The warden frowns. "This is not up for discussion. This is a matter of transport and security."
"Transport and security?" I snap. "Those two words clearly don’t belong together in your case. If it weren’t for me, this would have ended in a gang rape, for fuck’s sake!"
Jordan steps in again.
"I strongly suggest you make extra room in the vehicle for Mr. Eliano. There is a signed and valid marriage contract in place. Eliano, as an alpha, has the legally accepted claim on Salt. That is natural law, an alpha’s right. And given your failure to ensure security, he, as Salt’s spouse, has a right to intervene."
"We don’t transport civilians in—"
"I think we can make an exception," Gessler says sharply, fixing the warden with a hard look. He probably realizes he needs to do some damage control, before Jordan will start to speak about financial compensation, and I’m pretty sure he’s close to using this argument.
The warden mutters something under his breath, then nods.
"Fine!"
"Great!" Storm claps loudly and immediately waves a hand at me. "Get Salt’s things, grab yours, put everything in the trunk, and move. We’ve argued about this long enough," he says irritably. "And as far as I know, Gomez is already waiting at the port."
I let out a breath. Only now do I realize how tense I’ve been. But knowing I’ll be riding with Salt brings an unexpected wave of relief.
Interestingly, at that exact moment, Salt’s pulse drops slightly as well. Did he feel it too? Maybe, on some level, he appreciates my protection, even if he wouldn’t consciously perceive it that way.
Gross brings Salt’s suitcase. I grab my backpack from Storm’s car. Together with the two beta guards, we head for the prison van.
Jordan and Storm walk behind us.
Salt is seated on one side, cuffed to the restraints. I’m instructed to sit opposite him.
Storm leans slightly into the car. "You’ve got the phone. Feel free to contact us anytime if anything happens."
Jordan frowns. "I’m not sure there’s reception on the island."
"We got Eliano a decent burner," Storm replies. "There’s a chance it’ll catch something. Hopefully you won’t need it. Take care," he pats my shoulder. "And… good luck."
Jordan nods. I nod back.
A moment later, we are on the move.
Salt avoids my gaze, even though we are sitting directly across from each other.
Unexpectedly, I notice a small first aid kit mounted under the opposite bench.
Maybe this could be a way to start a conversation. I lean forward and pull it out.
"You have a cut on your face. I’m going to disinfect it," I say calmly.
"I don’t need your care! I don’t need your help!" Salt snaps through clenched teeth.
I ignore that. I sit beside him, take out the disinfectant, soak a cotton pad, and bring it close to his face.
He immediately turns away.
"Don’t be irrational. Who knows what kind of filth those alphas had on their hands. You don’t need an infection."
Surprisingly, that gets through to him. He stops resisting. Yeah, it looks like usingbad alphasas an argument works like magic.
I bring my hand closer and gently clean his cuts.
He allows it, holding his breath. His jaw is tight, and he refuses to look at me. His whole body is slightly tense, his heart speeding up again.
