The Prison Project (by Bethany Donaghy) novel Chapter 13

Margot’s POV

Cara scraped the last of her pasta salad up with her fork and let out a long sigh. “Tell me this isn’t the best damn food you’ve had in, like, forever.”

I laughed weakly, chewing the final bite of my chicken wrap. “Unfortunately for us, it definitely is.”

We both glanced at the buffet, still half–loaded with pastries, sandwiches, and those mini chocolate brownies that looked criminally good.

“I mean,” Cara said, eyeing the brownies, “we could go back up. Screw it. Might be our last good food for a while who knows what they’ll feed us in a prison. Better yet, this might be our last supper!”

I raised a brow at her. “You said not to jinx it, remember?” I complain, understanding that we had put an end to the death jokes.

She rolled her eyes. “Too late for that now. I realised that we’ve already jinxed it when we applied to be a part of this! We may as well enjoy the perks.”

I laughed again, but there was no real humour in it. The food was good – hell, it was amazing – but that gnawing unease in my gut hadn’t left since we stepped into this place. No amount of sandwiches or pasta salad could drown out the feeling that we were in way too deep.

Still, Cara stood, grabbing up her empty plate. “I’m getting another brownie. Come on.”

I followed her reluctantly, stuffing another water bottle into my tracksuit pocket like some desperate scavenger. Just in case. If we were being shoved into a cell later tonight, who knew when we’d see anything this decent again?

But before we even reached the halfway point of the buffet line, the side doors creaked open again with an ominous groan.

The room quieted almost instantly.

Girls began to trickle back inside in twos and threes

those who had been taken out earlier for their inmate briefings. They returned with strange expressions: some dazed, some unnerved, and others… oddly giddy.

“What the hell?” I whispered to Cara as we slowly backed away from the table, our appetites dying a second death.

“They’re coming back like they just got back from a fucking spa day,” Cara muttered.

“Yeah, or speed dating in hell.”

We watched as the scarred man returned to the platform, eyes flicking over the room like a hawk surveying its prey. The guards flanking the door resumed their clipboard ritual.

“The next twenty will now be called!” He announced, as the same routine played out…

“Kylie Antwood… Olivia Tees…

Then, the name I’d been dreading to hear:

“Margot Belle.”

The words sliced through the air like a blade.

I froze mid–step. My plate slipped slightly in my hands, threatening to fall.

Cara immediately turned to me, her face paling in real–time. “It’s okay,” she whispered, grabbing my hand. “You’ve got this. It’s just a briefing. You’re going to be fine, you’ll be back soon to tell me all about it.”

Easy for her to say – since her name hadn’t just been read out like a damn death sentence.

But I nodded anyway, even as the blood drained from my face.

A tall man stood waiting for me near the exit. He was bald with a thick, muscular frame and eyes that didn’t seem to blink. The moment our eyes locked, he gave the smallest nod which I was oddly grateful for… showing me that this was all ok.

I forced my legs to move, though they felt stiff and uncooperative, like I was wading through syrup. Cara gave my hand one final squeeze before I broke away and headed toward the guard.

He stood from his chair, moving around me to poke his head back out in to the open space: “Commander! Come check this out for a sec!” He bellowed, not caring much for anyone else around us as my palms grew sweatier… what was happening?!

He returned quickly to his chair, as my heartbeat quickened in confusion, watching him collect up the sheets once more.

Seconds later another man appeared by our side, a large gun hanging across his chest as I swallowed hard, not liking that its tip was pointing directly at me…

“What is it?!” He snaps impatiently, as the guard turns the pages and points to something on there.

“Prisoner five hundred?! That’s got to be a mistake? How’d he get approved for this shit? You do realise if he passes, he might actually get released!” He rants to the commander, as I feel my tongue begin to swell from inside of my mouth.

Who the hell were they talking about?!

“Ah yes, nah, there’s no mistake I’m afraid. He applied and got approved, said he wants to make a real effort. No doubt his father had a hand in this, you know how it is.” The commander shrugs, before his eyes shift to me. “Good luck to you little lady, that’s all I’ll say on this one!” He laughs to himself, addressing me as I shift uncomfortably on my chair.

Without another word, he leaves us, as the guard before me rubs a rough hand across his forehead with a sigh.

“Well I suppose I better brief you on this as much as I can… the man you’ve been assigned to goes by the name: Coban Santorelli.”

I blinked, drinking in the name as I tried my best to keep up…

Coban Santorelli?

Even that sounded dangerous…

What have I done?!