10
Voices echoed, two guards relaying info about an upcoming shipment.
Spike lay on his side, back toward the door, balled up tee under his head. He’d had to rip it to get it past the handcuffs, but this way it was dual purpose—blanket or pillow, depending on his mood. Right now that mood was pensive, with a tinge of melancholy. But at least his handcuffs were on the front of his body. Made sleeping easier. Eating possible.
Blood welled under his thumbnail as he etched on the floor. He switched to his index finger. Since fingernails were his only writing utensils, this was a tedious process. But what else did he have to do? Other than think about Anna?
Which was all he’d been doing. Couldn’t say he liked it. Made the oaf’s torture feel like a tickle. His hand stilled, eyes sliding c
