“And if he has internal injuries I can’t detect because I can’t do a proper exam?”
“Then document it and cover your ass, Nurse. He stays chained.”
I didn’t miss the way Knox’s jaw tightened at the CO’s tone toward me. His fingers stretched once, slow and deliberate, then curled back in.
Weird.
When the CO left, I turned to Knox. “I’ll have to work around the restraints. But I need you to tell me if something hurts. I can’t do my job if you play tough guy.”
He held my gaze for a beat. “I’ll tell you.”
“Your knuckles are split to the bone. You need stitches.”
“Okay.”
No argument. No posturing. Just quiet compliance.
Silas would have made it a negotiation. A power play. Knox just … waited.
It didn’t mean anything. Compliance was just another kind of control.
“I need you to lie back so I can check for internal injuries. As best I can anyway.”
He tilted his head, considering. Then, without argument, he complied, stretching out on the exam table that groaned under his weight. The chain at his waist kept his hands tethered to his stomach, though the slack in the links allowed some range I’d need to watch for.
I started with his abdomen, pressing carefully through the thin fabric of his shirt, checking for rigidity or guarding that might indicate internal bleeding. The moment my hands made contact, he went completely still, like he was holding his breath.
So did I, apparently.
At my last job, most of my patients had been over sixty-five. Soft middles. Knox Blackwood was … not that. His stomach felt like it had been carved from granite, each muscle defined beneath my palms even through the fabric. Warm. Solid.
Lethal,my inner scaredy-cat added.
“Does this hurt?” I pressed the upper right quadrant.
“No.”
I had to work around the waist chain, my fingers brushing cool metal as I palpated his sides. “This?” Lower left.
“I’ll tell you if it does.”
I moved to check his ribs, trying to ignore how my hands looked child-sized against his torso. He was warm beneath the thin fabric, but he didn’t move. Knox just breathed. Slow and steady. Like he was trying not to spook me.
Which was oddly considerate, given that I was the one with my hands all over him.
“You’re the new nurse.” His voice rumbled low, barely above a murmur. Almost conversational.
“So, you’ve memorized all the nurses? That means you’re in here often.”
That almost-smile returned. “Didn’t say I memorized them. Just said you’re new.”
“And how would you know that?”
“You’re the talk of this place.”
I froze, unease settling through me, but I refused to show him that it made me uncomfortable and, yes, scared that violent inmates would be talking about me.
Brand-new prey perhaps.
