"There's time if I say there is." Her voice is firm. "You're no good to either of us unconscious."
She guides me to a chair, forcing me to sit. My body betrays me by complying, too weak to argue. Rebecca kneels before me, lifting my blood-soaked shirt to examine the stitches.
"Some have torn," she says, opening her bag of medical supplies. "I need to redo them and get some fluids into you."
I watch as she works efficiently, her fingers gentle but sure. There's something almost mesmerizing about the way she focuses completely on the task, worry lines appearing between her brows.
"Why are you a prison nurse?" I ask, partly to distract myself from the pain as she redoes the stitches, partly out of genuine curiosity.
Her hands pause for just a moment. "My father died in prison. Preventable illness, but no one cared enough to treat him properly." She resumes her work. "I thought maybe I could prevent that happening to someone else."
"Noble."
"Not really. Just human." She ties off a stitch. "What about you? What got you in here?"
"Armed robbery. Got sloppy, got caught."
"And the watches you mentioned? The ones this Walsh person is after you for?"
I consider lying, but what's the point now? "High-end timepieces."
"And that's worth trying to kill you over?"
"Apparently." I wince as she tightens a stitch. "But it doesn't add up. Walsh is Irish mob connected. They don't typically hold grudges this long over property crimes. Something else is going on."
She finishes the stitching and tapes a fresh bandage over the wound. Then she pulls out an IV bag from her medical supplies.
"You need fluids," she explains, already searching for a vein in my arm.
"Where'd you get that?"
"I grabbed essentials before we left. Hold still."
The needle slides into my vein with ease. She hangs the IV bag from a desk lamp and sits back on her heels.
"Ten minutes," she says. "Then we move."
I nod, feeling the cool sensation of the fluids entering my system. Already my head feels clearer.
"Thank you," I say quietly. "You didn't have to do any of this."
Rebecca meets my eyes. "Yes, I did."
For a moment, neither of us speaks. There's something happening between us, something I can't define but candefinitely feel. Chemistry, maybe, or just the intensity of shared danger. Either way, it's dangerous.
"So," she says finally, "three days until release. What were your plans?"
"My brother's waiting for me. He's got a place lined up, job prospects." I shrug. "Fresh start."
"What's your brother's name?"
I nod. "Dice. He rides with a motorcycle club called the Outlaw Order. They've got connections everywhere."
"Outlaw Order," she repeats. "Sounds..."
"Dangerous?" I supply with a half-smile.
"I was going to say 'dramatic.'"
