Free Hold by Zannie Adams

something.
    Cain didn’t question her joining him. He was used to it by now. In fact, he didn’t say anything as he locked the cell behind him.
    Sometimes when they returned, a prisoner was trying to break into the cell—either by force or by jimmying the lock. Cain usually just swatted them out of the way. It was 62
    Hold
    always an act of hopeless desperation, since there was no way to get into the cell without the key. The bars were utterly impassable.
    They started walking around the Hold, and Cain was clearly on the lookout for whatever it was he needed today. When they passed by a scuffle—evidently over a pair of shoes—Cain eased her toward the wall so she wouldn’t get struck with a stray blow.
    She was forced so close to the wall that her shirt caught on a jagged edge of metal.
    It tore, the fabric ripping at one of the seams so far that the gap exposed her bare breast.
    Her camisole was still in the cell drying.
    “Damn it,” she muttered, holding the torn fabric in place as a few prisoners who happened to see hooted or called out vulgar comments. When she realized the implications of the accident—one of her few pieces of clothing was permanently damaged—she felt vaguely sick. “Fuck, fuck, damn it.”
    Cain had stopped when she did, but his expression looked mostly unconcerned.
    “It’s just a tear.”
    Her teeth snapped together as she managed to hold back an automatic retort. It wasn’t just a tear. Not in these circumstances. And any idiot would have known that.
    She couldn’t comfortably keep holding up the torn fabric of her shirt, so with a defeated sigh, she said, “I guess I need to go back.”
    “Why?”
    Riana’s lower lip dropped slightly. “What do you mean—why? Because I have a gaping hole in my shirt and I’m not going to walk around the Hold half-naked.”
    Cain looked slightly impatient and he gave a half shrug. “What’s the big deal?
    They’ve seen you naked in the cell before. They’ve seen you with my cock in your mouth. What’s the difference?”
    A flash of outraged anger overcame her as she stared at his handsome, infuriating face. There was a world of difference between the two situations. Yes, some of the other 63
    Zannie Adams
    prisoners had seen her in various states of undress and debauchery. But that had all been in the cell. The cell felt like home base. It might not be private but it was safe.
    It was entirely different to parade around the Hold, revealing her body to every prisoner with eyes.
    And if Cain had the slightest bit of sensitivity in his brute soul, he would know it.
    “Of course, it’s different,” she snapped. “What the fuck do you—”
    She broke off her words with a jerk, belatedly remembering that she couldn’t make Cain mad.
    Swallowing hard, she overcame the urge to bite his head off and instead said,
    “You’re right. There’s no difference.” Her eyes straight ahead, she let the tear in her shirt fall open and started walking again.
    Without warning, Cain grabbed her arm and swung her around to face him. “Why the hell do you do that?” he gritted out.
    Surprised by his burst of anger, Riana gasped, “Do what?”
    “Cut yourself off whenever you have something to say.” Cain’s pale blue eyes pinned her in place, and his jaw was clenched with obvious tension. “It drives me crazy.
    If you have something to say, just say it. Don’t act like a mindless, passive drone.”
    For a moment, her vision blurred over—she was so enraged and affronted. Her hands fisted at her sides as she tried to keep herself from clawing lines down his face.
    “Why the fuck do you think I stop myself! Do you actually expect me to challenge you, when you’re the only thing keeping me alive?”
    Something on his face changed. It didn’t soften. She’d never seen Cain soft. Instead, his features tightened even more, until his lips were pressed into a colorless line.
    Finally, he rasped, “You think if you say the wrong thing I’m going to