Page 108

Jamie’s breathing has gone ragged. The wall behind me doesn’t make a sound. “I’m not dying for you dumbasses.”

I sit on the edge of the bed facing the wall. “Ben.”

Jamie slides down the wood until he hits the floor. “We’re fucked.”

I look at the red room Heather built for a man named Simon. “You said sound carries.”

“Don’t.”

“You telling me what to do?”

I wrench the top drawer. It catches on something built to stop it. I yank again, and the wood groans. On the third pull, the stops tear out of the frame with a crack, and sleep clothes spill across the floor. I put the drawer through the mushroom light. Plastic cracks. The red room goes dark.

“Fuck.” Jamie swears. “She’s gonna kill you.”

I use the drawer on the door next. Once. Twice. The corner splits, but the frame holds.

Footsteps cross the hall. Jamie goes silent. A key enters the lock.

Heather opens the door and looks at the broken light, the clothes across the floor, the drawer in my hands. “You wanted my attention.”

There’s a stun baton in one of her hands and a switch at her hip. Bitch came to play.

“I want out.”

“No.” She steps inside and closes the door behind her. “You wanted me to come correct you.”

The drawer suddenly feels very light in my hands.

CHAPTER 30

Heather

“Iwanted you to open the fucking door.” Simon shifts his grip on the drawer. He’s still unsteady from the drug, although anger is doing a good job of holding him upright.

“Put it down.”

“Fuck you.”

I press the button on the stun baton. The sound changes his expression. “Keep holding it. I’d like you to understand exactly why that was a mistake.”

He raises the drawer.

I put the baton against his side and pull the trigger.

Simon’s body locks before the drawer hits the floor. His knees give way, and he goes down hard beside it. He sucks in air through his teeth and looks up at me the way he looked at Luis over the bass.

I pick up the drawer and set it on the dresser. Then I look at the lamp. “You don’t damage my things.”

“It’s a fucking lamp.”

I kick the lamp out of my way and swing the dead baton into his ribs. I wait until he has enough air to hear me.

“That includes the lamp. That includes the drawer. That includes the body you keep treating like it’s still yours.”

He curls onto his side.

I don’t need to see the scars. I know exactly where the pink one is. I kick him onto his back and put my shoe on his thigh beside the cut, so he feels how close I am to the insult.