Capturing Hearts - Faleena Hopkins Page 0,20
really want to go, forcing my feet to move at a normal pace despite the fact that I’m fucking terrified and excited all at the same time.
As I pass the gang, they get quiet and watch me. Antonio’s the only one who keeps chewing, but he’s doing it slowly, his unnerving gaze on me. I give him a jerk of my chin, a quick acknowledgment to show respect. Antonio nods back slowly and just once. I know from the look in his eyes he’s now certain I’m in, that I’ll join them when I feel I deserve to, after I’ve completed my mission. Controlling my mind so my hands don’t shake, I look to the prize, hoping to God my cousin’s plan works.
Halfway across the room, auburn-haired Rita Sanchez looks my way. One penciled eyebrow cocks upward and her red painted lips stop moving as she clocks my approach. Two of her blonde comrades scoot to the right on the bench, bringing their trays sliding with them like they’re expecting me. The other three stay put.
If this promise of escape doesn’t go well, I can kiss my virginity goodbye. Not to these guys. These guys are just homosexual people who committed some crime other than rape; like robbery, murder, or hacking into the federal government’s computer system. It’s The Gimp Patrol I’m worried about and I’m doing everything I can not to look over at their table by the east wall. Those monsters will without a speck of a doubt look at me as open season from here on out. Willing, ready and begging for it, that’s what they’ll think. The only reason they’ve not come after me yet with this face of mine is because they have a couple victims they haven’t tired of. Yet.
My lipsticked ticket out of here nods to the empty space. I put down my tray and climb onto the bench, sitting down with a thud, greeting the blondes one by one by meeting their eyes. They’re all Latin save for one guy from Thailand. And why they all dye their hair blonde is a mystery I don’t care to solve. “Hey,” I say. They don’t answer back. They just keep chewing the slop. I hate this place. I miss manners.
“Tommy,” Rita starts, her accent thick and tinged with a lilt. “I was wondering if you’d have the balls to come here. That was not an easy thing to do.”
“So we understand each other,” I mutter, ignoring my tray of processed chicken and pale peas and corn.
Rita tears off a dry chunk of white roll and tosses it into her mouth with pizazz. “We do.”
I nod and look down at the food in front of me. “Do we need privacy?”
“They’re the reason I have a solution for you. You see, I have a need for things I can’t always get in here. Girly things. So my friends have helped me out by…umm… making a bridge to what I need. Understand?” So, that’s what’s going on. A hole has been dug. These blonde fruitcakes have dug it. Somehow we’re going to get me down it and out the other end. “They’re very good to me. Aren’t you girls?”
I look at the faces around me, but there’s no light in their eyes. Suddenly I’m aware that these people are just as dangerous as The Chain Gang. It makes my spine straighten. I nod to Rita and pick up my fork as the guard who took me to Visiting walks slowly by our table, his beady eyes curious as to what I’m doing way over here, a spy for Antonio more than the prison system.
As I take a bite of what is pretending to be chicken, we all wait. He stands at the wall behind us for five or six minutes to intimidate us. Rita looks unfazed. Somehow this calms down my nerves, and I devour most of my food, suddenly famished. As soon as we’re free to talk again, I hold onto my fork and ask under my breath, “Why are you doing this?”
A vulnerable look passes over her eyes, and damned if she/he didn’t look the most like a girl than I’ve seen so far, in that moment. “I owe Bruce. He helped me.”
“Steal something?”
She shakes her head. “Come out of the closet.”
“Ah. You know he still hasn’t done that himself,” I say off-handedly, using my tongue to get gristle out of my gums.
“He has to us,” Rita says with feeling, making me pause. She means