Caged Kitten (All the Queen's Men #2) - Rhea Watson Page 0,20

muffin awaiting me, I wasn’t quite as lucky. Not an empty spot in sight, dozens and dozens of round metal tables with stools bolted to the ground situated across the center of the cafeteria. Guards patrolled the perimeter, chatting, laughing, wands always in hand.

I missed my wand.

Missed what it could do to the bastards who had first shoved me into my cell, to the bitch in processing who literally made me strip naked, right down to my bobby pins, then squat in front of her and cough.

Like I’d somehow shoved contraband into my pussy before whoever kidnapped me from Seattle knocked me unconscious. Honestly. The most degrading experience of my life: who knew how many others had been watching through the two-way mirror.

I bit the insides of my cheeks, trying not to think about it, to get lost in the events of the recent past—because I’d lose it. Again. And I couldn’t lose it in here. Rafe had been sweet in his own way, but for all I knew, everyone else was a hardened criminal, and they ate weakness for breakfast, not expired eggs.

Most of my cellblock had already found their tables, that handsy demon and his posse occupying one near the middle, then Rafe and his gorgeous—albeit intense—shifter friend choosing one near the outskirts by the tray return counter. While it might have been helpful, I wasn’t here to make friends. In the end, prisoners were out for themselves, and Rafe might have laid on the charm to shut me up last night, but I refused to trust anyone.

Especially the shifter who wouldn’t stop staring at me. Elijah. A shiver cut down my spine the second our eyes clashed across the sea of tables. When he looked at me, it was like he was looking straight through me, right down to the marrow, and I didn’t like that. Not one bit. Not when he made me weak-kneed and vulnerable with nothing but a glance.

Since there wasn’t a chance in hell I’d throw my hat in with the demon who’d licked my ear twice while purring into it yesterday, I beelined away from my cellblock and scanned the countless other faces, searching for the most unassuming of the bunch. Eventually, I settled on another loner: a woman in a dark blue jumpsuit like Elijah—shifter, then, if we were all divided by our most basic identity. Smaller than me, probably a little shorter too, she sat poking at her eggs with a scowl, her hair a peppery brown, and when I wandered closer, I noted one of her eyes had clouded over.

A crippled shifter… Rare. Their genetics healed just about any wound, but as I gnawed at my lower lip, debating whether or not to join her, I also wondered if the collars muted healing abilities too. Had someone done that to her in here? Fear mottled in my belly—made my already unappetizing breakfast seem so beyond gross I gagged. Good morning, anxiety puke. Like I needed to make that kind of scene in front of everyone and totally obliterate my prison rep.

Okay, Katja, make a move. Supers at the surrounding tables were already starting to glance my way—strangers who looked infinitely more terrifying than the shifter. So, choice made.

“Hey.” I stopped at one of the metal stools across from her, my empty belly somersaulting when she peered up. “Can I sit here?”

Her one good eye gave me a quick once-over, and she nodded, her features delicate and angular. Beautiful. Easily mistaken for a fae or elf maiden if it weren’t for the jumpsuit.

“Sure,” she said, her accent suggesting bounty hunters had scooped her up from Australia. As she nodded at the spot in front of me, I sat in a hurry, and the shifter grabbed her own slightly burnt English muffin, slowly picking a little piece off. “And pro tip—don’t ask anyone for anything in here. Just take it.”

Yikes. Another prison faux pas. How on earth was I going to survive this? “Oh. Right.”

“It’s just…” She popped the sliver of bread into her mouth, chewing daintily with a grimace. “Some of the creeps in this place will take your manners and run with them, you know? Asking makes you weak.”

My stomach gurgled, looping and churning, desperate for sustenance. “Noted.”

We ate in silence for a little while. No one had offered me a utensil, but I noticed the shifter had a spoon.

“You can buy them in commissary,” she said tersely when she caught me staring. “No buying privileges until after your