Page 19 of Auctioned to the Prisoners

ROCK

FIX ME

I didn't think I'd be next. With Hyde twitching next to me, I felt sure he'd demand to go second, but Kinkaid has a way of making Hyde reflect, even when he's halfway to turning. The man doesn't need to say too much—he just gives Hyde one of those looks, and the wildness drains from his eyes like a dog coming to heel with his master.

So, it's me next.

I take a deep breath, rising slowly from the chair. It creaks under my weight as I stand, and for a second, I pause to catch my breath. This is a fucked-up situation. I've never paid for a woman before and never had one who didn't want me enough to come home with me. I've never even been with a drunk woman because I always wanted to make sure they had their wits about them enough to consent. No way was I risking getting banged up for something like that. The irony of my current situation isn't lost on me.

I nod at Kinkaid as I pass. He takes Lory the water, so she has everything she needs. The first thing I notice when I pass in front of the door is Lory sitting on the edge of the small bed. Her face breaks into a cautious smile, one I meet with a slow nod. I'm not a smiley man. Got nothing to be happy about usually, apart from this moment.

Hyde's eyes burn into my back, and Kinkaid silently observes from the corner of the room. But right now, none of it matters. It's just her and me. I want to take this slow, for her and me.

“Hey,” I say, my voice low and rumbling like distant thunder. I can't think of anything else to say. Words have never been my strength.

“Hey,” she replies softly, her voice steady, her chin tilted up slightly like a gentle challenge. Even though I'm big and a stranger, she's not going to cow down. I like that stiffness in her spine. She's small and breakable, but she's not wearing a fragile label.

I close the door behind me, and the air grows tenser when it clicks into place. I stare around the room at the chipped paint and window that's so high and narrow in the wall it’s only capable of providing light, not a view.

“You okay?” I ask. “Kinkaid treat you right?”

“Yeah,” she says. “He's nice.”

“He's a good man. The best.”

She probably thinks I’m lying. How does a good man end up in jail, right? Unless you’ve been locked up yourself or had someone close to you sent away, you don’t understand how many innocent men are trapped inside. You can’t grasp how unfair life can be, how it can grind people down, push them so hard they snap—doing things they never imagined or planned to do. It’s not an excuse for everything, but it can be an explanation.

I sit on the edge of the bed beside Lory, careful not to take up too much space. It’s tough when you're built like me—everything feels too small, too fragile, like one wrong move, and I’ll crush whatever’s in my way. Lory shifts, leaning back against the wall, and I can feel her eyes on me, sizing me up. I’ve wondered a hundred times what’s running through her head.

“So... I’m next,” I say, aiming for a light tone, but my voice comes out rough, like gravel.

She doesn’t flinch when I move closer, doesn’t shy away. Maybe she’s just good at hiding it. She nods, lips pressedtogether, waiting. Her hands rest in her lap, but I catch the slight twitch of her fingers, like she’s nervous, trying to keep it in check.

Maybe she's as unsure about this as I am. “I don't want to scare you.”

“You don't scare me.”

Her words hit me square in the chest. There's no hesitation in her voice, no tremor of fear.

I let out the tightly held breath from my chest, as the tension starts to bleed out of my shoulders. It's strange how her words—so simple—have this calming effect on me. Either she's telling the truth, or she's good at keeping men sweet. Either way, I feel better.

“All right then,” I say as I twist my lips into a one-sided smirk, ducking my head as heat blooms across my cheeks. Who the fuck am I, blushing at a woman? This is what over six years of incarceration does to a man.

“You want to tell me a little about yourself,” Lory says softly. “You know, so we get to know each other.”

“What do you want to know?”

She shrugs and stares up at the ceiling, thinking. “Just about your family, I guess. Or your interests. Favorite TV show. What you like to eat.”

I rest my hands on my thighs, relieved. “My sisters stationed overseas. My mom passed away last year.” I keep my father's fate to myself. Hearing he died in jail isn't exactly positive. “I like music, cars, and I liked eating my momma's cooking. She made the best BBQ ribs, mashed potatoes, and creamed corn I ever ate.” She only got the chance to cook like that when Dad was incarcerated. Remembering her food comes with a stab of grief and guilt. I wasn’t there for her when she needed me, and I caused so much stress to her, I feel responsible. I swallow and change the subject. “I don't really like TV. If I was out of thisplace, I wouldn't waste a second watching other people. I'd live my life.”

“You ever read anything?” she asks.

“Sometimes. There's a library here, but the books aren't great. I pick up a thriller now and then. Something to take my mind out of my confinement.”

“Books are like portals into another life,” Lory says, worrying the edge of her thumb with her forefinger. “I had a teacher who used to help me choose books each week at school. I think she could tell I didn't have the happiest home life. She told me when we open the pages of a book, it’s a way to escape. It's stuck with me my whole life.” She wraps her arms around her legs, turning herself into a smaller shape. In Kinkaid's shirt, she looks like a kid playing dress up in her father's clothes.

“Wise woman,” I say. “So, what are you escaping from?”

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