He showed up to his shifts on time. He completed every task Dr. Mercer or I assigned without being asked twice. And he didn’t just do the work—he did it well. Like he was gunning for Employee of the Month in a place that didn’t give out awards.
I thought his constant presence might frustrate me. Him always there, always nearby, those silver-blue eyes tracking my movements across the infirmary like I was the only interesting thing in a room full of medical equipment.
But if anything, I found myself relaxing.
Not completely. Not all the way. But enough that I noticed.
The prison was chronically understaffed. COs stretched thin across too many wings, too many inmates, too many potential disasters waiting to happen. But having Knox nearby felt like an extra layer of security I hadn’t known I needed.
Somehow, I just knew, if something got out of line, Knox would intervene.
My goal was to never let it get to that point.
But near the end of Knox’s second week as the orderly, something small did happen when I was treating a patient named Stan.
“You need to hold still.” I said it for the millionth time, but Stan wasn’t listening.
The inmate’s cheeks were hollowed out, one front tooth missing. The way he kept looking at me, as if I were the cure for his boredom, made my skin crawl.
Sitting still would make this whole experience end too quickly for him. And Stan clearly wanted to drag it out.
“Make me, darlin’.”
“Don’t call me that.” I kept my voice flat. “And hold still.”
Through the open doorway, I caught a flash of movement. Knox stood in the hallway, mop in hand, but his eyes weren’t on the floor.
They were locked on me.
Even from here, I could see the tension in his shoulders. The way his grip had tightened on the mop handle.
Stan tried to shift his shackled arm toward my face, but the metal cuff caught him short. He frowned at the restraint like it had personally offended him.
“Sure are pretty,” he drawled.
“Thank you. Now please, this cut is deep, and it needs sutures. I can’t stitch you up if you keep moving.”
“That’s what everybody says.” His grin revealed the gap where his tooth should have been. “That you’re pretty.”
In my peripheral vision, Knox’s fingers stretched. Once. Twice.
I bit back a sigh and tried a different tactic to get him to hold the hell still. “How did you get this cut, Stan?”
When he exhaled, the stench of his breath—stale cigarettes and something rotten—nearly knocked me backward.
“Slipped in the cafeteria.”
I had no idea if that was true. I also didn’t care.
“Okay. This might sting.” I positioned the curved suture needle, angling it toward the wound. The moment the tip pierced his skin, Stan jerked his arm violently to the side.
The needle went flying.
I gasped and stumbled backward, my hip catching the metal stool and sending it clattering to the floor. The sound echoed through the exam room like a gunshot.
My heart hammered against my ribs as I stared at the needle on the floor, calculating how close it had come to puncturing my own skin. Based on the track marks laddering up Stan’s forearm, he’d been an intravenous drug user before coming to prison.
One accidental stick. That’s all it would take.
