Lyle shoves past him and pats his knees while making kissing sounds. “Come on, puppy. Time to get in your cage.”
I’m a lot of things, but dumb isn’t one of them. However, I’m hovering dangerously close to losing my shit and doing something stupid.
I shuffle over to Lyle. Get up close and personal with the fucker. “One day, you and I are gonna have a go.”
By now, I’ve got Lyle figured out. Wasn’t hard. The guy is one-dimensional. He’s an insecure moron who hides his shortcomings behind false bravado. He wouldn’t last a night in Mayhem.
Lyle’s Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows. “You threatening me, Atticus?”
My cruel grin is an intimidation tactic, and it works. I can smell the fear on him. “Stating a fact.”
Thomas fires his cattle prod but doesn’t fry me. “Back off.”
Like I give a shit about being shocked again. But the ket takes full effect, and I fight against gravity as pain tries to take me down.
“Dammit,” Thomas mutters. “Help me get him in the cell.”
Lyle snorts. “I ain’t his caretaker.”
“Whatever,” Thomas snaps. “Go away, Lyle.”
Lyle throws a mini tantrum as he huffs out of Elite.
“You can’t keep doing this.” Thomas cuts the zip ties and holds out his hand. I slap it away.
“I can walk.” I limp into the cell. “Lyle’s a jerkoff.”
“A jerkoff who can make your life miserable.”
I grunt out a humorless laugh. “You’re kidding, right?”
“I didn’t mean…” Thomas lets the sentence trail off. “Can you get on the bed yourself, or do you need help?”
“I got it,” I slur.
No, I don’t, but I’ll be damned if I accept a guard’s help—even if it’s coming from Thomas, who’s not an asshole like the others.
It takes my remaining energy to climb on the disgusting mattress. The thing is stiff, crusty, and bloodstained. It stinks of urine, and when I settle on my back and fling one arm over my eyes, I fist the other at my side, praying for sleep to come quick.
“What do you need before I go?”
Thomas and I have a strange relationship. Not friends, but not enemies. I’m still killing him along with everyone else in Gomorrah, but until then, he’s the closest thing I have to an ally.
“A gun.”
“Sleep it off, Atticus.”
The cell door slams shut, and his footsteps fade. Lucky prick. He’s walking toward freedom and fresh air.
I lie awake and stare into the darkness as I ride waves of agony and reminisce about life’s simple luxuries. Hot showers. Warm food. A clean body. A soft bed. And as I finally, blissfully, float off into the abyss, I dream about an angel in a white dress.
2
Wraith
“Wakey, wakey, dickhead.”
The demand pulls me out of sleep about a half a second before I’m drenched by a tidal wave of ice water. Not my favorite wake-up call, but one I expect.
