Page 140 of Forbidden Forget-Me-Not

The cell stank like sweat, bleach, and old mistakes with a sprinkling of helplessness. The concrete bench pressed cold through the thin fabric of my breeches like a sick reminder of where I had been. Of how happy I had been before it all came crashing down.

My wrists still burned from the zip ties, and my shoulder stung from being forced down, making every breath painful. A reminder that I had been treated like I was nothing. That in my father’s eyes, I was nothing.

Unable to sit any longer, I got up and paced the small cell. I stopped at the bars and wrapped my fingers around the metal.

“Hey, Officer,” I called, voice steady. “I want to see Goran.”

No answer.

“Hey. I know you can hear me.” I tried again, louder. “My bodyguard is being held somewhere in this shithole. I want to speak to him.”

Footsteps passed in the adjoining hallway. Keys jingled. Someone laughed as if this were just another Sunday.

No one came.

I leaned my forehead against the bars and forced air into my lungs. Panic was useless. Tears were useless. If I fell apart, I would never get back up. Not in here. Not with my father waiting somewhere in the shadows like a spider.

I can’t believe he did this.

I straightened.

“My name is Kaylani Mikhailov,” I yelled, projecting in the way I had been trained to speak to rooms full of donors and board members. “You will acknowledge me, or I swear I’ll get all of you fired.”

A snort came from behind me.

“You’re gonna get yourself a face full of pepper spray or tased. Sit down and shut up.”

I turned slowly.

The woman in the cell with me was maybe in her late thirties. She had tired eyes and the kind of confidence that came from knowing this place better than anyone should. She sat on the opposite bench as if she owned it, elbows braced on her knees, her hair pulled into a messy ponytail.

She gave me a slow once-over and rolled her eyes, as if she had already decided she didn’t like me. She hadn’t spoken since they threw me in here, and I wasn’t inclined to listen to her comments now.

“I didn’t ask for your advice,” I said, crossing my arms.

“You don’t need to ask. You’re ten feet away and hollering loud enough to give me a headache. These people don’t care who you are.”

“Yeah, I’m becoming aware of that.”

She tilted her head and stared at me like I was oblivious.

“You’re not aware of anything. You’re doing that spoiled rich girl thing where if you speak loud enough, you think you’ll get what you want. Maybe it’s worked in the past. But here, yelling at the officers won’t help, and it’s pissing me off.”

She had a point. I was rich. And I was used to getting my way. But I had never purposely used it before. Then again, maybe there had never been a need.

I shook my head, pushing the thought away.

“I’m not that kind of rich girl.”

She laughed.

“Honey. Look at me. Do we look like we come from the same place? You’re a pampered snowflake. A princess that hasn’t realized she’s fallen out of her castle window and landed amongst the peasants.”

I didn’t move. I didn’t blink.

Something about the word princess struck deeper than it had before, causing an ache to form under my ribcage. Father called me a princess when reminding me of my duty to the family. Men used it when they wanted to soften or control me.

The only time it didn’t bother me was when Goran said the word.