The only way I’d gotten through the initial apprehension when they offered me the job was by reminding myself that I wouldn’t be alone with any of them. They’d assured me they had safety protocols. Correctional officers. Procedures to keep the nurses and doctors safe from the prisoners inside.
Armed guards who could be there in an instant.
Which was a hell of a lot more protection than I’d had over the last two years with Silas.
Still, I guess it was only human instinct to feel that flutter of fear on your first day. Like standing at the edge of a cliff and wondering if your parachute would open.
The walk to the front entrance felt like crossing into another world. My sneakers clapped against cracked asphalt that had seen better decades, the sound swallowed by the oppressive weight of the building ahead.
Once inside, I flashed my newly minted ID badge at the checkpoint. The laminated photo showed me trying too hard to smile, looking like someone auditioning for the role of competent medical professional rather than a woman fleeing an abusive ex.
The guard at the staff entry—a mountain of a man, name tag BURKE—checked my credentials again, then ran me through a metal detector, waving the wand over me with all the enthusiasm of someone conducting a funeral.
Then his eyes did a slow crawl from my face to my feet and back up again. The kind of look that felt like being licked by a particularly gross dog.
“YOU’RE going in there?” His tone suggested I’d announced plans to swim with sharks while wearing a meat suit.
I jutted my chin up, pretending his I’m-mentally-undressing-you gaze didn’t make my skin crawl.
“Is that a problem?”
“You know these men haven’t had sex in years, right?”
Well, points for bluntness, I guess.
“I’m not the first female to work at a prison.” My voice came out steadier than I felt.
“You’re the first one here who looks like you do.” He sat down, his chair creaking ominously. “These men are gonna go feral.”
Okaaay. File that under Things That Don’t Make Me Feel Better About My Life Choices.
A different correctional officer—with younger, kinder eyes—escorted me inside. Officer Martinez, according to his badge. He shot Burke a look that could’ve meant anything fromstop being a creeptonot in front of the newbie.
“This way, Ms. Mitchell.” Martinez’s voice was professional, thank God. “I’ll take you to the infirmary.”
The first security door clanged shut behind us with a finality that made my stomach drop. The sound echoed down the concrete corridor like a judge’s gavel. No going back now.
“Can’t stay long,” Martinez said as we navigated the maze of hallways, our footsteps bouncing off walls painted the color of despair. “We’re short seven COs today. Even worse than normal.”
“Worse than normal?” I parroted because seriously, what the hell did that mean?
He swiped his badge at another checkpoint. “This shortage is killing us. But, hey, at least we’re getting overtime.”
He said it like overtime was some kind of consolation prize for being perpetually understaffed at a facility housing nearly two thousand potentially violent men.
Cool. Cool, cool, cool.
We passed through another set of doors, and suddenly, I could feel them—the inmates. The weight of their presence pressing against the walls. Voices echoed from somewhere deeper in the facility, a low rumble punctuated by the occasional shout or laugh that didn’t sound particularly funny.
Then we rounded a corner, and there they were. A handful of inmates being escorted down a perpendicular hallway. Orange jumpsuits that somehow managed to look both cheerfully colorful and threatening. They turned to look at us—at me—and time seemed to slow.
One of them, a wiry guy with no eyebrows (I’d be replaying the mystery of missing eyebrows later), actually licked his lips.
Gross. So gross.
I kept my eyes fixed straight ahead, shoulders back, trying to channelmedical professional who definitely belongs hereenergy rather thanfresh meat having second thoughts.
But this was fine. I knew it wasn’t a spa, for God’s sake. No need to get nervous. These men were behind bars, under constant supervision. They couldn’t hurt me.
