Page 58 of Auctioned to the Prisoners

“NO!” she says immediately, her horror causing her to take her eyes off the road. “Why?”

“Because I'm not risking you ending up in a place like that, Lory. You tell them that, okay, or I'll find another way to leave town.”

“Okay,” she agrees, but her knuckles are bone-colored where she's gripping the wheel so tightly. I know in my heart that she'd never throw me under the bus. Lory's loyal. She sold her body for her sister. She knows the depths of what I'm capable of and still wants to focus on the good. She'd do anything for the people she loves, and it's something I deeply respect about her.

When we reach the edge of the field, I tell her to pull over.

“Stay in the car,” I instruct, looking around to ensure the coast is clear before grabbing the empty bag.

The last time I walked across this rough ground, I had a gut instinct that shit was about to go sour. My supplier had been acting shady, and I'd felt the tingling sensation of eyes on me as I moved around the city. It was a risk to come here, but I slipped around town, changing my jacket and adding a hat and glasses to change my appearance. I buried a metal box beneath the tree and hid the small spade I used to dig in a high hollow of another tree.

That's where I head first, finding it rusted but in working order. Time has passed, and it's not the only thing that has changed over the years. I stand in front of the ground that could hold my future, years older and wiser. If the box has been discovered, it won't end my chance of a successful escape, but it'll make it more difficult.

I dig, finding the ground hard. When the spade hits metal, I breathe a sign of relief that my box is still there. It takes ten minutes to get it out, and I stuff it into the bag, pushing the soil back into the hole I've made. I replace the spade in the tree before I jog back to the car.

I'm sweating and panting as I tug the seat belt across my body, but I take a few seconds to stare at Lory. She's so pretty that it hurts my heart and makes it soar. She smiles at me, and it lights up the world. “Let's go.”

Lory nods, turning the key in the ignition, but I pull her in for a hard, desperate kiss before she can pull away. She goes limp in my arms, and we both pant with relief. Holding her face between my palms, I press my forehead to hers. “My name is Connor O'Reilly. Say it.”

“Connor O'Reilly.”

The passport contained in the box confirms it.

Kinkaid Callahan dies here. I don't give a fuck about leaving him behind. Connor has a chance to do better. Connor has wiped the slate clean.

Nodding, I smile. “Now drive, pretty girl. We've got somewhere to be.”

23

JAMES

SUNSHINE

Dear James,

I dreamed of you last night. We were lying on a big bed with crisp white sheets, and you had your arms wrapped around me and your mouth where you like your mouth to be. I was running my hands through your hair and tracing your tattoos with my fingertips. Outside the window, birds were singing softly but there was no one else around. Just us.

I don’t know where we were in my dream, but it felt good to be with you for a little while, even if it was only in my subconscious.

I miss you.

I miss the way you’d hold me tight. I miss the way you’d sing to me with your beautiful, deep voice. I miss your stories, and your laugh, and your body. I miss all the ways you made me feel good, like I was a part of you, and you were a part of me, and we could never be apart.

I don’t like being apart from you.

The days are passing slowly but I’m okay. As happy as I can be while you’re still far away.

Be patient, James. Keep those eyes the color of the forest. Imagine your hands on myskin, your body moving inside mine, your mouth making my world come apart.

We’ll be together soon.

You’ll be mine soon. And I’ll be yours.

Sunshine

The letter is under my pillow, and I pull it out to read it again and again. My cellmate, Frank, complains about the rustling, but I don’t give a shit. Lory has written to me every month since she left. I keep them bundled up in one envelope, and I pick one at random to read when I wake in the morning and when I go to sleep at night. They take me to another place and another time, where the oppressive walls of this place and the assholes around me can’t bring me down. Reading her words keeps my eyes the color of spring grass and my heart someplace else.

“You getting out tomorrow?” Frank asks me, scratching his butt.

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