Chapter 199

• Joaquin Latham glanced at the bowl of grits on the floor, then at her. “Your call. Eat like a good girl, or end up a ‘vegetable’ or in a psych ward.”
• Zayla Steele’s lashes trembled and tears slipped free. Something in her just gave up. She pushed herself up. The iron chain at her ankle clinked loud and sharp in the quiet room.
• She slid off the bed and, like a dog, lifted the bowl from the floor. She shoveled it down, gagging and choking, jaw clenched, tongue braced hard against her teeth.