Page 74 of Outlaws of Tulsa

“I don’t feel well,” I croak out. “Water.”

Boots crunch on the dirty wood floors. Step. Step. Step. Stop. I can feel an ominous presence looming over me. Shadowed. Angry. Large.

“Koyn?”

A golden god squats before me, normally passive features screwed into a scowl.

Filter.

“How you liking your new accommodations?” He flashes me a cruel smile. “Warm enough, Genworth?”

Genworth.

Not PG or Pageant Girl or Hadley.

“Where’s Koyn?” I demand, trying and failing to sit up.

His eyes narrow. “Out.”

“I’m thirsty. Hungry.” My eyes burn with tears. “I need clothes.”

He rakes his eyes over my form and lets out a snort. “Here, you’re no longer a princess. Your wants and needs aren’t above everything else. Here, Koyn is king. Here, you are under his command.”

“Let me see him then,” I hiss out. “He’ll take care of me.”

Filter rises and pops his knuckles. “Cute. He knows you were fucking Putnam. Saw him on the surveillance footage coming and going. You have his cum all down your legs.” He makes a repulsed sound. “You’re fucking disgusting.”

I’m stung by his hateful words. He was always the nice one.

“I…you don’t—”

“Save it for the big man,” he snaps. “You’re about to pay for all your sins.”

“What? What sins?” A sob catches in my throat. “Filter…”

“My shift’s over,” he grinds out. “Thank fuck.”

I wake to the scent of food.

Something savory and rich.

Barbeque.

My stomach revolts at the offending smell. Too sweet. Too disgusting. I whimper and crawl to the edge of the mattress. With a gag, I attempt to expel the contents in my stomach, which is nothing. I dry heave over and over again. Finally, I fall onto the makeshift bed, crying.

“Help.”

“Prisoners don’t get help.”

Prisoner?

“Payne,” I croak out. “Please. I didn’t do what Koyn thinks. I didn’t willingly f—”

“Eat.” His barked command is followed with the slam of a plate onto the floor beside the mattress.

One quick glance and I notice sliced brisket, potato salad, chips, a pickle, and orange fluff. With a weak hand, I reach over to stick my finger in the fluff. I lick it off my finger, thankful it doesn’t come right back up.

“Eat,” Payne orders once more. “I can’t promise when it’ll happen again.”

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