Too composed.
My eyes tracked to the bruise on her cheekbone. Fainter than yesterday, but still there. Still proof of what someone had done to her.
I set down the clipboard and followed her.
The exam room was empty. She closed the door behind us.
“How long?” I demanded before she had a chance to utter a single word.
Her hands straightened supplies on the counter. “Knox, don’t.”
“How long was he hitting you before you got out?”
“Please.” Her voice cracked.
“Tell me he’s not your ex.”
She spun around. And I saw it. The calculation behind those green eyes. The fear she was trying so hard to hide.
She swallowed. “He’s not my ex.”
I scrubbed a hand over my stubbled jaw. Let out a breath that felt like grinding glass. “You’re a terrible liar.”
“I need you to drop this.”
“He’s the one who laid hands on you.” The words came out rough. Dangerous. “That bruise on your face. He did that. And now he’s here, walking these halls, standing over your desk like he’s got a claim on you.”
“Knox.”
“Tell me I’m wrong.” I stepped closer. “Look me in the eye and convince me I’m wrong.”
Her shoulders dropped. Just slightly. Just enough.
And I had my answer.
My fingers stretched. One by one.
Various cellmates through the years had taught me twelve different ways to kill a man. And I was currently ranking them by how much pain they’d cause.
“Please.” Harper’s voice cut through the red haze. Her hand pressed against my chest. Right over my heart. Her eyes were wide and desperate. “Don’t do anything stupid.”
“It’s not stupid; it’s revenge.”
She glanced at the door. At her hand on my chest. At the space between us that had somehow become inches instead of feet.
When she looked back at me, something had shifted in her expression. Fear, yes. But something else too. Something that made my heart stutter.
“If you hurt him,” she whispered, “they’ll never let you out. You’ll never see your daughter again. You’ll never …” She stopped. Swallowed. “You’ll never have a life outside these walls.”
I stayed silent. Waiting.
She moved closer. Close enough that I could see the tears she was fighting to hold back.
I opened my mouth to respond. To argue. To tell her that some men deserved to die and her ex was at the top of that list.
But I never got the words out.
Because Harper gave me a reason to behave. A reason to keep my hands to myself. A reason to do everything possible to be granted parole.
