Charlotte’s the only one who can tell me what to do and actually get through to me. “Lie down, Rafe. It’s one day. Don’t fight them. Be good for Gray.”
Cass calls out to Gray as they hoist his heavy body up. “I’ll watch her, Gray! Take a break and don’t think about it.”
His eyes lock in on mine, distress plain on his features.
Two fingers tap twice across my heart, letting him know where he belongs. Cass and Charlotte mirror my actions, and just like that, the four of us have a signal. Not one that has anything to do with a vision or a plan of escape, only one that communicates a connection grander than a passing friendship.
We will get through this together, and on the other side of things, we will cling tight to each other because we know the importance of people who are worth holding on to.
Gray’s eyes shimmer with loyalty, and the love that burns the bad things away.
And just like that, they take away my safe place.
29
The Billboard of Prigham’s
I’d thought the inmates were letting their anger towards me known from the start, but apparently, they’ve been holding back, so as not to anger Gray. I’ve been knocked down and slammed into concrete walls so many times; I’m certain my sides and arms are peppered in bruises. Ursa seems to be the ringleader, which is no real surprise.
Cass and Charlotte are doing all they can to intercept the miniature assaults, but it’s just no use.
“You two should go eat over there. I’ll take the usual table.”
Cass scoffs, her upper lip curling in the direction of someone I don’t even know who’s sneering at me. “Nice try. We’re not leaving you undefended. We’re in this, honey.”
I can’t believe she draws a chuckle out of me on such a crummy day, but that’s Cass for you.
It’s such a struggle to get through the line that when Ursa shoves my tray upward and smears my food all over my jumpsuit, I realize I’ve fought for nothing. I have no appetite, so whatever food I can salvage from my tray and my jumpsuit, I’m not even hungry for anyway.
The girls don’t deserve for me to ignore them, but it’s the only way. So I take my tray over to Officer Johnson and sit down right on the floor at his feet.
Like a dog.
When Cass and Charlotte narrow their eyes at my new spot, I shake my head and point to our usual table. They need to distance themselves from me, so they can at least get some food in their systems. They acquiesce, but only because the table is a few feet from where I’m positioned, so Cass can intervene if she needs to.
I munch on the bread of my sandwich after casting the bologna onto the side of my haphazard tray.
“You shouldn’t let them get to you,” Officer Johnson says to me, though his eyes scan the lunchroom.
It’s not even worth it to respond, but evidently, I’ve got no sense left. “Tell that to my empty stomach. What’d you eat today, chief?”
He snorts once, like I’ve made a funny joke. “Touché.” He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, his salt and pepper hair moving slightly. “You’re doing fine, even though you might not think it. They’ll only keep this up until their misery runs out. If you can wait out their toddler tantrums, you’re golden.”
I glance at his shoes, noting their shine. I wonder what sort of clothing he prefers when he’s not on the clock. “Fine by me. If I starve in here, I’m sure that’ll look great on the report. It’s not like I’m a public figure or anything. No one will notice if I’ve dropped a few pounds.” I lay on the sarcasm. “I was only an underwear model before I landed myself in here, so it’s not like every centimeter of my body was measured.”
I know Officer Johnson hates me because of the family. If I had to put money on it, I’d wager that he’s been screwed over by Dad in some way. Maybe Johnson used to be a runner for the family, and he couldn’t cut it. Whatever it is, he’s grown less acerbic over time, for which I’m grateful.
Officer Johnson’s eyes widen as he puts together this additional piece. “Your weight is for the warden to worry about. Or Nurse Jen.”
“Funny, I thought you were in charge of chow duty. Keeping us all safe so we can eat.”
“That’s exactly what I’m doing.” He pauses and then leans his butt to the wall, his demeanor slightly more casual, but to the onlooker, he’s still the guard and I’m the rat at his feet. His voice lowers. “Rumor has it that you’ve got a photographer coming to see you today. Someone who’s going to do a piece on the princess’ life at Prigham’s for the paper.”
I don’t say anything, because I didn’t know that part. I’m not supposed to know Sloan is coming to visit me. Is he bringing a photographer, too?
Officer Johnson continues. “It’d be a shame if the photo showed you all roughed up. Then the public might have to question if the Sins of the Father bill is a great idea.”
“What?” I stare up at him, confused, but his eyes stay on the lunch crowd.
“It’s one thing if a nameless offspring who gets sent here has a hard time fitting in. But their princess?” He whistles, long and low. “I seem to recall an article about a manicure you had that got botched. The stylist lost her job and the whole salon went under. That’s how closely the public follows your life.”
My cheeks flush. “For the record, I didn’t complain about the manicure. Daddy was the one who threw a fit.” I mull over Johnson’s words as I blink up at him, uncertain of what he’s trying to say. “The king wants a photo of me to market the success of the Sins of the Father bill. Look at how well their princess is being treated. Isn’t she glamorous? Blah, blah, blah.”
“Huh. It’s almost like everyone who’s given you an especially hard time today was tipped off that this piece is being done on you. It’s like they know a photographer is going to capture you in all of your Prigham’s glory. I can’t imagine why they’d want the people out there to know that prison is unpleasant. I guess they’re not pleased with being locked up.”
The gears click into place. “So I’m their billboard, and they want to paint me up all nice and awful, so their parents have to deal with what they’ve done?”
“Funny how they’ve ramped up their hatred of you today. Strange coincidence.”
My mouth pops open. “Malrick, Ursa and all of them know I’m going to be photographed today?”
“Everyone knows. The king is scheduled to visit for the occasion. He’s normally not allowed to visit you, for some reason, but he paid off the warden to make an exception. Can’t imagine how big a ‘donation’ that must’ve been. For the warden to risk angering Conan Valentine?” Johnson shakes his head. “I stay out of it. Except when misery comes over and sits at my feet.” Then he glances down and gives me a smirk. “Then I feel the need to get involved. Eat your meal, kiddo. You’re going to need your wits about you.”
King Regis is going to visit me today?
My stomach drops, and I wish for a second shapeless jumpsuit so I can more thoroughly cover myself.
I stare at the smashed cornbread while I chew the bread from my sandwich. Suddenly I find myself picking up the yellow square and feathering the mealy crumbs through my hair.
“That’s right,” Johnson mutters, still not looking at me directly. “Fight with whatever you can.”
I can’t help but ask, “Why are you helping me?”
“You see my kids in here?”
“No. But I’m not a kid. None of us are.”
“Then act like it.” He shifts his weight from one foot to the other. “I don’t have kids, but if I did, I wouldn’t send them here. Most of the officers aren’t here because we love the Sins of the Father bill, but because we hate it. We want to make sure this place doesn’t turn violent on kids who’ve just been abandoned by their families.”
This new angle softens the grudge I’ve been holding against the guards for working at such a horrible place. Taking a paycheck for our pain.
But that’s not what they’ve been doing. They can
’t change the law, so they’re doing what they can to protect us while we suffer through the ache of being cast out.
“I haven’t been abandoned,” I retort, though I’m not sure how true that actually is.
He snorts. “Okay, Princess.”
I don’t know why the nickname softens me. Maybe it’s because of how ironic it is right now, me sitting on the floor with cornbread in my hair, bruises all over and food smeared on my orange jumpsuit.
I look out at the lunchroom, seeing everyone here in a new light.
They’ve been forgotten by their families, pushed aside and deserted. They’ve all but disappeared from society, and they’re counting on me to give them this rare chance to be seen.
My chin raises.
I’ll be their princess. I’ll be their billboard.
“Thanks, chief. I’ve got it from here.” I stand with my tray and trot over to Ursa, plopping down beside her so closely, she recoils. “Afternoon, Ursa, dear.”
Ursa snarls at me. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“I’m finally understanding what you’re doing. You know I’m going to be photographed today. That’s why you’re being such a pill. You want them to feel bad for sending us here. I get it now.”
Ursa’s mouth firms in defiance. “My birthday was yesterday. My parents didn’t even visit me.”
It’s the first time I’m struck with compassion that I’m sure will last, no matter how acerbic Ursa can be. “Screw them.” My shoulders roll back, and hers mimic the action. “You want to send a message? Those beans look like they’ll stain real nice.” I meet her eyes and dip my fingers into her pile of baked beans with ham, and then smear them across the thigh of my jumpsuit, staining the fabric.
Ursa’s eyes widen, and then focus with fervor. “How far do you want to take this thing? We’ve been knocking you with our trays, but unless they get a photo of you with your sleeves rolled, they won’t see the bruises.”
I can’t believe I didn’t see their plan beneath their hatred of me. “You okay with solitary?”
Ursa’s chin lifts, as if she’s being called to greatness. “So long as you get that picture and let them see what they’ve done, I’ll do all the solitary you need.”
I lock eyes with Officer Johnson, who laid out the plan for me. He gives me a nod so slight, I’m almost certain I imagined it.
I stand, raising my voice out of nowhere. “If that’s what you think, then you’re crazy!”
Ursa jumps on her chance, popping up from her seat. “Who are you calling crazy, Princess?”
I can’t conjure up a non-lame smack-talk retort, but it’s no matter. Ursa takes her opportunity, winds up and punches me square across the face.
Stars pop behind my eyes, and I assume the worst is over.
Apparently, we didn’t work out our choreography as well as I’d hoped.
Ursa throws her body into mine, ignoring the guard’s whistle as she topples us both to the ground. Her fists fly at my face, punching so quick and hard that it’s all I can do to beg her not to break my nose or knock a tooth loose.
Cass isn’t in on the plan at all, which is my bad. She tackles Ursa and gets in a few swings of her own.
The guards pry both women off of me and throw them to the ground. Ursa is swiftly bound as she pants and swears, selling the fight well enough that I almost believe it. Then she winks at me as they hoist her up—cuffed and winded.
Cass is thrown to the side, but doesn’t get punished like Ursa will.
They walk Ursa off to solitary, and I’m given a napkin to staunch the blood flowing from my nose. I wave away the offer to go to the infirmary.
Charlotte’s by my side, scared and asking me a million questions to see if I’m okay.
She grimaces at my smile as blood dribbles down my chin.
It’s the first time I cannot wait for the press to give me a close-up.
30
Camera-Ready
When I’m marched to visitation, I can still taste rust in my throat. Nurse Jen was summoned, but I begged away her help. I want to look as freshly beaten as possible for the press.
The visitation room is cleaner than usual, no doubt to prepare for the arrival of the photographer and the king. I limp into the space, not bothering with composure when my eyes land on King Regis.
Why is he here? Where is Sloan?
The king’s smile falls as he stands, motioning for me to join him at the small, round table.
Regis sits down as I take my seat. He’s flustered, which I’ll admit, is a strange color to see on the king. I haven’t seen him up close like this in a long time. It’s mostly television addresses and photos in the paper that remind me of his features: blond hair, tall and slender but not skinny, and green eyes that have too many secrets lurking just out of sight.
I don’t recall what color Paxton’s eyes are. He’s always wearing sunglasses in photos, so I doubt many know. A flicker in the back of my mind suggests that the king’s eyes are different than his son’s.
But beyond that, being so near to the king now, I notice traces of him that I recall from when I was a little girl. Flashes of memories that I perhaps have been suppressing now spring up, almost aggressively, though they’re tinged with happiness.
Uncle Regis, I called him. I can’t believe how little I remembered, but now fully recall. He would get down on all fours and chase Paxton and me through the halls.
I don’t want to think about that version of him.
Paxton was afraid of him, while my shrieks were filled with thrill and fun.
Yet even then, I wasn’t sure if he was villain or friend. Family or foe.
Now that I’m sitting across from his compassionate gaze, I’m still guessing at his true nature.
Regis rests his hand near mine, so I pull them into my lap, away from him. “Are you alright, my dear? What happened?”
I swallow thickly, glad he spoke first. Now I haven’t forfeited any of my control. “I’m paying for my father’s crimes. It’s what you were hoping would happen when you came up with the Sins of the Father bill.” Then I turn to the man at his side who’s got a camera looped around his neck. “I’m ready for my picture. I’ll sign the release for you to take my photo, but only today. Only now.”
The king harrumphs, his thinning blond hair jostling as he leans back, his brows bunching. He’s got the same stately nose and strong jaw that he passed down to Paxton. His usual smile has faded at the sight of me. “This is hardly how I want the world to see you.”
“Why? Is there something wrong with my makeup?”
The king narrows his eyes at me, the pretense of old family friends finally reunited is long gone. “We’ll come another day.”
“I’ll be getting a manicure that day. You’ll take your photo today or never. I’m not your show dog.” Though I’m swollen and in pain, I don’t sacrifice an ounce of my haughtiness. “I’m your scapegoat.”
The king dismisses the photographer so it’s just us in our corner. “Darling, I haven’t seen you in ages, and I’m afraid we’re getting off on the wrong foot. How are you faring in here? Is there anything I can do to help? I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner. You know how protective your father is. I didn’t want to cross any lines he wouldn’t forgive.”
“What makes you think I’m unhappy paying for crimes I didn’t commit? And why would you think I wouldn’t be overjoyed to see you, the man who made all this possible?” I lean forward, my arms crossed. “Are you telling me there are problems at Prigham’s?”
The king’s mouth firms, and the mask of tenderness fades from view.
His true nature surfaces, sending a chill through my bones.
Now I understand why Paxton ran out of fear when Regis chased us through the house.
“You’ll watch your tone. You are your father’s daughter, as always.” Regis runs his hand over his face. “Since pleasantries are a waste, let’s get down to the reason I’m here.”
“I thought for sure i
t was to see how your show dog was faring.”
I can tell he’s chewing on a smart retort. I’m not about to make this any easier on him.
The king squares his shoulders. “I’m here for Paxton. You know of my son’s affections for you.”
I sacrifice composure to laugh. “Paxton and I haven’t spoken since we were children. You and Daddy made sure of that with your constant feuding. I’m sure Paxton’s just pining away for me, the one who got away. Boo-hoo.” I snarl at the king, and judging by the way he bristles, I can tell he’s surrounded himself with too many people who cower to his whims. “You’re a terrible father, lying about your son like that. The fact that you’re using him as a bartering chip for whatever it is you want must mean you have a very weak hand to play.” I jerk my chin at him. “So out with it, Uncle Regis. Time to put your cards on the table.”
“Must you be so difficult? I remember you being such a sweet girl. Don’t you recall the fun we had when you were young? Did you not enjoy the gifts I’ve sent you every month?”
That catches me off-guard. “What gifts?”
“I know how you love your shoes. I never had a daughter to spoil, and Paxton doesn’t care about trinkets and such.”
My stomach sours. “Daddy buys me my shoes.”
The king actually looks hurt, so much that I recoil. “That’s what he told you?”
I nod, too turned around to play any sort of game at the moment. I cannot decipher his true nature. Good guy or evil mastermind? Is it possible to be a little bit of both?
The king deflates, and actual (or faked) compassion plays out on his softer features. “I’ve been sending you a new pair of shoes every month for years. I only commission the best designers. I thought you knew they were from me. I send a note with each pair.” He looks truly saddened now. “You never got my letters? I thought all those times you were photographed wearing them, that you wore them to let me know we were still family, despite the distance your father has put between us. I thought you were telling me I was still your Uncle Regis, and you were still my princess in pigtails.”
Sins of the Father: A Paranormal Prison Romance (Sinfully Sacrified Book 1) Page 22
