Seriously, how had Knox even seen it?
The supply closet loomed ahead, and I heard the distinctive shuffle-clink of shackles echoing from the opposite direction. A CO rounded the corner, escorting someone who made my breath catch.
Knox Blackwood.
Standing upright, unconfined by my examination table, he was … overwhelming. Six foot four of controlled violence, wrapped in orange cotton that strained against shoulders built for damage. The fluorescent lights caught the silver in his eyes, turning them arctic. Where tattoos crept above his collar, the ink looked less like decoration and more like warning labels.
Knox’s gaze found mine.
And held.
I should have looked away. I knew better than to make prolonged eye contact with inmates. Page twelve of the employee handbook, right underMaintain Professional Boundariesand right aboveDo Not Accept Gifts. But something in those silver-blue eyes pinned me in place. Not a threat. Not the hungry appraisal the other two had given me. Something else. Something that felt like recognition, though we’d only met once, and he’d been bleeding on my table at the time.
The moment stretched. One heartbeat. Two.
Then the CO deposited Knox onto the bench with the other two, breaking whatever strange spell had settled over the corridor.
I fumbled with the supply closet key, my fingers suddenly clumsy. Inside, I loaded my tray methodically—gauze, tape, syringes—while my pulse did jazz hands in my throat.
Get it together, Harper. He’s an inmate. A violent one. A man much worse than Silas.
Once I had the supplies and entered the hallway again, a guard’s radio crackled. “Need assistance! South wing—now!”
To my absolute horror, I watched the CO abandon his post, his footsteps thundering away down the corridor.
“Wait!” I pleaded, but the CO still fled.
Three inmates now had no supervision.
It was probably fine. He’d be right back. He wouldn’t leave me here with three inmates if doing so was a danger to me.
Right???
Besides, just past those doors, Dr. Mercer was inside.
Do not let them smell fear. This is not maximum-security prison, Harper. It’s “only” medium security, which means these men aren’t the worst of the worst.
Somehow, that thought was not as comforting as the employee handbook had made it sound.
Just walk. Just get to the locked gate. Fifteen feet. Maybe twenty.
But the two inmates who’d been practicing for the Boredom Olympics were suddenly very much not bored. They shifted on the bench, restless energy crackling between them like static before a storm.
Ten feet from the door, they stood.
My path disappeared behind orange cotton and poorly concealed anticipation.
“So, you’re the new nurse.” The taller one’s smile had too many teeth. “Pretty little thing, isn’t she, Mark?”
“Step aside.” My voice came out steadier than my hands.
But my mind was screaming.Look at these men.Either one of them could overpower me without breaking a sweat. I’d escaped one monster, only to lock myself in a building full of them.
No.
No. I was done being afraid of men. Done flinching. Done shrinking.
I straightened my spine.
