Glint (The Plated Prisoner 2)

There are so many things that he’s told me to adjust to, to adapt to, because this is the way it has to be, the way it was expected to be.

I kept taking it and taking it, convincing myself that this was the way it needed to be. Lying to myself because I loved him, because he manipulated me.

I’ve been bending over backwards for so long that I forgot I even had a spine.

What a fool I’ve been. What a stupid, stupid fool. I learned not to trust people, but I thought I could trust him. I was wrong.

Fury and surprise send my legs kicking, fists hitting, but he doesn’t drop me, doesn’t let go.

“Auren, stop!” he barks in my ear.

“Let me go!”

Midas ignores me, ignores every hit I rain down as I try to break free. He slows my thrashing by squeezing me so hard that he cuts off my air. With jilted steps, he walks us backwards toward the cage, hand struggling to dig for the key in his pocket.

I tear at his arms, his face. His cheek presses hard into the back of my head, trying to stop me from whipping left and right, not letting my hood fall off.

“You—need—to—behave!” he grits out, a hiss against my ear.

But I don’t. I don’t, because I can’t do this. I can’t go back in a cage. I can’t, I can’t, I—

I hear the key being tossed on the floor. “Unlock the door. Now!” he snaps at the woman. I’d forgotten about her until now.

“No!” The sound is choked off, but me begging doesn’t stop her.

I hear her scramble to pick up the flung key, hear her fitting it in the lock, hear it turning. It turns inside of me too. Like the key is opening a door that I shut on every repressed emotion, every pent-up thought.

Midas pushes me.

One second, his arms are like steel bands around my waist, and the next, my body is crashing into the cold metal floor of the cage.

He did it. He actually tossed me in here without my consent. Without so much as a thought or care for what I want.

That’s when I start to scream.

The scream goes on and on and on. It crawls up the walls, clings to my skin, digs into the canals of my ears to add to the drum, to feed the fire.

I’m completely rabid, frenzied, a sense of panic like never before.

“Out!” he barks at the woman.

I leap up faster than I knew I was capable of. Rushing forward, hands outstretched, I reach for the cage door.

The woman scrambles to get out first, but I know as soon as she does, Midas will slam the door shut on me.

I can’t let that happen.

My ribbons unravel, like fury unfurling. Strips of angry satin strips poised at either side of my body, suspended in air.

In an instant, all of them shoot toward the door to keep it open, their long lengths wrapping around the bars in a vise grip.

But the woman is two steps in front of me, running fast, so I reach forward and shove her with a hand to her shoulder.

My palm burns.

Her body flies back, hitting the barred wall with a thud, but I concentrate on my ribbons as they push at the door, making my back strain.

Midas’s mouth opens to shout something as he struggles against me, trying to slam the door shut, but my ribbons are stronger. The iron do