Page 32 of Silenced

I. Am. Not.

With a growl, I place my hands on the shower wall as I try not to think about what happened between us a mere half hour ago.

That golden silk in my hands, her burning chestnut eyes as they lasered a hole into me…

The feel of her tits in my palms, her pussy against my fingers…

My nostrils flare at those last two memories.

Softness.

Blyad, she’s so soft. Everything about her is round and curvy instead of the harsh lines I’m used to.

My life is tough. Brittle.

She’s the opposite.

I stare at my cock, which is already leaking pre-cum now that the water isn’t there to wash it away.

Gritting my teeth, I shove off the wall and then ball my hands into fists as I head out of the walk-in shower.

There’s only a small hand towel remaining on the stack, but I was in the fucking stall staring at my dick for so goddamn long that I’m practically dry anyway.

Luckily, I’ve spent enough time inside that the lack of a towel doesn’t matter. You’d never imagine that one of the most complicated parts of prison life is getting your fucking towel dry so it doesn’t grow mildew. It’s a luxury people who’ve never served time don’t understand.

Sloughing the droplets that remain on my shoulders off with my fingers, I study myself in the vanity.

Nothing’s changed about my appearance since the last time I was atNava week ago, yet somehow, nothing is the same either.

Scraping a hand through my hair, I duck down. After picking out my cell and the keys to the door from my pants pocket, I toss the keys on the shelf with my knife and stare blankly at my phone.

It’s an unexpected boon that she knows sign language. Her variant is unusual. It’s mostly standard ASL with a few odd signs thrown in that I don’t understand.

That makes her skill even more curious and worthy of further investigation.

My blank stare sharpens when my phone screen lights up.

There are a couple of updates from Boris which I read with interest.

Boris: The Albanians are on red alert. Marku’s absence has been noted.

*An hour later*

Boris: Either they let go of Rundel or he slipped out of their hands.

He’s a slippery fucker, then, because it’s unlikely they released him—who’d be that generous?

As I ponder my next moves, I ultimately decide to check something off my to-do list.

Me: I have Cassiopeia.

Misha: Expected to hear from you hours ago.

Me: There have been some complications.

Misha: With Cassiopeia?

Me: Yes, but she’s well.

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