“Best part?” Doyle stood slowly, savoring the moment. “I work the infirmary now. I’ll see her before anyone else does. Every single day. All those blind spots where guards don’treach.” His tongue darted out, wetting his lips. “She won’t even see me coming.”
“Keep your head down. Don’t do anything stupid.”
Ryker’s voice again. My daughter’s face flashing behind my eyes.
I forced myself to turn away.
“That’s what I thought,” Doyle called after me. “Big, scary Blackwood, rolling over like a?—”
“You touch her,” I said, turning around, “and I will end you.”
Silence rippled outward like a stone dropped in still water.
Then Doyle laughed. “Look at you. Trying to be the knight in shining armor.” He stepped closer. “What’s the matter, Blackwood? Haven’t had your dick wet in so long, you’re getting possessive over a woman you’ve never even seen?”
My shoulders rolled once. A reflex. Muscle memory preparing for what my brain was still trying to prevent.
Don’t.
“Sit down, Doyle.”
“Or what?” He circled me slowly, like a predator testing its prey. “You gonna lose a fight for some bitch you don’t even know?”
Ronan appeared at my side, voice tight. “Knox. Think about this. Think about your daughter.”
Yes. I needed to think about Gwen.
But what kind of man did I want to be when I finally saw her again? What kind of father shows up after fourteen years and says,I looked the other way while a woman got raped because I didn’t want to mess up my parole? Or,Hey, I tried. I reported it, even though I knew it wouldn’t save her?
If someone was about to hurtmydaughter, I would pray to God that someone would have the courage to intervene.
“Last chance,” I said. “Walk away.”
Doyle leaned in, voice dropping to a whisper meant only for me. “I’m gonna make her bleed. And while I’m having my fun with her, I’ll be imagining all the things I’d like to do to that pretty little daughter of yours and?—”
My fist connected with his jaw before my brain caught up. Bone cracked. Doyle staggered. And then everything turned into a blur.
Someone was screaming. I registered my fists hitting him over and over, then my feet kicking his ribs.
I hit him again. And again. And again.
Until hands were hauling me backward and Doyle was a crumpled heap on the concrete, blood pooling beneath his limp head.
Ronan’s voice cut through the chaos, somewhere between horrified and impressed. “Jesus Christ, Knox. Breakfast isn’t even over yet.”
Guards swarmed in, shouting orders, forcing me to my knees. I didn’t resist.
Through the blood roaring in my ears, I heard someone yelling for medical. Heard Doyle groaning, which meant the bastard was still alive.
But barely.
His eyes were swelling shut. His jaw hung at an angle that said it wouldn’t be forming words anytime soon. Whatever plans he’d had for the new nurse, he’d be too busy drinking his meals through a straw to execute them.
Good.
Two guards hauled his limp body off the concrete and started dragging him toward the infirmary.
A third guard yanked me to my feet and shoved me in the same direction.
