The Prison Project (by Bethany Donaghy) novel Chapter 99

Coban’s POV

The steam followed me out like a shadow, rolling heavy into the room.

I dragged a hand through my damp hair, pushing it back from my forehead, only to catch her eyes on me.

She froze when she realised I’d noticed. But not before I caught the way her gaze dropped, hesitant at first, like she didn’t want to, but they fell lower… and lower.

Her cheeks lit up pink the second her eyes landed on the bulge straining against my boxers.

I nearly laughed.

The girl wanted me. Still. After everything.

Even with her throat marked up like she’d been strangled by a fucking demon – by me.

My entire handprint bruised into her pale skin like a goddamn brand.

And yet, she wanted me?

The sickness of it twisted like a knife in my abdomen.

“Stop eyeing me up like a damn snack when I just nearly fucking killed you,” I snapped, the words lashing out like whips.

Her eyes widened, shame flickering across her face as she mumbled something low- an apology, maybe.

I hated it.

Hated how quick she was to fold, how quick she was to forgive.

It would’ve been easier if she screamed at me. Called me a monster. Hated me the way she should.

But no. She just sat there, staring at me like I was still something worth wanting,

Stupid. She was stupid.

Or maybe broken?

Slow, maybe?

I couldn’t decide.

My jaw tightened when I caught what she was wearing shorts.

That was a first.

Not the skin–tight kind that would’ve completely pissed me off. These were baggy, loose enough, long enough to cover what needed covering.

I let it slide.

For now.

Deciding that I’d put her through enough to kick off this day so far…

“C’mon,” I muttered, dragging on my own clothes – black shorts, black shirt, keeping it simple.

She scrambled to stand, too fast, like the floor might catch fire if she didn’t move the second the words left my lips.

Good.

Fear at least kept her alert around here, which was something I had tried to teach her this entire week.

I waited, let her move ahead of me, and then gestured for her to take the lead out of the cell.

Her brows furrowed in questioning, but I didn’t explain right away. I just watched the way she hesitated before obeying, stepping through the door like she was walking into enemy territory.

As we walked, she continued to cast glances over her shoulder, as if to check that I was still present and to avoid losing me…

“I’m right here. You’ll walk in front of me today,” I said finally, voice low.

And I meant it.

Because I wanted to have eyes on everything.

On her. On the halls. On every bastard who might look too long at the bruises around her neck.

My handprint. My shame.

If anyone so much as smirked about it, I’d shut them the fuck up and fast.

I didn’t care what excuse I’d have to make, what punishment they’d give me later. Nobody was going to make her into a joke.

Nobody.

We moved into the corridor, the noise of the other cells already swelling – a tide of voices, footsteps, the metallic slams of doors.

She kept her head down, blonde damp hair falling forward, but that only made the bruises on her throat more obvious to me.

The guilt clawed up my ribs again, sharp and burning as I stared at them from behind her.

The way each thick finger of mine had been left purple on her skin.

I tried to crush the guilt.

To swallow it back.

She sighed, shoulders sinking, and shrugged.

“Anything.” She muttered.

That lack of care hit me like a punch.

Like she didn’t even give a shit anymore what went into her body.

Didn’t care if it was enough to keep her moving.

The reaction was on me.

The bruises around her throat, the glassy way her eyes avoided the food, the soft slump of her posture – I’d done that.

I hated it.

Grinding my teeth, I piled food on the trays toast, bacon, eggs, sausages. More than she could eat, but I didn’t care.

She’d take what I gave her, and she’d eat it.

“Go grab us water,” I instructed, passing one tray into my grip and balancing the other.

She nodded quickly, almost too relieved to have a task, and slipped away toward the water station.

I kept hold of the trays, shifting my stance so I could keep her in sight.

Two guys at the far end of the room were already whispering, their eyes flicking from her throat back to me.

One chuckled.

The sound was faint, swallowed by the noise of the hall, but it cut sharp in my ears anyway.

My jaw locked.

They had no fucking clue how close they were to losing teeth…

I took a breath, slow through my nose, tried to keep my focus. Tried not to draw attention in the one place that already carried too many eyes.

Il deal with them soon…

Later…

After she’s taken care of.