charlotte’s plan to free us all from this place? I just got here, and I have far less influence than you assume.” I shake my head. “Or maybe you think I can do something about the shifters being on the lower end of society. I wouldn’t know where to begin to start correcting a problem like that. You and Charlotte have the wrong idea about what I’m capable of. I model underwear and bras. The only power I have is making you think underwire actually gives your breasts some lift.”
Cass jabs her fork to her left. “Charlotte’s right here. No need to talk about her like she’s not. She’s voluntarily mute, not invisible.”
Sins of the Father: A Paranormal Prison Romance (Sinfully Sacrified Book 1) Page 2
