Both Ways by Ileandra Young

Author:Ileandra Young [Young, Ileandra]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781635552973
Publisher: Bold Strokes Books
Published: 2018-09-24T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nineteen

Grey walls. Grey ceiling. Grey floor. Hell, everything is grey, everything except the bars in place of the fourth wall. No, those are steel and as thick as my wrist, driven deep into the concrete that makes the top and bottom of my cell.

I find myself thinking of Rayne. Is she still upset with me? Is she hurt? Did she find somewhere safe to rest? Has the sun risen? Has it found her outside, unprepared, and burnt her to a crisp? Does she still want to bake lemon and poppyseed muffins for me?

No point worrying about that now.

I tell myself that, but the thoughts keep coming back—Rayne’s face pressed to the glass of my car, her lips parted in a silent scream as the sun’s light spreads across the road. Her murmurs as I run my hands through her hair and the softness of her lips against mine. Her skin, so smooth and pale, such a contrast to mine.

Distraction. That’s what I need.

Even though I’ve done it several times already, I pace the edges of my cell, mentally logging the contents and their potential uses. Flat, uncomfortable bed, bolted to the wall and too heavy to shift. Toilet, no lid, though the flush is loose and might break free if I pull hard enough. Sink, cracked, stained, and smelly, no good for anything. The taps don’t work.

My gun is gone. Utility belt too. And, despite my complaints, yells, and eventual struggles, they took my watch.

Angbec Police Force, nothing if not overly cautious.

The area beyond the bars is spartan, one chair at a table strewn with take away wrappers and crushed cans of cola. An array of playing cards beside the mess looks like a game of solitaire.

A door opens to the right, beyond my line of sight. Quick footsteps follow, then a uniformed officer appears, still fastening his fly. “What are you looking at?”

“Nothing. Just wondering why you guys have me in the supernatural holding unit.”

“You’re dangerous.”

“To who?”

He frowns, then returns to the table. “Give it a rest, eh? I don’t have time for you.”

“Yeah, because that card game is so important. Come on, what’s happening? What time is it? When’s breakfast? Do I get a phone call? What’s the meaning of life?”

The frown deepens as he shifts a card from one pile to another.

“You know I’m a SPEAR, right? You must have sussed that when you took my stuff. You know I’m one of the good guys.”

Still nothing.

“Come on, talk to me. I’m bored.”

Another card.

“I can keep this up for hours, by the way. In fact, if you don’t talk to me, I’ll have to sing. Think you’re pissed now, think how you’ll feel after twelve rounds of ‘Three Blind Mice.’ Hello? Hey? Come on, say something. Hello? By the way, you can’t put a club on a spade, Meat Stick.”

His gaze never leaves the cards, and though he does replace the last one, he neglects to thank me for my correction.

I return to the metal slab masquerading as a bed and sit, chin propped on my fist.

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