them, hoping they’ll all just shut up and let me get back to the unexceptional fornication.
“Sunrise!”
“Fuck! What?” I jolt awake at my own yelling and blink wide-eyed at Rook who’s standing over me. The haziness of the dream exits the recesses of my memory as I take in the stupid prison guard who’s finally deemed me worthy enough to grace me with his appearance in my cell.
Narrowing my eyes, I turn over on my cot, giving him the cold shoulder. Literally. My shoulder is freaking freezing in this dank cell because I refused to use the blanket he brought me. A stupid refusal in hindsight, because this place is super drafty, but I was feeling prickly.
I feel his weight settle on the cot behind me and the iron frame creaks. “Hey,” he says, settling a hand on my hip. My blood boils at the contact, and my tail testily slaps his hand and then flicks it away from my body. “Are you okay?”
“I’m dandy,” I reply, monotone. “Now go away. I’m sleeping.”
I hear him sigh. “Look, I’m sorry it took me a bit to come back here. Things have been crazy.”
My blood pressure rises faster than a sixty-something Texan with an affinity for red meat and arguments. “A bit?” I repeat, turning back around and then fluidly sitting up so I can scoot back and face him head-on. “It hasn’t been a bit,” I mock. “You’ve been gone for five fucking days!”
My screech is so loud and unexpected that Rook cringes back slightly. He has the audacity to look all hot and scruffy, his hair messy and somehow still perfect. He tries to reach for me. “I’m sorry, Sunrise.”
“Don’t Sunrise me!” I snap, getting to my feet to put some much needed distance between us. I don’t want him to touch me. I can’t trust my body not to react if he touches me, and I don’t want that.
I cross my arms in front of myself. “Do all your conquests get a shower? Or was that just a way to appease me?”
He frowns, getting to his feet. I try not to notice how sexy he looks or the fact that he switched out his name tag back to his regular one. He ruined the game between us by being such an ass.
“Conquests?” he repeats.
“Mm-hmm. Let me see your belt.”
The line between his brows deepens. “What?”
“Your belt. I wanna see if you have a new notch in it.”
His confusion turns to anger in a flash. “What the fuck is your problem? I told you I was sorry. I couldn’t get back here!” he shouts, his rumbling voice knocking against the small space of the room. “You’re not some fucking conquest, Sinclair.”
“Sure,” I say calmly, my face derisive. “Can I get a shower or not? Preferably before your little guard friends call you for another bullshit Operation Black Block.”
Irritation traces the edges of his hardened face, and he stalks toward me. I don’t move, because I won’t give him the satisfaction of cowering or running from him.
“You think real highly of me, don’t you?” he asks, his face a mask of anger.
“That would imply that I think of you at all. I don’t,” I reply with a cutting whip. “You were a good fuck; I’ll give you that. But now that’s over, which you clearly demonstrated by leaving me down here to rot in your crusty cum and silent absence. Thank fuck the prison fed me, or I would’ve run out of food.”
His eyes flash with remorse, but I ignore it.
“Did you and all your guard buddies laugh your asses off?”
His face grows stormy as his mouth tightens. “Stop saying this shit, Sinclair. It wasn’t like that. I’m not fucking like that.”
I shrug. “Whatever. I don’t care,” I say dismissively. “Now, unless you’re giving me food or taking me to the shower, get out.”
Rook runs a hand down his face and glances around, like he’s looking for a way to make it out of this mess. “Look, Sunrise—”
“Don’t call me that.”
He clenches his teeth. “I can’t get you into the showers today, but I’ll come back tomorrow, and—”
“Save it,” I snap, interrupting him. “I’ve heard your I’ll come back tomorrow bullshit.”
“It wasn’t bullshit,” he seethes.
“Mm-hmm,” I say, keeping my tone unaffected and bored as I walk around him and head back to the corner of the room. I pick up my pipe and start digging again, just to give myself an excuse not to look at him.
“Sinclair.”
I ignore him, scraping the pipe