Chapter 8
The rest of the morning drags like wet laundry. The washers keep churning. The dryers keep roaring. Steam hangs heavy, making every breath feel thick and warm. I fold towels faster now, hands steady, mind racing. Reaper's visit left a mark—not on my skin, but somewhere deeper. His voice still echoes in my ears, low and rough. His scar still flashes in my mind like a warning sign I want to ignore. I catch myself touching my cheek where his breath brushed it. Then I stop. Focus.
Jax is the first to crack. He slides up to my table during a quiet moment, pretending to straighten a pile of sheets. His hands shake a little. "What the hell was that with Reaper?" he whispers. His eyes dart toward the door where the big man disappeared.
I don't look up. I keep folding. "He wanted to talk."
"Talk?" Jax snorts. "Reaper doesn't talk. He threatens. Or he breaks. You just stood there smiling like it was nothing."
I finally meet his gaze. "It was nothing. Yet."
He leans closer. "You're playing with fire, Zara. Real fire. The kind that burns whole buildings down."
I smile slow. "Then maybe I like getting warm."
Jax's jaw tightens. He glances over his shoulder, then back at me. "I brought you gum this morning. That means something, right?"
"It means you're sweet," I say softly. I reach out under the table, let my fingers brush his wrist. Just a touch. Light. Enough to make his breath hitch. "Keep being sweet, Jax. I notice."
He flushes red. Nods once. Steps back quick when a guard walks past.
Rico isn't so subtle. He waits until lunch line forms outside the laundry door. Everyone shuffles toward the mess hall. I stay behind, pretending to organize the last cart. Rico corners me near the dryers. His gold tooth flashes when he grins, but his eyes are hard.
"You let Hale touch you," he says. Not a question. An accusation.
I turn slowly. Cross my arms. The jumpsuit pulls tight across my chest. His gaze drops there for a second before snapping back up. "I let him think he touched me," I correct. "Big difference."
Rico steps closer. Too close. I can smell the mint on his breath from gum he chewed earlier. "And Reaper? You let him stand there like he owns the room?"
"He does own parts of it," I say calmly. "But not me."
Rico laughs. Short. Sharp. "You think you're different from every other girl who walked in here thinking they could play the game?"
I step forward instead of back. My chest almost brushes his. "I'm not playing their game, Rico. I'm making my own. And you're already in it."
His grin fades. Something hotter flashes in his eyes. Want. Anger. Jealousy. All mixed together. "What do I gotta do to get more than a wink and an apple?"
I tilt my head. Study him. "Bring me something better tomorrow. Something only you can get. Prove you're not just talk."
He stares at me for a long beat. Then he nods. "You got it, queen." He turns to leave, but pauses. Looks back. "Don't let Reaper scare you off. I fight dirty when I need to."
I laugh quietly. "I'm counting on it."
Hale finds me last. He waits until the room empties for lunch. Slips in through the side door. Closes it behind him. His face is flushed. Eyes bright.
"I can't stop thinking about earlier," he says. Voice low. Urgent. "In the storage room. The way you looked at me."
I lean against a washer. Let the vibration hum through my back. "You brought me water. That was nice."
He steps closer. "I can bring more. Anything. Just say it."
I reach out. Trace one finger down the front of his uniform shirt. He shivers. "Then listen close, Officer Hale. Tomorrow I want something real. A key. A note. Something that says you're on my side. Not just watching."
His breath catches. "That's risky."
I smile. "Risky is fun."
He nods. Swallows hard. "For you? Yeah. I'll do it."
I step away before he can touch me. "Good boy. Now go eat. You look hungry."
He leaves looking dazed. Like I just handed him a dream and a death sentence in the same breath.
I walk to the mess hall alone. The corridor feels different now. Eyes follow me from every shadow. Whispers trail behind like smoke. Men nudge each other. Women glance quick and look away.
Lena catches up halfway there. "You're making enemies fast," she mutters.
I shrug. "Or making allies. Depends on the day."
She shakes her head. "Reaper doesn't do allies. He does property."
I stop. Turn to face her. "Then I'll be the property that bites back."
Lunch is loud. Trays clatter. Voices shout. I sit with Lena at the end of a long table. I eat slow. Watch the room. Jax sits with a group of runners. Keeps stealing looks. Rico sits with his crew. Laughs too loud. Hale stands at the door, arms crossed, eyes on me.
And across the hall, in the far corner, Reaper sits alone. No tray. No friends. Just him. Watching. Not eating. Not blinking.
Our eyes meet across the crowded room.
He doesn't smile.
He doesn't look away.
I hold his stare.
Lift my fork to my lips slow.
Take a bite.
Then I smile. Small. Wicked. Full of promise.
He leans back in his chair.
Crosses his arms.
The scar pulls tight.
The message is clear.
He sees me.
He wants me.
And he's not waiting long.
Neither am I.
The sparks are flying now.
Jealousy is spreading like fire through dry grass.
And when it catches?
I'll be the one holding the match.