Not the actions of a monster.
The most dangerous man in this prison had appointed himself my protector.
And I had absolutely no idea what to do about it.
9
KNOX
Two days.
Two days since I’d seen her, and I was kind of losing my damn mind.
“You’re pacing again.” Ronan’s voice hit me from across the cell.
“I don’t pace.”
“You’re literally wearing a track in the concrete.”
I dropped onto my bunk, the metal frame groaning under my weight.
Ronan leaned against the wall, arms crossed, studying me with that look he got when he was trying to figure something out. “This is about her, isn’t it? The nurse?”
“Don’t want to talk about it.” I pressed my tongue against my molars. Hard.
Ronan held up his hands in surrender. Truth was, I’d gotten lucky with him as a cellmate. Decent guy. Talked too much, but knew when to shut up. One of the few who could prod me with questions without ending up in the infirmary himself.
Just like Nurse Harper had tried to do.
Christ. Harper.
She’d wanted to know why the fight with Doyle happened. Not something I’d ever share with her. Not only because admitting the reason would basically be a confession of guilt, but also because I sensed it would terrify the hell out of her.
It was obvious that something bad had happened to her. Didn’t need to see any physical scars to know that. It was in her body language, the way she flinched at sudden movements while simultaneously trying to appear strong. The way her fingers found the base of her throat when she got nervous, like she was protecting something.
Harper had been through hell. And a woman who’d survived the kind of violence I suspected she’d endured probably wouldn’t draw a line between justified and unjustified. She’d hear what I’d done to end up in here, and that would be it. Even if she learned it was for my daughter, it would still be too much.
“Your knuckles look better.” Ronan nodded toward my hands.
I flexed my fingers, frowning at the healing skin. “Yeah.”
I’d hoped Harper would need to see me daily for bandage changes. Clean the wounds, check for infection, all that medical protocol bullshit that would guarantee me time with her.
But no. And with the exceptional job she’d done, I had no excuse to see her now. Maybe ever …
I’d spent the last two days feeling uneasy. Watching the clock. Wondering if she was safe. If those pricks from the hallway had tried anything else. If she’d thought about me at all or if I was just another inmate she’d patched up and forgotten.
Ronan’s voice cut through my spiral. “Also, Ken says Bulldog’s planning revenge for what you did to Doyle.”
“You’re taking intel from a guy named after a Barbie doll now?”
“Just warning you. After what you did to his boy, you’ve got a target on your back.”
I stretched my neck, that familiar pre-violence tension coiling in my muscles. “What else is new?”
Ronan shook his head. “This is different. You really pissed him off.”
“You know why I did it.”
