Page 10 of Cruelly Fated
I slanted a look over my shoulder, sizing him up. Aragon might have a few more years on me, but he wasn’t as old as he liked to act.
He caught my eye and smirked. “I’ve been around,” he said again like that explained why I ought to listen to his blathering.
“I’m still waiting for you to make a damn point,” I sneered.
He flashed his pearl-white teeth in a grin that didn’t reach his eyes. “Your girl’s got a rare gift. She could become a weapon in the right hands—no limits to what she could do. All it takes is the right kind of touch to shape her.”
I faced the courts, a deep groove forming on my forehead as I weighed his words. A weapon? Interesting concept. Although the girl could bring men to their knees with her looks alone. Something I doubted she was aware of.
When I glanced over my shoulder, the gargoyle was gone.
The food in the mess hall looked like vomit. Gray, brown, and yellowish mush, supposedly packed with “nutrients” to keep prisoners alive. Most days, I settled for an apple. At least it was red.
But today, I had different plans.
I intended to make a friend over dinner. And there was no better way to mark a new alliance than sharing a meal.
Ten inmates in front of me shifted aside without a word, giving me a clear path to the front. I flicked my wrist in a silent signal. Not today. I wanted to watch first.
It didn’t take long.
A thug from across the hall hurled an apple core at an old man hunched at a table near the center—one of the tables reserved for the misfits, the loners, the ones no gang bothered claiming—unwritten rule. I had my spot by the far wall. I ate like a ruler overseeing his crumbling kingdom.
The second apple hit its mark, striking the old man’s chest with a thud and falling into his lap. He picked up the fruit and set it on the table before picking up his plastic spoon with a trembling hand.
Old Pete. Despite what the girl assumed, I didn’t know him personally, but I knew about every soul locked in this pit. Hewas fresh meat. New blood. The easy target every prison needed to sharpen its teeth on.
I grabbed a tray, accepted a bowl of whatever sludge they were slinging today, and snagged two apples. The cook opened his mouth to bark about ration limits—but one look from me, and he thought better of it, slamming another scoop of mush onto the tray behind mine.
I cut through the center of the hall, timing my steps.
When another apple flew toward the old man’s face, I snatched it out of the air with one hand.
The hall fell silent.
I tossed the apple once, twice, then curled my fingers around it.
I lifted my gaze, glaring at the grinning bastards at the longest table in the back claimed by the gargoyle gang.
“Who threw this?” I asked, even though I already knew.
The scrape of a chair echoed across the hall as one inmate kicked his legs back, trying to put space between us. Smart—though it wouldn’t save him. His leader wouldn’t even miss him after tonight. The gang had an ample amount of disposables.
“It wasn’t meant for you, man,” the punk called out, voice cracking despite the bravado.
I scowled. Sweat beads popped on his forehead. I flicked the apple into the air again, letting it spin lazily in my hand.
“Old Pete’s with me.” I amplified my voice, letting it ripple throughthe room.
The gargoyle shrank in his seat, darting desperate looks at his crew.
“Hands on the table,” I ordered.
He obeyed, swallowing hard enough that I heard it from across the space.
“Hold him,” I said, jerking my chin at the two biggest men beside him. They didn’t argue. They clamped down on his arms, pinning him in place.
I set my tray down carefully like I had all the time.
