"Helena... do you think I'm dirty? Is that why you won't drink the wine I offered you?"
In an instant, every pair of eyes turned to Helena—accusing, judging, sneering.
Jackson's expression darkened. He stepped forward, shielding Laica behind him like a precious gem, his voice cutting like ice. "Apologize."
He pointed to the table. "Drink every glass of wine and apologize to Laica."
Helena stared at him in disbelief, her heart twisting painfully in her chest.
When she didn't move, Jackson sneered and pulled out his phone.
He dialed a number.
A monotonous female voice came through the receiver. "Hello, San Francisco Prison."
Jackson's voice was low, deliberate. "Find me a prisoner named Jennelyn."
"No!" Helena's pupils shrank. Panic surged through her as she lunged toward him, trying to snatch the phone away.
But he caught her easily—his grip iron-strong as he flung her hand aside.
"I'll drink!" Helena's voice cracked as she screamed the words, desperation spilling out of her like shattered glass.
Under the man's cold, watchful gaze, Helena lifted cup after cup and forced the fiery liquid down her throat.