minutes, he closed it and clicked his tongue. "Quite a show indeed."
"Where is Jordan?" she repeated. Her head throbbed and her pulse echoed between her ears. The image of the Minister's dagger lodged from Tyler Stevens’ throat flashed through her mind.
"Do you know the Ministry's policy on relationships outside of marriage?" the Minister asked. He locked his cold, hollow eyes on to hers and she cringed. "You and your boyfriend are in a lot of trouble, Miss Albright."
"He's not my boyfriend," Sam said.
"I've sentenced him to a month in the stockades," he said. His voice was emotionless.
A wave of guilt rushed over her. Her defiant act would cost Jordan a month of what little freedoms they had left. The stockades would strip him of everything. No clothes, no plumbing, no showers and nothing but bread and water. Her heart ached at the thought it. She had sentenced him to a month in hell.
"What is your affiliation with Tyler Stevens?" he asked.
"I don't have an affil—"
"Don't lie to me," he interrupted. His voice was venomous.
"I'm not lying."
Troy looked deep into her eyes. He tapped a finger on the cover of the folder. "Tell me about Rebecca Young. Our records indicate—"
"Fuck you."
Troy's grin widened into a vicious smile.
"It's none of your business," Sam said. Her throat was tight, and the words struggled to escape from it.
"Everything that happens in the city is my business, Miss Albright."
Sam looked away from him and fought the urge to cry. She had cried enough in the past 24 hours. She refused to let Troy see her as vulnerable.
"It's their fault she's dead, you know?" His voice was soft. "The men you saw today let the creatures through our walls. Why are you protecting him?"
"I'm not." She looked back to him.
Troy's brow furrowed, and he stroked his goatee. "Are the citizens talking, Miss Albright?"
"What? What do you mean?"
"I'm talking about secret conversations." Troy shifted in his chair and his lips turned downward. "Conversations happening out of earshot of my soldiers. Discussions happening in the dark corners of the city. Are they talking?"
The question stumped her and she shook her from head side to side. "No."
The Minister's frowned deepened. He opened his mouth to speak, but a knock at the door stopped him. Cyrus Poxxal stuck his odd-shaped head through the office door. His fat cheeks burned with color.
"What is it?" Troy asked.
"There's something that requires your attention in the…" he hesitated, "um…in the conference room, My Lord."
A chill ascended Sam's spine at the sound of the fat man's voice. It was like fingernails dragging across a chalkboard. She wondered how the Minister could stand hearing it on a daily basis.
"If you'll excuse me." Troy rose from his seat and rounded the desk. He took a step toward the door, paused and then walked to Sam's chair. He bent down and pressed his lips to her ear.
"Think hard about how you want the rest of this conversation to go," he whispered.
Her skin erupted in gooseflesh as the Minister's hot breath seeped through her ear and she struggled to not vomit on him.
"I haven't decided your fate quite yet," he said. He straightened, turned and walked out of the room. The door closed and Sam heard the unmistakable sound of a lock engage.
Blood rushed into her cheeks at the thought of what her fate might be. She took a deep breath and wiped away the tears as they spilled from her eyes. Rebecca was dead. The Minister had thrown Jordan in jail. And now her fate resided in the hands of the most evil son of a bitch Sam had ever met. She had to act.
She stood and rounded the desk. She tried the desk drawers but found them locked tight, and her eyes darted around the room for anything that could be used as a weapon. Nothing. She cursed and looked down at the desk. Printed on the tab of the manila folder was her name. She gave the door another hesitant glance and opened the folder.
The first sheet contained vital statistics: her last
"Where is Jordan?" she repeated. Her head throbbed and her pulse echoed between her ears. The image of the Minister's dagger lodged from Tyler Stevens’ throat flashed through her mind.
"Do you know the Ministry's policy on relationships outside of marriage?" the Minister asked. He locked his cold, hollow eyes on to hers and she cringed. "You and your boyfriend are in a lot of trouble, Miss Albright."
"He's not my boyfriend," Sam said.
"I've sentenced him to a month in the stockades," he said. His voice was emotionless.
A wave of guilt rushed over her. Her defiant act would cost Jordan a month of what little freedoms they had left. The stockades would strip him of everything. No clothes, no plumbing, no showers and nothing but bread and water. Her heart ached at the thought it. She had sentenced him to a month in hell.
"What is your affiliation with Tyler Stevens?" he asked.
"I don't have an affil—"
"Don't lie to me," he interrupted. His voice was venomous.
"I'm not lying."
Troy looked deep into her eyes. He tapped a finger on the cover of the folder. "Tell me about Rebecca Young. Our records indicate—"
"Fuck you."
Troy's grin widened into a vicious smile.
"It's none of your business," Sam said. Her throat was tight, and the words struggled to escape from it.
"Everything that happens in the city is my business, Miss Albright."
Sam looked away from him and fought the urge to cry. She had cried enough in the past 24 hours. She refused to let Troy see her as vulnerable.
"It's their fault she's dead, you know?" His voice was soft. "The men you saw today let the creatures through our walls. Why are you protecting him?"
"I'm not." She looked back to him.
Troy's brow furrowed, and he stroked his goatee. "Are the citizens talking, Miss Albright?"
"What? What do you mean?"
"I'm talking about secret conversations." Troy shifted in his chair and his lips turned downward. "Conversations happening out of earshot of my soldiers. Discussions happening in the dark corners of the city. Are they talking?"
The question stumped her and she shook her from head side to side. "No."
The Minister's frowned deepened. He opened his mouth to speak, but a knock at the door stopped him. Cyrus Poxxal stuck his odd-shaped head through the office door. His fat cheeks burned with color.
"What is it?" Troy asked.
"There's something that requires your attention in the…" he hesitated, "um…in the conference room, My Lord."
A chill ascended Sam's spine at the sound of the fat man's voice. It was like fingernails dragging across a chalkboard. She wondered how the Minister could stand hearing it on a daily basis.
"If you'll excuse me." Troy rose from his seat and rounded the desk. He took a step toward the door, paused and then walked to Sam's chair. He bent down and pressed his lips to her ear.
"Think hard about how you want the rest of this conversation to go," he whispered.
Her skin erupted in gooseflesh as the Minister's hot breath seeped through her ear and she struggled to not vomit on him.
"I haven't decided your fate quite yet," he said. He straightened, turned and walked out of the room. The door closed and Sam heard the unmistakable sound of a lock engage.
Blood rushed into her cheeks at the thought of what her fate might be. She took a deep breath and wiped away the tears as they spilled from her eyes. Rebecca was dead. The Minister had thrown Jordan in jail. And now her fate resided in the hands of the most evil son of a bitch Sam had ever met. She had to act.
She stood and rounded the desk. She tried the desk drawers but found them locked tight, and her eyes darted around the room for anything that could be used as a weapon. Nothing. She cursed and looked down at the desk. Printed on the tab of the manila folder was her name. She gave the door another hesitant glance and opened the folder.
The first sheet contained vital statistics: her last
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