Page 66 of Fiery Little Thing
I’m sure they’re all collectively thinking,we don’t believe you.
I can practically hear those four words playing on a loop in their heads. What’s the point of this little get-together if they aren’t going to believe a word that comes out of my mouth?
“Why were you looking for Elijah?” McGill asks.
The only silver lining to this unfortunate turn of events is that no one thinks I started the fight with Elijah or pushed him downthe bleachers. There were enough witnesses to say that he came at me. As for the part where he’s in hospital, apparently my puny arms couldn’t manage something of that magnitude, so I’m off the hook for that.
“Because I wanted to clear the air about what happened and ensure nothing like that happens again.” Okay, yeah, that doesn’t even sound believable to me. I huff out a breath when McGill gives me a look. “I wanted him to apologize to me for screwing up my foot.”
“You wanted drugs,” Dr. Van der Merwe speaks for the first time since I sat down ten minutes ago.
“Ding, ding, ding.They didn’t make you a doctor for nothing.” I mock-clap. If I deny it, they won’t believe me. If I stay quiet, I’ll feel like a cornered animal.
I flinch when McGill suddenly slams his notebook shut. “Let’s cut to the chase, shall we?”
Shifting uncomfortably in my seat, I shoot a wary glance at the two guards. If McGill is being this short with me, something terrible is probably about to happen.
“Your grandfather is interested in confirming what he already suspects so he can plan how your future looks. Elijah gave you drugs in exchange for yourservices.” McGill motions to my body with his last word, and I cringe at the implication. He’s wrong. I’m not like my mother—not entirely. “You stopped providing your end, and he lashed out. Now, your supplier is indisposed, and you’re looking for another troubled soul to make your life feel dismally better.”
I hold my breath as I watch him reach for the bag on the side of the couch. He rummages around, and my heart stops beating when he pulls out a small ziplock bag holding white powder.
“You see this?” McGill waves the bag, and my eyes follow it likeI’m a starved dog and he’s pulled out a fresh slice of meat. How long has it been since I had any blow? “We confiscated it from a student last month.” He sounds pleased with himself—probably because he has me exactly where he wants me. “Cocaine is your drug of choice, correct? An expensive vice you have, especially with such a nonexistent wallet.”
I wet my lips and grip the seat. “What do you want?” My attempt at cool indifference falls short.
“Isn’t it obvious?” he asks, a condescending grin on his lips. At my blank look, he sighs. “Dr. Van der Merwe and I believe in exploring different avenues before resorting to more extreme measures. Bribery is one of the most well-known forms of acquiring information or goods—you of all people would know that.”
My lips flatten into a thin line. “I’m not a prostitute.”
Even if I were, who gives a shit? I’m not hurting anyone—Kohen is though.
McGill drops the bag on the wooden coffee table between us, and every cell in my body becomes hyper-aware of its existence. “Admit to causing the fire or tell us who did it, and it’s all yours.”
I quickly do the calculation in my head. It’s a big bag. That has to be at least an eight ball of cocaine. If I ration it out well, it could last me long enough until I get out of this place. If I’m strapped for cash, I could sell off a gram to another student. Maybe offer bumps.
I can think about doing the last two all I want, but every time Tony swung me some extra cash, it went straight toward the thing in front of me.
Isn’t this the perfect outcome? I get back at Kohen and end up with the bag. Only my mouth stays shut, and my eyes remain firmly on the bag. When will it end? I’ll accept this one bag in exchange forinformation, and then what’s next? Dance on the table for a joint? Bend over, or I’ll tell your grandfather all about what you’ve done?
Not just that, how far will I go in my crusade against Kohen? He already put himself in here because of me—risked imprisonmentfor me, not just once, but three times already—four if I include the accidental arson that I haven’t forgiven or forgotten about.
And he’s… he’s been kind.Nice. Those aren’t the right words, but admitting that he’s being anything more will send me into a spiral.
I could never hate you.
My gut churns at the memory. But it dissolves when my eyes crash with McGill’s as his voice breaks me out of my stupor.
“It’s unfortunate that it’s too soon to do another ECT. No matter.” He smiles apathetically. “There are always alternatives.”
Three things happen at once: Boris lunges for my legs while the other guard traps me in a headlock, forcing me to lie on the chaise. I suck in a futile breath and scream as loud as I can, thrashing as I do. Lastly, the part that has me most worried is when McGill crosses over the room and squats down at the foot of the lounger with a diabolical look lurking beneath his calm facade.
“We tried playing nice with you, Miss Whitlock.” Boris clamps my legs down as McGill slowly places his hand over my sore foot.
My heart rattles against my rib cage as I try clawing at the sleeved arms around my head. My ankle hurts more today than it did twenty-four hours ago because of how much I was using it. I whip my head side to side, but all it does is chafe my skin.
I can feel bruises forming beneath their hands, yet the pain of their hold doesn’t make me falter. It doesn’t bring me any less comfort that they won’t zap me again, but they can torture me in other ways.
“Get your disgusting hands off me!” It’s all in vain, the fighting,the screaming, the thought that I’ll get out of this. But I don’t stop. I can’t. I didn’t survive this long to be deterred by hurt.
