.officerlarsson:
She thought she couldn’t get lower than the day she took a wad of cash in an envelope from a drug dealer. Oh, how wrong she had been. Now she was sitting in a cell, rubbing her head, a letter in her hand. She didn’t need to read it to know where she was. It had been made clear to her what her fate was. She crumpled the piece of paper up into a ball and threw it at the wall.
“Fuck, fuck. Well fucking done, Bailey.”
Waking up in a place like this was nothing Misha could imagine. He’d known places like this existed, but this was his first time visiting it. He’d thought he’d feel something…more moral, visiting the slave cells. It shouldn’t have surprised him when he felt very little but hunger. The words from one of the cells had him turning and leaning against the bars. “Is it regret you’re feeling?” he asked, a slight accent lilting his words. “Or horror?”
Bailey’s eyes followed to the source of the voice. Her first thought was fear. She was, after all, pretty much helpless. But she couldn’t actually feel the fear. She’d already spent it all when she thought Colin was going to kill her. By the time he’d made his decision, she had already prepared for her own death. She’d already panicked and pleaded, bargained and mourned. A whole funeral inside her head in a few terrifying hours cuffed to a pipe in a drug dealer’s basement. So now she felt oddly empty as she looked back at this man on the other side of the bars.
“Uh...” She pressed the bridge of her nose with her fingers. “It seems a little late for regret. Shock, I guess.”
