Caged Kitten (All the Queen's Men #2) - Rhea Watson Page 0,48

ever so pleased with himself, Lloyd Guthrie settled back in his chair again like he was doing me some kindness—like he had decided to allow me a few precious moments to process that monumental bombshell. Only I couldn’t think. Couldn’t feel. Hearing his words had triggered a wall inside me, a mental block that I couldn’t get around, couldn’t climb over. Just there, oppressive and towering, my heartbeat like a pounding fist against it.

“What i-is this place?” I managed, all the smoothness from earlier dead and buried. Gone. My voice broke in a hoarse whisper. In fact, I was barely aware of what came out, only that I was speaking, my sense of self-preservation trying desperately to change the subject. “Supers don’t have… prisons.”

“Ah, yes.” Lloyd pressed his steepled fingers to his lips, considering me, before snatching up an ivory pen from his desk and twirling it effortlessly. “It’s a creation of my own design. Xargi is the prototype for penitentiaries I intend to launch all over the world… Proof to the elders of our communities that troublemakers can be dealt with at no cost to them. Proof to the few human governments in the know that we can discipline our own.” He pressed the end of his pen into his chin dimple, some of his coarse blackish-grey facial scruff making a scratchy sound at the contact—like nails on a chalkboard. “And it’s a chance to earn an honest living.”

The next stretch of silence implied he was waiting for a response—maybe for me to sing his praises. Delusional. I just stared at him instead, horror solidifying in my chest like an anchor.

“Do you like that?” he crooned, dragging his pen over his lower lip. Somehow he managed to read as both rakishly handsome and disgustingly lewd. “An honest man?”

Sidestep that land mine, girl. “Are you selling the bread we bake every day?”

He tossed his pen on his desk. “I am.”

“And what’s forged in the metal—”

“Let me stop you there.” Lloyd folded his arms, staring at me like I was a child, a pupil, a little girl for him to mentor and mold to his liking. Patronizing piece of shit. “Every work detail makes a product. We sell that product and put the funds back into the prison. It’s all very legitimate.”

“It’s not legitimate,” I fired back, the embers flaring inside me, a whisper of warmth coiling up my spine. “Most of us aren’t criminals… We shouldn’t be prisoners. This is a fucking labor camp!”

Lloyd surged forward with a flash of teeth. “Oh, what a mouth on you. I like that. I like that much more than I’d have thought…”

His wide eyes, that maniacal cackle, extinguished whatever fire had started up again. I shoved back in my chair as far as I could, suddenly realizing that like almost every other chair in here, it was bolted to the ground. Not going anywhere. No escape.

“Xargi is a proof of concept, kitten,” the warlock remarked, either oblivious to the fact that I was stretching to get away from him, hands snapped tight around the armrests, or he just didn’t care. I bit the insides of my cheeks again, the flash of pain centering, and scowled back at him.

“Stop saying that.” He had no right to call me kitten. He wasn’t my dad. He hadn’t earned that privilege. This asshole had no idea who I was. No clue. And he didn’t get to talk at me like he did.

“And if I don’t?” He fished his wand out of his suit jacket’s interior, placing it delicately, almost reverently on the desk. Ivory handle—shocker. Grey eyes flicked to mine, locked on, and the world blurred around us, the slate goading me to react. “Will you show me your claws, Katja? Come on, then… Take a swipe.”

My fingers twitched toward the wand, and a stupid part of my brain posed a theory that if I just moved fast enough, I could snatch it up and use it on its master. Never mind the collar. Never mind that wands had hearts and souls of their own, that they were major divas who sometimes freaked out hard if someone new used them without permission.

It would be worth the risk if I could wipe that smarmy smile off his face.

If I could never hear kitten coming out of his mouth ever again.

But that, like so many other half-baked plans of escape, was just a fantasy. Useless to dwell on. Depressing to consider. So, I sat there, stiff and silent, trembling,