“Whitmore! What the fuck?”
Two correctional officers had Silas pinned against the wall. A third was checking on Knox, who stood there with blood dripping from his split lip. An eye already starting to swell and darken.
He caught my gaze for just a moment.
And in that moment, I understood everything.
Knox hadn’t planned this when he walked into my infirmary today. He’d come in here ready to tear Silas apart with his bare hands. I was the one who’d talked him out of it. I was the one who’d laid the math out in front of him:“So, you’re just going to throw it all away? Everything you’ve worked for? Everything we could have?”
He’d heard me. He’d actually heard me.
And then he’d taken the information, turned it over in that quiet, calculating mind, and found a different path. If throwing the first punch would make Silas the victim, then Knox would make damn sure Silas threw the first punch instead. He’d flipped my own logic into a weapon. Used it not to protect himself, but to take Silas off the board entirely.
He’d done it for me. Even after everything I’d said. Even after I’d grouped him with my father and Silas. Even after I’d thrown his past in his face and broken things off with him, he’d still found a way to protect me.
In a way that would guarantee Silas was painted the villain in the prison’s eyes. So, Silas would, in theory, be punished for it. Hopefully fired, so I wouldn’t have to endure him being here.
It was brilliant.
“Did Blackwood attack you?” One of the officers was demanding answers from Silas. “Did he throw the first punch?”
“He was running his mouth!” Silas strained against the hands holding him.
The officer turned to me. “Nurse? What happened here?”
I straightened my spine. Met Silas’s eyes. And for the first time since I’d fled our apartment in the middle of the night, I wasn’t afraid of him.
“Officer Whitmore attacked Inmate Blackwood,” I said, my voice steady. “Blackwood never raised a hand. He kept his palms open and visible the entire time. He made no threatening movements. He was simply waiting to be escorted back to his cell for head count.”
I turned and pointed to the camera.
“And every second of it is right there on that footage.”
Silas looked up toward the camera he’d clearly forgotten about before lowering his fuming gaze back to me.
“I’d also like to formally report that Officer Whitmore has a documented history of violence.” I kept my eyes locked on the senior officer. “There are active police reports on file in Cook County. He’s my ex-boyfriend, and he assaulted me multiple times before I fled the state. I tried to report my concerns to the warden, but?—”
“That’s bullshit! She’s making it up!”
The senior officer’s expression had gone very cold. He looked at Knox, standing there with blood running down his chin, an eye swelling, other bruises forming and not a single mark on his knuckles. He looked at Silas, wild-eyed and thrashing, without a scratch on him. He looked at me, the nurse who had worked herewithout a single complaint and no reason to lie. And the slight bruise on my cheek.
“You can verify everything I’m saying,” I continued. “Pull the records from Cook County. And from Indiana. Check his background. I have photos of what he did to me.”
Silas was breathing like a caged animal. He’d just assaulted an inmate who hadn’t fought back—in front of witnesses and a camera. An inmate who now had documented injuries while Silas had none.
And his ex-girlfriend was standing right there, ready to bury him.
“Come on, Whitmore.” The senior officer’s voice was ice. “We’re going to see the warden.”
“This is bullshit,” Silas spat, but his voice had lost its edge. “This is fucking bullshit. That inmate was?—”
“Save it.”
They hauled him toward the door. As he passed me, Silas’s eyes burned with a hatred so pure, it should have scared me.
It didn’t.
Because standing behind me, even now, even after everything I’d said to him, was Knox Blackwood. Bleeding. Battered. And still somehow, impossibly, protecting me.
