Talk About the Direct Approach...

Chapter Forty-Three: As sly as a fox that's bad at being a fox

"Can I ask you something else?" After some silence between us, my mind starts reeling with more questions.

"Shoot."

"I know you're in here for so-called 'attempted murder', so, um, why did you attempt it?" I lean back over the edge, and Neil looks over across the hall to Alan's cell, where Alan is either sleeping or eaves dropping.

Neil purses his lips finally, and then says, "Because this pack has gone to hell since the Luna died, and the Beta's at the center of it all." His answer is vague, and he turns to his side, signaling that he doesn't want to talk about it anymore.

So, whatever kind of soap opera type shit is happening here, the Beta is the cause of it. And I assume he means Roy, not Alan, because let's be honest, Roy is kind of a dick, a really shady one at that.

Not too long after, Alan calls out my name, and abandoning my attempts at getting through to my loving mate, I shuffle to the bars, shoving my hands deep into the pockets of these too-big sweats, just in case someone notices the cuffs are gone.

"Yes?"

"How willing are you to do anything it takes to get out of here?" Alright, maybe he wasn't sleeping or eaves dropping, but scheming.

"I'd sell my right arm and foot on the black market," I say without missing a beat. I don't know where this is coming from so suddenly, but since I've had a stunning lack of ideas, I'm willing to take any ideas anyone else can provide. And besides, if it came down to using Neil's, Alan's, or my plan—which is currently nonexistent, mind you—we'd all be better off with Alan's.

"Despite the generally crappy treatment, if you're injured, they'll take you and fix you up.  Sorta, anyways. They'll examine you and give you a Band-Aid, but at least you can get out of here."

My eyebrows practically shoot up my forehead. I'm not sure I like where this is headed, and I start to rethink who exactly should be the schemer out of the three of us.

"So I should try to strangle Neil right?" I know that isn't what he means, but you can't blame me for trying.

"Rude," Neil comments from the side.

Alan shakes his head, grimacing a little. "Sorry sweetheart, I'm thinking someone smaller and a lot prettier."

"Really rude," Neil cries indignantly. I stifle a laugh.

"Plus, you're the only one without—" he motions to his wrists, and as insignificant as it seems, that one gesture makes me trust him just a little more. He isn't going to out me by saying it out loud, even though everyone in earshot right now probably already knows, just because of my psychotic freak out.

I blow my bangs out of my face, "Ok, alright. What do I need to do?"

"Make enough noise to get someone down here, and make sure you've got a good injury on you."

I think for a second, looking around at all the other barred rooms, and then into my own. Neil is sitting up, an eyebrow quirked as he waits to see what I'm going do. Well, at least I know how I'll get the injury.

"Do you think you guys can egg on a fight? Loudly?" I ask everyone.

There's some quiet chatter all around, until someone finally shouts, "What's in it for us?"

"I know a guy who can get you out," I say, proudly, although I know I'm lying through my teeth. Some of these people might actually be here for a legitimate reason, anyways. "But first we need to get some attention drawn down here."

That's all it takes for everyone to start chanting stupid things like "Fight! Fight!" I crack my knuckles and then turn to Neil, as if we're actually about to throw down. "Ok. Punch me in the face."