Chapter 7“So, what’s your fancy?” Brayden pointed out several cafeteria-style buffet lineups in the center of the chow hall.
Surrounded on all sides by sterile stainless-steel tables, surprisingly few inmates devoured their meals with little conversation. This place reminded Isabella more of an infirmary than any chow hall she had ever eaten in. Food carts on the far end of the room offered an outstanding array of choices, though nothing she would consider breakfast food.
“If you’re in the mood for something b****y, they’ve got bottom round today,” he explained. “It’s not super tender, but hey, it’s a hell of a lot better than the gruel at the other institutions, right?”
Isabella offered a weak smile to conceal the roiling in her stomach. When he said b****y, he meant it. Most of the in
