Page 22 of Auctioned to the Prisoners

“Fuck.” I pull my hand back, staring down at the blood oozing from a flapping wound.

Before I say or do anything else, Lory is up, already reaching for me. “What did you do? Let me see.” Her voice is firm and a little panicked.

I'm taken aback by how quickly she moves and by the authority in her tone. She inspects the cut, her fingers delicate but sure as she inspects the damage.

“It's not deep,” she says matter-of-factly. “But it'll need a dressing.”

I can't fasten my pants, but I get my dick behind my boxers, and Lory doesn't bother with underwear. If anyone needs cleaning up, it's her. I lead the way into the main room, finding Kinkaid gathering the spilled drafts set. Hyde is standing, watching, his hands balled at his sides. Whatever happened, it's getting sorted. Both men observe as Lory trails me, holding my hand in hers like it's a newborn child.

“What happened to you?” Kinkaid asks.

“Nothing to worry about,” I say, less bothered by the blood than I am about Lory's current sticky state.

Somewhere above us, shouts ring out. An alarm sounds, and a ruckus of implements banging on bars erupts. There's most likely a fight and the screws are locking down. Fuckers are probably gassing, too. It's practically a vacation being away from it all, even if we're still locked up in this shithole.

“Trouble?” she asks softly as she opens the faucet and holds my hand beneath, leaning closer to inspect the cut.

“Nothing outside the usual.” I speak confidently, but I don't really know. All hell could break loose out there, and we wouldn't find out down here unless someone comes to tell us.

“Does it hurt?” she asks, glancing up at me as she wraps the bandage around my palm.

I shake my head. “Nah, not really.”

She snorts. “Tough guy, huh?”

I grin at her. “Something like that.”

Taking a tissue, she dries my hand around the wound, then she takes a separate tissue to dab the wound itself. Blood bubbles up, and she turns to search the wall for a first aid kit. There's nothing in sight. “I'll check the cupboards.”

“There probably isn't anything,” I say. “This place hasn't been used for years.”

“Surely the warden would've left something?”

“Probably not. He's praying no one's going to need medical attention.”

“Hang on.” She heads back to the bedroom and reappears with a pillowcase, which she hands to Kinkaid. “Can you tear off a strip?”

“Sure.” He rips the cloth like it's paper, forming two thin strips which Lory returns with.

Her expression is focused and determined, like she’s done this a hundred times before. I watch her work—the way her browfurrows in concentration, the way she mutters about the mess I’ve made. It’s almost… endearing. As she finishes wrapping the bandage and ties it off with a neat knot, a warmth spreads through my chest, one I’m reluctant to acknowledge. It’s not just because she’s taken care of me, but the way she’s done it. No hesitation, no flinching at the blood or the size of my hands. She just took charge, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“There,” she says, admiring her handiwork. “Good as new. Try to stay out of trouble, or we'll run out of bedding.”

I laugh softly, flexing my fingers. “I'll try.”

She wipes her hands on her shirt, and an unfamiliar tug in my chest jolts me as I watch her. I've been around a lot of women in my life, but none of them, apart from my mom, have ever made me feel like this.

“Thanks,” I say, my voice low. “For...you know, taking care of me.”

She shrugs, but there's a softness in her eyes that wasn't there before. “It's no trouble.”

There's a moment of silence, and, like a ridge of sand slowly forming between an island and the mainland, a connection forms. A path it's possible to cross.

I tried not to form any expectations before Lory arrived, imagining the warden would go back on his promise or the woman he brought for us wouldn't be my type. But Lory’s more than just a girl who can meet our physical needs.

And having thoughts like that is dangerous.

10

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