He stares at me, eyes narrowing. “Are you criticizing me, Logan?”
“No,” I say, trying not to laugh. “I’m trying to make you understand that while my methods are slower and different, they have much, much better results. Girls I’ve trained five years ago are still alive and still fucking today.”
Lies, all lies, but I need him to believe me. There’s not much time left in this mission, but I need to hang on as long as possible. It’s the only way I can ensure Riley’s safety.
“Listen to me, Logan.” Anton stands up. “I don’t trust or like you. That’s the truth. We have one week before the next shipment, and I want your girl ready. Do you hear me? I want her broken and ready to get to fucking work.”
“She’ll be ready,” I say. “We’re nearly there.”
“If she’s not ready, I’ll take her myself. And I’ll break her. And I’ll use her for a few months before discarding her.” He grins at me and I suppress my rage. “Do you care if that happens?”
“No,” I force myself to say. “It would be a waste of a good product, though. She’s going to be perfect.”
“She better be.” He nods at the guards and they come over toward me. He turns and sits back down on the couch. “You’re dismissed, Logan,” he says.
I leave, flanked by the guards. They stop at the door and I keep going, heading back to the mess hall to finish breakfast.
I can’t seem to decide what that meeting meant. But the idea of Anton taking Riley personally terrifies and enrages me even more than I thought was possible.
I know it’s time. I can’t keep putting this off. We’re so close to this raid happening, and Riley needs to know.
I make the decision and head in to get her breakfast, planning how I’ll do this the right way.
23
Riley
The next day is like every other day, except for two things.
First, I sleep in late, and Logan doesn’t bring me breakfast until after the sun has been up for an hour or two. Normally, he’s waking me up at the crack of dawn with food, although he never stays. This time, breakfast was a little later, and I got to sleep for an extra hour or two.
That’s not strange in itself. The second odd thing happens when Logan brings me lunch.
I’m lying in bed, reading a book and trying not to let the boredom overwhelm me, when the door unlocks and opens. It’s Logan at the normal time. I sit up and smile at him, but he just shakes his head at me.
Curious, I go to say something, but he holds up a hand. He looks down at the tray, at the glass of water, and then back to me. He places the tray down on the cot and then he leaves.
I sit there for a second, trying to understand what the heck that was supposed to mean. I look at the tray itself and notice something under the glass of water.
It’s another note.
Riley, they’re listening. We’re going out again tonight. I won’t stay for dinner, but I’ll be back later. Logan.
I read and re-read the note, savoring his handwriting. It’s more or less a masculine scrawl, exactly what I would have guessed, and it feels good to see someone’s actual writing. It’s almost like I’m a normal person again.
Except I have to crumple the note and flush it down the toilet. I don’t want to risk anyone else seeing the note. I’m full of hope all day long after reading it, excited that we’re going outside of the walls again.
I can’t assume he’s going to let me go this time. I’ll only be extremely disappointed when he inevitably brings me back inside, and I can’t handle more disappointment like that. It doesn’t matter, though. Just getting outside these walls is going to feel so good.
I’ll get to feel the sand between my toes and the saltwater on my feet. I can’t stop smiling for the rest of the day, excitement coursing through me.
Just like he said, Logan brings me dinner but he doesn’t stay. He comes and goes like he always does with nothing more than a smile and a nod. I smile back, hoping he understands that I got the note and I know what’s happening. It probably doesn’t matter either way, but at least I know to be quiet when he comes later.
I’m restless as hell after dinner. I try and concentrate on reading, but it’s impossible, not when I know that Logan is coming back. The sun sets and night drops in, and time begins to move as slowly as possible.
I can’t keep track of the hours very well. All I can do is watch the moonlight slowly shift outside of my window and guess at what time it is. That makes the hours pass both faster and slower, if that’s even possible.
That’s the hardest thing about being locked in a cell. It isn’t the restriction, or not exactly. It’s the boredom. Having absolutely nothing to do for hours on end is incredibly maddening. Outside in the real world, we’re constantly busy, districting ourselves from everything. We watch television, we work, we go to the movies, we do basically anything to keep from falling into utter and total boredom.