nose lengthens, curving up at the end. And for the finishing touch, her perfect little grin twists, displaying two rows of crooked teeth.
The spot where my six-year-old sister lay now holds my cheating husband. That bastard. I’m going to kill him.
But first, I think I need a nap.
A few hours later, I wake to the nightmare-inducing vision of Scar Face. The scar isn’t even the ugliest part about him. Mean, narrow eyes, thin, sneering lips. Now that’s an image I’d like to alter. He hauls me to my feet and shoves me out of the cell. We take the same path to Dr. Bellows’ lab as before.
At the first intersection, I lunge right. But the guard’s hand is a manacle around my arm, solid and unyielding. He yanks me forward, and I stumble. “Not going to work, girlie. I’m under strict instructions to take you to the labs uninjured.”
“Oh, really? Does that mean you can’t whip me for doing this?” I work up the saliva in my mouth and spit right in his face. The slobber plops onto his cheek and slowly, stickily drips down. It’s even better than urine.
Scar Face wipes his cheek on my jumpsuit. “Of course, Bellows didn’t say anything about after the procedure,” he whispers lecherously in my ear. “I think you and I are due for a private, one-on-one session.”
The words are ice cubes clattering down my spine. I know I should defuse the situation. I know I shouldn’t do what I’m thinking. But I can’t help myself. I grab his neck, pull him close, and bring my knee up as hard as I can. “Looking forward to it.”
He doubles over, moaning in pain.
I gawk. I can’t believe that worked. I must’ve learned something in my Self-Defense Core, after all.
Before he can recover, I run down the hallway, but I don’t get far. A couple of employees spill out of the rooms and converge on me, seizing my arms. Scar Face must’ve pushed a button to call them.
I’ll pay for this later. After the procedure, without the protection of Bellows’ instructions, I’ll be helpless against Scar Face’s rage.
But it was worth it. Because I can spit in the guard’s face. I can knee him in the groin, and he still has to deliver me to Bellows, safe and unharmed.
And that gives me deep, extreme pleasure.
Does that make me a bad person? Or maybe Chairwoman Dresden was right. Maybe I am aggressive after all.
The guard deposits me at the lab without another word. Before he leaves, he twists the flesh of my arm, a menacing promise of what’s to come.
I thrust the incident from my mind. I can’t think about Scar Face right now. I need to focus on this room. This fight. This memory.
Bellows is accompanied by a young woman. She sits at the table, a backpack hanging on her chair, her hands wrapped around the keyball. Medium build. Light eyes. Brown hair that curves around her ears and ends in a question mark above her shoulders.
“Looks like Chairwoman Dresden’s taken a special interest in your case.” Bellows fiddles with the pencil stub behind his ear. “She sent over her personal assistant to make sure we stay in line.”
His tone is neutral, but a muscle ticks at the corner of his mouth. He’s not happy to be supervised. And really not happy at me for causing it.
“Not at all.” The assistant gets out of her seat and smiles. “Chairwoman Dresden was merely curious why the first treatment didn’t work. Please, sit down.”
Something flickers in my mind. William said he was dating the Chairwoman’s assistant. Does that mean this woman is his girlfriend?
If she knows who I am, she gives no indication. She helps me into the wired chair and fastens the harnesses over my body, her floral scent wafting over me. It’s not perfume, but a pill she took to change the composition of her sweat.
“My name’s MK,” she says.
I know she’s not my friend. Even if she’s William’s girlfriend, she is personal assistant to the Chairwoman herself, one step removed from the enemy. And yet, I can’t help but warm up to her. She’s the first ComA employee who’s been kind to me since I’ve been arrested.
“I’m Callie,” I say.
“Full name: Calla Ann Stone.” Bellows slaps the sensors onto my head. “Birthday: October Twenty-eight. Status: in Limbo. Are we done with the niceties here? Some of us have work to do.”
MK squeezes my shoulder and retreats to the desk screen.
Bellows jams wires into the