I looked to Trevor for translation. While the NPU in my head allowed me to understand the Warden’s English perfectly, she spoke with some slang that did not compute.
He seemed to understand my confusion. “On Earth, some prisoners are kept isolated for their safety during a trial. Jails are like a community behind thick walls and razor wire. It is a dangerous place. Someone on the outside can order, or pay another criminal, someone locked up in jail, to harm another prisoner. Kill them.”
My jaw tensed and I could see Ryston stiffen.
“When someone is already serving a life sentence, committing another murder won’t change their sentence. But having money and connections on the outside can make their lives better on the inside.”
As it was for the warriors here. Some, like me, were lucky enough to remain in contact with our families on Prillon. My mother sent supplies and treats via transport, communication and images of my family. Messages. But others received nothing but silence, no support, no communication. It was like they didn’t exist. Serving a life sentence was something every warrior on the Colony understood.
Trevor shifted in his seat. “Once she goes into general population, she won’t be protected. She’ll be living with murderers and hardened criminals. Anyone who wants her dead will be able to reach her. She won’t survive more than a few days.”
His clarification helped and I did not need more details. One glance at Ryston and he nodded his chin in agreement. We would go, and we would go now. “We will come directly to your transport room, Warden. Please initiate the transport codes for us.”
“I will. Thank you.”
She reached forward to disconnect our comm, but I held up my hand to stop her, needing one final detail.
“Warden Egara, if I may, whose mate is she?”
The Warden’s smile was full of pity.
“I’m so sorry, Maxim. She’s yours.”
Chapter Three
Rachel, Carswell Penitentiary, Solitary Confinement
I sat on the bed, the only reasonably soft surface in my cell, my scratchy wool blanket wrapped around me. My knees were tucked up to my chest and my back pressed into the corner. I was alone, the silence of the space almost deafening. Even with one of the four walls being bars that opened to a long, main hallway, all was quiet. The painted cinderblock walls and gray sealed floor offered nothing of interest to look at. The single tiny window to the outside world was so high up that I couldn’t look out even if I stood on top of the bed. I knew, I’d tried. I could see the sky, know if it was clear or cloudy, but no ground. I didn’t even know what direction I faced.
I’d heard this section of the facility had been designed that way. We’d come in through an underground tunnel, turning several times before stopping. The path from the converted prison bus to this confinement wing provided several additional turns with no windows. It was impossible to keep any bearings. No ground to look at.
If I didn’t win my appeal, I would not see anything more of the world other than a few clouds for the next twenty-five years. That idea drove many to insanity, or to take their own life. What was a life with nothing in it? The clothes were drab, the cell drab, the food even more drab. There was nothing left.
But I had hope. God, I clung to that hope by my chewed-to-the-quick fingernails. What else was there?
The evidence my lawyer had would set me free. It proved my innocence. That one thumb drive was everything that stood between me and a life in hell. Until then, I waited. Day after day of nothing.
I ran my hand over my face, trying to think of something… anything besides my case, my tiny cell, my new life. It was easy to think about the testing dream, for it had been perfect. I’d been free, no bars or concrete walls. I’d had two men who wanted me with desperation. I’d felt wanted. God, had I needed. And the things they did to me!
I was no prude. I knew where my clit was and ensured my lovers did, too. Lovers, but not two at once like the dream. It had been a fantasy of mine. What woman didn’t dream about two men who knew exactly what they were doing? And they hadn’t had the Brides Program testing dream like I’d had.
Holy hell, that had been hot. Twice as hot.
My nipples tightened and my clit throbbed just remembering their hands, their mouths, their cocks.
The dream lingered in my blood and I wanted to touch myself, knowing I was wet. The ache there had my hands slipping down between my thighs. Remembering that there were guards watching, I pulled my hand away. I wouldn’t taint the dream by touching myself and having the guards watch. I’d touch myself at night, when they turned the lights out. Again and again.
God, even my orgasms were controlled. And bland. Even if I used my fingers to circle my clit and slip inside my pussy, it wouldn’t be anything like what those men in the dream made me feel. For twenty-five years I’d have in-the-dark, masturbation delivered orgasms. Nothing else.