Page 23 of Vicious Luna
She shrugs. “Girl’s gotta eat.”
“Back up,” I direct, lifting my chin in command.
Her fingers tighten around the bars, knuckles whitening as she debates whether to do as she’s told. The glare she aims my way practically gives me frostbite.
“Do you wanna eat or not?” I mutter impatiently, lifting the tray.
All at once, her entire demeanor changes. She lets go of the bars, stepping backwards as she tilts her head and her lips pull into a coy smile. “Please sir, can I have some more?” she asks in a ridiculous Oliver Twist impression.
If I didn’t see right through the game she’s trying to play, I’d be tempted to crack a smile of my own. As it is, though, she’s pathetically transparent. I wouldn’t be where I am today if I was easily manipulated by the prospect of easy pussy.
Maintaining my deadpan expression, I make quick work of unlocking the cell door and nudging it open just enough to stoop down and replace her tray of food. I could’ve made her stand on the other side of her cell with her nose to the wall again, but it seems unnecessary since it takes me all of two seconds to swap the trays. And if she tries to rush me and attempt to escape again… well, I almost hope she does.
It seems Luna’s fully committed to this flirty, docile act today, though. She doesn’t budge, much to my disappointment as I pull the door shut and re-lock it.
I don’t really have time to fuck around down here anyways. I’ve gotta try to do something about this headachebefore training with Bravo this morning, and it feels like this chilly basement only intensifies the pain in my skull. Casting one last glance toward the girl in the cell, I turn on a heel and start for the stairs.
“Leaving so soon?” she calls after me.
“Got shit to do,” I grumble over my shoulder. Our eyes meet for a fleeting second, and I swear I see a flicker of disappointment in hers as she watches after me, like she was hoping I’d stay.
Maybe I’ve finally gotten in her head. But some small part of me aches to walk away, which means she’s getting inmine, too.
12
Iguess the warden isn’t in the mood to play today. Not that I want to spend time with the dickhead, but it would’ve been helpful to my escape plan to try to identify more of his weaknesses and ply him with a little sugar. Then again, if our run-ins thus far are anything to go by, he seems to respond more to salt.
Honestly, that works for me. I don’t have to put on an act when it comes to being sexually attracted to Cam, but pretending to actuallylikehim would be an exhausting effort. Hate-fucking is so much easier, not to mention it’d be hot as hell to finally let all this pent-up sexual tension between us loose. With any luck, I’ll be able to get an orgasm or two out of it before leaving him with his pants down.
After hearing the beep of the door lock engaging at the top of the stairs upon his departure, I wander toward the front of the cell to collect my tray and see what’s on the menu. As soon as I pick it up, I grimace at what I find.
Why people take perfectly good things like chicken and mix them up with mayonnaise, I’ll never understand. I despise everything about the condiment; I’d rather starve than choke down the glob of chicken salad on my plate. The crackers are ahard pass, too, since I’m pretty sure that’s what they’re using to keep me dosed up with wolfbane, so it looks like I’ll only be eating an orange today. Good thing I like citrus, and the fact that it’s already peeled is a nice touch.
Perching on the edge of my cot with the tray on my knees, I take my time separating the segments of fruit and eating them one by one, savoring each mouthful. Captain douchebag hasn’t been stingy about feeding me, but sometimes he leaves me waiting a while between meals, so I make every bite count. As I nibble on the orange, I ponder the plan I’ve got worked up for getting out of here once my wolf comes back, carefully going over each detail in my mind. I’ll only have one shot at this, so my plan needs to be foolproof.
Once I’m finished eating, I decide to flush the rest of the food down the toilet since the warden has implied he won’t keep feeding me if I don’t lick my plate clean. That’s how I got rid of the crackers after he called me out on not eating them yesterday, and it was an effective way to dispose of the evidence of my non-compliance. He was clearly none the wiser when he dropped the fresh tray today.Sucker.
Except yesterday, the crackers went down without any issues. I’m not sure if it’s because I didn’t break them up as well this time or that I’m trying to flush too much at once, but right after I press down on the handle to dispose of the remains of my lunch, water starts rising in the bowl. My panicked response is to push the handle down again and hold it, but of course that only makes things worse. The water in the toilet bowl rises faster, trickling out over the rim and splashing onto the floor.
“Shit!” I hiss, jumping back to avoid my feet getting wet.
How the hell am I going to explain this?
Maybe I won’t have to. It could still just go down on its own… right?
But that’s clearly not happening, because I have the world’s worst luck. A streak of bad luck is what landed me inthis cell in the first place- some wrong place, wrong time bullshit that had these guys thinking I’m my brother’s Luna and therefore a valuable hostage. Not that being the sister of an Alpha doesn’t make me just as valuable, but still. Getting kidnapped in a case of mistaken identity just adds insult to injury.
I don’t know anything useful about plumbing, so I’m seriously considering sticking my hand down in the toilet bowl to see if I can somehow dislodge the clog when I hear the beep of the door lock upstairs, my stomach bottoming out.
Shit,I’ve got about three seconds to think of a plausible explanation for flooding my cell. Though short of being honest, I’m not sure what I could even say. If Cam catches onto why I’m flushing the crackers, he’ll probably go back to injecting me, and then I’ll have no hope of getting my wolf back. Or he’ll put the wolfsbane in something else, and then I’ll be back at square one with the process of elimination. Either way, my carefully constructed plan will go up in flames and I’ll need a damn miracle to get out of here.
My heart pounds in time with the sound of heavy footsteps descending the stairs, my palms sweating and my mouth going dry. My captor emerges from the stairwell… with a plunger in his hands.
How did he know?
As he strides in my direction, the realization hits me like a ton of bricks. Thatfuckingcamera. I’d completely forgotten about it mounted in the upper corner of the cell, giving my captor constant access to watch my every move.
A snide smirk curls his lips as he approaches my cell, idly swinging the plunger beside him like a batter walking up to the plate. “Having some trouble?” he asks, cocking his head in amusement as he takes in the embarrassing scene I’ve found myself in. His eyes trail down my form, all the way to my bare feet standing in the puddle of water on the floor.