13. AURORA
I’ve been at Quo for nearly a month when an older man arrives at the cell, pushing a rattling cleaning cart. “Boss,” he says respectfully, though the words are garbled and thick.
Taliesin gestures something with his hands while saying, “Come in, Spigot.”
The man called Spigot pulls something out of the cart. An old-fashioned shaver?
The two of them don’t exchange any words as Taliesin sits, then Spigot gets to work cutting his scruff and hair stubble back down to quarter of an inch.
I just sit on my cot and watch, the door to the cage sits open. Taliesin doesn’t lock me in anymore, unless he’s not in the room, and then he says he has to for my safety.
I don’t kick up a fuss about it.
The buzz of the shaver is the only sound in the cell.
I find myself leaning forward, almost hypnotized as Taliesin’s scruff falls away, revealing the sharp line of his jaw.
I can stare as much as I like, because Taliesin’s eyes are closed, head tilted back, exposing his throat.
The skin is tan, despite never seeing the sun.
His natural coloring I guess. Light catches on a bead of sweat on his now revealed top lip.
I find myself licking my own top lip. His kiss would be…salty.
The thought makes a slow, heavy heat coil in my lower belly.
As Spigot finishes up the job, brushing Taliesin down with a rag, I splash water over my face.
Gods.
Things are getting a little out of control in the body of seventeen-year-old Aurora Destiny Drakeward, and I don’t know how to handle it.
The old man shuffles out, as Taliesin does a gesture, moving his hand to and from his newly shorn chin.
It’s all…strange.
As soon as Spigot is gone, I quirk an eyebrow. “Who was that?”
“Spigot,” he grunts in reply.
“No shit, but you know what I mean. He wasn’t very chatty.”
He runs a hand over his buzzed hair. “Spigot is deaf, Rory. He’s one of the facilities guys here. Comes by every month to clean me up. He does Lay’s hair too.”
Interesting. “How do you pay him? Or does he do it out of the goodness of his own heart?”
Taliesin snorts. “I put word out that he’s not to be harmed on the Digger block, that’s his payment.”
Hmm, I guess that’s definitely worth a shave or two. “So, like, he’s your inside guy?” I ask, still curious.
“Inside guy? No. He may be good for a haircut, but that old shit would sell his grandmother if it benefited him. Why do you think he has the name Spigot?”
“I don’t get it.”
“He runs hot and cold. He’ll be smuggling in tobacco one day, then reporting the recipient to the guards the next. He’s a snitch with a side-hustle. Not, and I repeat, not to be trusted. But he can cut hair, and I’ll stop the guys on the block from giving him a hard time—unless he deserves it.”
I move out of my cage and plonk myself down on his cot for a change of scenery. “I hadn’t thought about how you kept your hair short. It’s crazy how much one takes for granted, when you don’t have to, you know, figure it out for yourself.”
Taliesin leans closer to me and ruffles my mess of blonde hair. “That why you haven’t kept up your manicure, and all that posh shit?”
I wrestle his arm off, laughing. “I’d settle for a fucking hairbrush, think Spigot could get one of those? Finger-combing is failing big-time. Have you seen my dreads?” I turn and pull up the back of my mane to reveal a hideous amount of knots.
“Shit, Princess. You got a family of mice living in there?” Suddenly, the mattress dips. He drops down onto the cot directly behind me, his large frame radiating a heat that I can feel through my thin uniform. “Here, let me pick it out. I used to do this for Chloe.”
My heart does an annoying, jealous lurch. “Chloe?”
“Cousin. She had thin hair like you.”
“I do not have thin hair!” I exclaim, wincing as he finds a particularly stubborn knot. “It’s fine hair. There is a very big difference between the two, and if you don’t want to get in shit with the ladies, Taliesin, don’t muddle that up.”
“Potato, pot-ah-to. Stop wriggling or I’m going to pull.”
I do what I’m told.
Sitting still, I allow Taliesin to groom me. As his fingers work methodically through the tangles, I close my eyes, lulled by the steady, calloused rhythm of his hands. Every time his knuckles graze the sensitive skin of my nape, a shiver shoots straight down my spine.
Neither of us speaks.
But this silence is nothing like the one between him and Spigot.
Taliesin leans in closer to get at a particularly nasty tangle near my ear, his chest brushing my shoulder, and for a split second, I feel, almost feel, maybe feel—the press of his warm lips against the curve of my neck. It’s so light it could be my imagination, or a stray breath.
But it makes heat pool throughout my body.
“Oh, the frequency in here is absolutely yodeling.”
I jump, nearly ripping a hunk of hair out of Tally’s grip. Layla and Jolene are in the doorway. Jolene’s eyes are wide and, fuck, I don’t know, lusty? It’s weird.
“The pheromonic energy is staggering,” she continues, her hand gliding down to the crotch of her coveralls. “It’s like two tectonic plates grinding together. If you keep this up, the collective alignment is going to result in an orgasm that’ll open a celestial portal.”
“For the love of Gods, Jolene, fuck off,” I snap, my face feeling like it’s actually on fire.
“Yeah, go vibrate somewhere else, Jo,” Layla mutters, giving the redhead a gentle but firm shove down the hallway. “The Boss doesn’t need a fortune-teller calling his action.”
“I’m just saying!” Jolene’s voice drifts back as she disappears. “The sacral chakra never lies!”
The silence that follows is thick enough to choke on. Tally doesn’t move. He finishes the knot he’s working on with agonizing slowness before finally letting go.
“I guess you’re picking out her fleas, huh boss?” Layla gives a half-grimace, half-smile, while her hand runs over her newly buzzed scalp.
“Looking good,” I croak. It’s true, she does. In fact she looks lethal, the fresh cut making her cheekbones look sharp enough to draw blood.
But her eyes are soft and dancing with amusement as she takes in the two of us, pressed close together, on the cot.
“Spigot always does a clean job,” Taliesin mutters.
Layla raises an eyebrow, her gaze flicking between my flushed face and Tally’s iron-cold expression. “Yep, clean as a whistle. But I didn’t come here to talk about my fade.” The humor vanishes. “Tindall is on the block.”
Taliesin is off the cot in a heartbeat. “Tindall? She doesn’t crawl down here unless the Warden is looking for someone to break.”
“Who’s Tindall?” I ask, trying to smooth down my hair and act cool.
“A bitch of a guard, The warden’s pitbull,” Layla tells me.
“Wait, broad shoulders, neck like a bull, iron gray hair in a tight bun?”
Layla’s mouth twitched. “That’s the one.”
“That’s not Tindall,” I laugh, “That’s Ms. Trunchbull.”
Taliesin looks confused but Layla lets out a genuine bark of a laugh. “Holy shit, Rory. That’s perfect.”
“Want to fill me in?” Taliesin asks, looking put out.
Layla grins. “Aw, boss. You butt hurt to be out of the loop?” She turns to me. “Do you think we need to start calling Tally ‘Harry’ instead?”
“As in Wormwood?” I reply. “Oh no. He’s actually Miss Honey.”
Layla and I are still giggling when a shadow fills the doorway.
“Get to your own cell,” a guard snaps. It’s her; fucking Tindall/Trunchbull.
She threatens Layla with her baton, who immediately raises her hands slightly. “I’m going, I’m going.”
Tindall watches her leave then turns back to me.
“Warden wants you.” Her voice a low growl that fits her fucked up personality. “Now.”
Taliesin stands, his hand going instinctively to his hidden weapon. “I’ll come too,” he says, casting a look in my direction that looks too much like genuine worry for my liking.
Agreed, T. The warden scares the shit out of me.
Tindall levels her baton at him. “I don’t think so, Bevan. You’re not the ‘boss’ of anyone but your filthy crew.”
He takes a step forward. “Listen, Tind—” His words are cut off as the bitch jabs him, sending volts through his body. It’s not enough to put him on the floor, but he doubles over, swearing and clutching his shoulder.
Fuck.
I lift my chin, trying to bring my Aurora Drakeward A-game. “It’s fine, Taliesin,” I lie as he gasps. “The warden is just a dirty old man.” I put as much false bravado into my tone as possible. “I’m used to that type. They’re all the same.”
“Just don’t sign anything,” Taliesin groans, catching his breath as I’m led away.
Yeah, yeah. I’m not a total idiot.
At the gate to administration, I’m handed off to a new guard. Another woman. Her weathered, impassive face doesn’t change as she takes me straight past the secretary/canary area, where a pretty, bruised girl is weeping silently next to a desk.
She knocks on the warden’s door, then pulls me into his office. “Who are you?” Voss scowls.
For a moment I’m confused, then realize he’s talking to the guard, not me.
“Peek, sir. Started five days ago.”
“Very well. Wait outside, Peek.”
She retreats, and Warden Voss transfers his gaze to me. He’s sitting behind his oak desk, holding a cup and saucer. The fragile, floral porcelain looks completely incongruous. We’re in a fucking prison hellhole, and he’s got his Limoges tea set out. It’s all very Marie Antoinette.
The air-conditioning in his office is so cold it makes my skin goosebump and, much to my dismay, nipples harden.
“So, my dear. A month in the pits,” Voss muses, looking me over then concentrating his gaze on my chest. “Tell me, Aurora, is it all getting a little much?”
“It’s fine,” I snap. “I’m coping.”
Am I coping? I feel a sharp pinch deep inside my chest that settles when I think of the Digger people who are fast becoming my friends.
The warden smiles, slow and greasy. “I have to say, I expected you to be crawling by now. I still have a yellow uniform waiting for you. A clean bed. Real food.” He leans forward, his voice deepening. “I’d even make you my lead Canary, little Drakeward. All you have to do is say the word.”