Right. Because a violent inmate reassuring me was totally normal and not at all a red flag the size of Mars.
I’d assumed a man like this wouldn’t care if I was afraid of him. Hell, I’d assumed he’d prefer it. Power and all that. Silas always got off on the power. Sure, he apologized after, always with that rehearsed softness in his voice, but in the moment? He loved seeing me afraid. He fed on it like oxygen.
This guy seemed like the opposite.
Then again, this guy was a much more sophisticated predator than Silas ever was. Silas was a backyard bully with a short fuse. Men like Knox Blackwood were probably the ones who lured youin with calm voices and gentle hands before the trap snapped shut.
I knew better than to fall for it.
“The inmate who just turned a grown man into hamburger meat said to the much smaller woman,” I replied.
Knox stared at me for a moment, like he was assessing the lightness of my tone. And let’s be honest; the lightness in my tone was simply another survival mechanism. Before I started here, I’d thought long and hard about how I’d interact with these inmates, and I decided I had two options: feed my animosity for the likes of these men or try to make these interactions as bearable as possible.
Was I judging them on the inside? One hundred percent. But if every interaction with an inmate was hostile and aggressive, it would make my days hell on earth. Not to mention, it might make it more dangerous for me.
So, here I was, trying to make the best of this.
“Was that your attempt at a prison joke?” He seemed genuinely amused.
“Just trying to keep it light. Or do you prefer dark and broody?”
“Light’s fine. But I should warn you, I’m not great at it.”
“No?”
“Slightly out of practice.” A small pause passed before he repeated his earlier claim. “You don’t need to be afraid of me.”
“Oh, yeah? What are you in prison for?”
His lips thinned. “Murder.”
Okay … we’ll just pretend I didn’t swallow a YIKES.
“Ah. Nothing scary about murder.”
The corner of his mouth lifted. Not quite a smile. More like the ghost of one.
“For the record, I’m not afraid of you.” I lifted my chin.
A lie. We both knew it.
Something flickered in those husky eyes. Amusement maybe. Or understanding. But he didn’t call me out. Just let me have it.
“Wouldn’t blame you if you were.” He lifted his chained hands, the metal catching the fluorescent light. “I’m not exactly dressed for a first impression.”
“Is that your version of an icebreaker?”
“That’s my version of honesty.” He paused, and that almost-smile returned. “But for what it’s worth? Pinkie promise. You’re safe with me.”
Pinkie promise. From a convicted killer. What the hell had become of my life? The guy could probably rip my spine out through my ear canal.
So, why did part of me—some stupid, self-destructive part—want to believe him?
I glanced at the restraints, then back at his split knuckles. Blood had dried in the creases of his fingers, and I could already see the swelling spreading across his hand. But who knew what injuries he might’ve suffered elsewhere?
“Officer, I can’t properly assess the damage with his wrists chained to his waist,” I called to the CO.
Officer Daniels popped back in, his hands folded over his officer belt. “He came from a fight. Stays chained until the lieutenant clears it.”
