Page 10 of Auctioned to the Prisoners

“One bottle would be nice.”

It would be. One bottle of beer would be sweet as honey, but it won't happen. Well, maybe it might if we're good boys and the warden's gratitude gets too much for him to contain. It's possible, but I'm not greedy. Little Lory is all our Christmas gifts for the rest of our miserable lives rolled into one sweet package.

The microwave dings and Kinkaid takes the hot tray from inside. He doesn't pass it to Lory, but instead, he carries it to the small table, complete with attached benches, also bolted to the floor, and places it down. “Sit,” he says softly. “Eat.”

She eyes the food, then us, more terrified deer than a human woman, but his tone is firm and seems to motivate her in the right direction. That's Kinkaid all over. Firm. In control. Always trying to keep everything straight.

“You hungry?” he asks me.

“I'm always hungry.”

He snorts and returns to the kitchen, but not before he nods for me to sit next to Lory.

“You making me dinner, too?” Hyde asks. “You playing momma?”

“Shut up and sit your ass down,” Kinkaid says, laughing. He could have added that Hyde's momma was all bruised skin and bone, so nothing like Kinkaid. He could have added that he'd make a better momma than that waste of space ever would. But he's not a mean man, and Hyde doesn't like to remember her that way.

While Kinkaid is busy, I fold myself into the seat across from Lory and make sure Hyde sits next to me. She tentatively peels the film from over the food, keeping her eyes low.

“So, Lory, you from around here?” I ask.

“I'm from Holdridge, two towns over.”

“Yeah? Me, too.”

“Me and Kinkaid are from Blackstone Valley,” Hyde tells her. “Still home, even though we're not.”

“You go to school there?”

Her dark eyes flick up to mine, and they’re wide with fear. I guess that Grady told her not to tell us about herself. He warned her not to give us information we could use against her, although why, I don't know. None of us are up for parole anytime soon.

“I went to Holdridge High School. Horrible place. Food was worse than in here.” She smiles fleetingly, but I continue. “Principle was one of those old dudes with a combover. When the wind blew, it'd end up hanging long on one side.”

“I had a teacher with the biggest tits you've ever seen.” Hyde rubs his fingers across his lips like he's tasting the memory. “Bigger than my head.” He glances at me. “Bigger than yours.”

“That's big,” Lory says, shocking me. I didn't think she'd be ready to talk back yet especially not about Hyde's teacher's tits.

Hyde snickers at the jibe I don't think she intended to make. I'm a big man with big everything. But I'm not the kind of man with an overly inflated ego.

“Was she pretty?” I ask Hyde, wanting to keep things light.

“Nah,” he says. “She was fifty and used to wear these cardigans buttoned up to the neck, except the buttons would open where her boobs were straining their way out.”

Lory glances down at her chest like she's conscious she's lacking in some way. Her tits are mouthwateringly small bumps beneath the too-tight dress. If I was a betting man, I'd guess she's not wearing a bra. Just the thought sends blood surging through my dick and fear pulsing close behind it. She's so unbelievably breakable, and none of our hands are gentle. We could do real damage with our pent-up sexual energy and the rough edge that comes with living in a place like this. You have to toughen up to survive. It's life or death, and for better or worse, I'd choose to live every time.

When Kinkaid drops Hyde's food in front of him first, he shovels it into his mouth like it's his last meal before a famine. All the time, Lory's watching, sensing, working out what we're like, and measuring if she'll survive the thirty days.

Kinkaid brings out some bread. It's white and turns to paste when you chew it, but it's filling, which helps. I'm a big guy, and the rations here aren't designed to maintain a healthy physique. I urge Lory to take a slice, which she does shyly, breaking off a corner and popping it into her mouth. She has sweet, plump lips, still colored with the lipstick she must have put on earlier. Her nose is slightly upturned, giving her the refinement that I like. The glossy healthiness of her hair makes my fingers itch to stroke it. I bet she smells of strawberries or jasmine or some other womanly fragrance I can't remember.

“What do you think of the prison?” Hyde asks.

“It's big,” she says. “Pretty plain. No color except for the uniforms.”

“Helps them see where we are.” Hyde lowers his fork. “The fuckers are always watching.”

“Except in here,” I say. I mean it to sound like a good thing, but as soon as the words are out of my mouth, I realize how they sound. With no cameras or screws, there's no one watching out for Lory's safety. She's truly alone with us.

Her muscles tighten across her shoulders.

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