Damaged (Boys of Winter #2) - Sheridan Anne Page 0,25

first being locked up and my brain is beginning to sizzle. I can’t deny that the conditions are much better than the ones in Sam’s cell, but if I have to stay any longer, I’m going to start questioning myself.

Sam’s cell put me through physical torture. The constant sound of dripping water and the cold, damp floors mixed with the sound of girls screaming. Dynasty’s cells are different. This is mental torture. I’m alone with nothing but my own demons to keep me company, and trust me, they’re not friendly. Right now, I’m starting to think this is much, much worse.

I walk up and down my cell, my body itching to get out of here, itching to walk further than five steps at a time. I’d do anything just to be able to run, to go back up to the normal world above and ride my Ducati through the streets for hours on end.

I hate it here, but maybe I truly deserve this. Maybe after killing Kurt and Royston, this is exactly where I’m supposed to be. This is karma catching up to me.

My ass drops heavily onto the small bed and I pull my knees up into my chest as my back leans against the cold concrete wall. I’ve never felt so hopeless in my life. I’d give anything just to feel the warmth of the sun brushing against my skin and the soft breeze blowing through my hair. I want to be able to feel the boys’ touch on my body with the softness of a big bed beneath me, not these stupid metal bars holding me back. But most of all, I want to feel Carver’s skin underneath my fist as I beat the living shit out of him. That’ll never happen. Dynasty will never let me out of here.

Is this what depression feels like? I don’t think I’ve ever felt so dejected.

The familiar sound of someone walking down the hallway fills my cell and a small victory pulses through me. I love when the guys come to sit with me; it’s my favorite part of the day. They’ve been amazing through all of this, always staying as long as they can so I’m not suffering here by myself. Cruz even brought me a ball to keep me occupied. I’m pretty sure his intentions were for me to throw it against the wall and catch it on the rebound then repeat the process a million times more, but I can’t say that I’ve done that once. Instead, I tore the little ball to shreds and used it to funnel my anger. It was therapeutic, but like most good things, they always come to an end. The ball lasted for two hours and my fingers were aching afterward, but it left me feeling accomplished—plus it was a good time waster.

I hear the person coming closer and I raise my head, a smile pulling at the corners of my lips. I bet it’s Cruz. The footfalls are too quick for King. He likes to take his time, where if it were Grayson, I wouldn’t be able to hear anything until he was already standing right in front of me. He’s a lot like Carver in that way. They’re both silently lethal, and though it’s scary as hell, it’s also one of the most attractive things I’ve ever witnessed.

I turn to face the hallway just as I expect Cruz to walk out in front of my cell. “Where the hell have you been all of my life?” I say, a smirk kicking up the corners of my mouth just in time to see the older version of Cruz step out before me.

My eyes widen as I take in Mr. Danforth, desperately wishing those cringey words hadn’t slipped out of my mouth. I get to my feet and cautiously watch as he walks straight to the door of the cell. He slowly raises his gaze to meet mine. “Congratulations, Miss Ravenwood. You’re free to go home.”

I’ve pictured this moment a million times over the past few days. In my head, I’d run to the door and fly out of it faster than humanly possible. I’d run, I’d cheer, I’d tell everyone I pass that they can go and suck my big dick because I was free. So why the hell am I just standing here gaping at the guy?

“Um … what?” I ask, my face twisting in confusion. “What do you mean I’m free? I thought I was going to be