jerk away, severing contact.
“Are you afraid of me? I’m disappointed.” Killian pouts at me. “Where’s the firecracker who once choked a guard with his own belt?”
I don’t have to wonder how he obtained his info. In here, the gossip train never stops running. I’m sure he heard about my punishment, too.
“I’m not afraid of you. I just don’t like to be touched without first granting permission.” I meet his gaze dead-on, a clear challenge. “And if you want an introduction to the firecracker, I can arrange it. She’s a little ticked you called her roommate a bitch.”
He accepts the new challenge with eagerness. “Yes, please. With a cherry on top of me.”
He’s laughing at me, isn’t he? He’s even relaxed enough to twirl a lock of my hair around his finger, the black strands a lovely contrast to the bronze of his skin.
I slap his hand away. “You’re positive? She’s heartless.”
“You’re only whetting my appetite, lass.”
Not just laughing, but mocking. It makes my next action easier. “Don’t forget. You begged for this.” I punch him in the throat, a quick jab that causes him to gasp for breath he isn’t able to catch. Payback for Hank. The action should stop...whatever this is.
I smile at him. “Just so you know, even an animal in a cage can strike back.”
He recovers swiftly and—shocker—returns my smile with one of his own. His amusement appears genuine and, dare I believe it, tinged with a bit of respect.
He opens his mouth to reply, but Sloan glides into the empty seat beside him and pats his chest. She doesn’t appear to enjoy the connection, but she doesn’t end it, either. “Hey there, sugar bear.” She gives him a patented I’m-not-wearing-any-panties wink but it, too, seems faked. “I thought I’d save you the trouble of asking around for my info. I’m Sloan Aubuchon.”
His attention never leaves me. “No, thank you, lass. I’m only interested in Ten.”
His accent is thicker now, pure seduction, but the sweet words are actually a threat. I sense it. Too bad for him, I’m far from cowed. He has no idea the horrors I’ve endured. I’m not a wilting flower. Not anymore.
“Ten kisses from me?” she asks.
“To you,” I tell him, “I’m Tenley.” What’s in a name? Only everything. Nicknames allow an intimacy I don’t want to share with him.
“Or you can call her Nutter,” Sloan says, helpful as ever. “Everyone else does.”
His gaze rakes over me. “For the size of your balls, or the nutty goodness of your taste?”
Through gritted teeth, I say, “Do you require another introduction to the firecracker?”
He’s smiling as Dr. Vans enters the room.
Quiet descends over the circle as the most hated male in the asylum sits in the only cushioned chair. His narrowed gaze finds Sloan, and he pats the empty seat next to him. The one always saved for her.
She raises her chin and remains in place.
I don’t like the way he’s looking at her. I lean into his line of sight, claiming his attention with my glare. He runs his tongue over his teeth before looking away from me.
He’s a tall, lean man in his late thirties. His short brown hair is always meticulously styled, his clothes impeccably tailored underneath his lab coat.
“Are you protecting your enemy?” Killian asks me. “Lass, you’re getting more interesting by the second.”
“You mean I’m getting more bristling,” I mutter.
“More riveting.”
Dang, he’s quick.
“All right, everyone. We have a new member of our family. Please stand and tell the group three facts about yourself, Mr.—” Dr. Vans glances down at his notebook “—Flynn.”
Killian stands without hesitation. “I hear it’s best to picture your audience in their underwear.” He winks down at me. “Nice choice.” As the other kids chuckle, he adds, “I enjoy long walks on the beach, swimming in the ocean and surfing. I used to have a weakness for blondes, but I have a feeling that part of my life is over.”
He surfs? Seriously?
What are the odds?
A brunette on the other side of the circle fans her face. Sloan signs call me.
Vans notices and scowls at her.
“Also,” Killian adds, “I’m a Myriad boy through and through. If you give me an hour, I’ll convince you to sign in the first five minutes, and we can spend the rest of our time celebrating your decision.”
I give him a thumbs-down.
Hank raises his hand and, with challenge in his eyes, says, “I accept. Your cell or mine?”
“Like you could handle me, boy-o.” Killian sits.
“I like your enthusiasm, Mr. Flynn. Perhaps Ms. Lockwood needs to spend quality time with you.” Vans makes a notation in his book. “Yes. I’m already sold on the idea. I’ll make the arrangements.”
I bite my tongue to stop a shout of negation. Of course Vans wants to pair me with a Myriad loyalist.
How would Killian, my parents or even Bow like it if I actively tried to convince them to join the world of the Unsigned?
I drum my fingers against my chin. “I think quality time with Mr. Flynn is exactly what I need...to finally push me in Troika’s direction.”
Killian snorts, as if he knows I’m bluffing.
Vans purses his lips but doesn’t reply directly. “All right, everyone. I’m here to listen to any problems you’ve been having. Talk to me. Help me help you make your stay here more enjoyable.”
More enjoyable for him. For us? More agonizing.
As different kids list their grievances—things I’ve heard a thousand times before—I distract myself with the childhood song that’s never far from my mind.
Ten tears fall, and I call...nine hundred trees, but only one is for me. Eight times eight times eight they fly, whatever you do, don’t stay dry.
“—don’t like that you’re still alive, Vanniekins.” Sloan runs a fingertip down each cheek, mimicking tears. “Let me remedy the problem?”
An-n-nd as usual, he moves on without chastising her.
Seven ladies dancing, ignore their sweet romancing. Six—
“—spiders in my room,” a girl bursts out, as if she can’t hold in the words a second longer. She shudders with revulsion.
