Page 180 of Cashmere Ruin

Bingo.

“Help,” I croak. “M-My stomach… It hurts so much.”

He rushes over, fumbling with the keys. I crack one eye open and see a full-blown battle on his face: the urge to obey fighting against the fear of letting me die. Who knows what they might do to him then?

“Where does it hurt?” he asks, one hand on the keys, the other on the bars.

“Low,” I grunt. “I think it might be my appendix. Oh, God, what if it burst?”

“It can do that?!”

Jesus, where do they get these people?“Yeah, it can do that. Please, just… help me check.”

Conflict flashes across the man’s face again, so I cry out again, squeezing my eyes against the imaginary pain.

Then I hear it: the keys, jingling against the iron lock.

Gotcha.

The guard kneels by my side. “H-How do I check? How—fuck?—”

“Don’t panic,” I tell him. The irony’s almost too much: here I am, hand-holding the guy I’m about to screw over through a completely fake medical emergency. Not exactly Girl Scout behavior. “Just feel around here. Press a little. I can’t do it myself; I’m too scared.”

“Okay, um…” He lays me down on the floor, then flushes bright red. “H-Here?”

“Bit higher, thanks.”

“Sorry.”

As he cops a feel and then some, I keep my eyes from rolling to the back of my head and sneak my hand into his back pocket.

God, I bet this looks so bad.“L-Like this?”

“Harder.”

I close my fingers around something smooth and flat.

There.

I slide it into my sleeve, then pull myself back up. “Actually, you know what? I feel better now. It’s probably just my period coming.”

The guy’s face blanches. “R-Right. I’m just gonna, uhh…”

He slinks out, still looking queasy.Gee, isn’t this kid supposed to be mafia or something?I watch him lock the door and put at least ten feet between us. I almost feel bad—did I scar him that much?

Oh, well. Whatever. He shouldn’t have sided with the man who took my daughter.

Before he can notice something’s missing, I jump to the next part of my plan. “Listen, could you do me a favor?”

“A favor?”

“I’m really thirsty. Could I have a glass of water?”

The guard looks around uneasily. “I’m really not supposed to leave.”

“I understand. It’s your—cough—job. Sorry, I shouldn’t—COUGH—have asked, I…”

“Okay, okay, look,” he breaks eventually, “I’ll do it. But you stay right there, you hear me?”

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