All Chained Up (5 page)

She tried to forget that her impulse, in that moment, had not been to scream.

 

FIVE

S
HE WAS BACK.

He'd overheard yesterday that she and the doctor were only supposed to come here on Thursdays. And then not at all once they had a new doctor working full-­time on staff. The fact that they were back the very next day had to be the doctor's doing because she didn't look happy to be at the prison again.

One look at her pinched expression as she moved around the infirmary said it all. She never looked his way as she assisted the doctor through the steady stream of patients. As far as Knox was concerned, her absolute refusal to look at him only indicated the opposite. She was acutely aware of his presence. ­People didn't last hours in the same room without glancing at each other once or twice.

He, however, had all the time in the world to look at her. He probably shouldn't, but there wasn't anything else to do. He counted the different colors in her hair, stopping at seven. He wondered what it looked like, what it felt like, out of the tight ponytail, sprawling across her pillow. Her skin captured his imagination, too. Her cheeks reminded him of peaches, so soft and fresh. Like nothing inside here. It added to her air of innocence.

Martinez arrived at his side to check on him, carrying a tray of food with him. Grateful for a reason to no longer torture himself by checking out the nurse, Knox focused on the LVN. He was a decent guy. A different breed from most of the guards in this place.

“This might not even scar. Much,” Martinez remarked, eyeing Knox's forehead.

He snorted as he finished his food, certain that Martinez was cracking a joke. At this point, what did he care about scars? He wasn't entering any beauty contests.

Martinez took Knox's empty tray and left him alone again. Refusing to watch the nurse anymore like some salivating dog, he tried to doze, but every time he was about to nod off he caught a whiff of pears when she passed too close and he tensed with alertness.

Any hope for sleep was obliterated altogether when she approached his bed, dragging the rolling tray after her, its wheels whirring on the cement floor. “Sorry.”

He cracked open his eyes to slits.

She did look sorry as she stared down at him, her features drawn almost too tight from the severity of her ponytail. She looked like she wanted to be anywhere else in the world than here. Talking to him. “Dr. Walker wants me to check your vitals.” She held up a monitor as if offering proof that she wasn't coming around him to simply chitchat. She actually had a job to do. “Would you mind sitting up, please?”

He smiled slightly at her polite tone. So proper. He wondered if she ever let her hair down. Ever loosened up? Was it just him and this prison that had her so on edge or was Nurse Davis always this tightly strung? Was there a husband that knew how to make her laugh? She wasn't wearing a wedding ring. Was there a boyfriend, then? A guy that knew how to drive her wild? Whose back she clawed and hair she pulled when he went down on her?

Christ
.

“Hold out your arm please. A little higher. Thank you.” She placed the cuff around his bicep, her fingers cool against his flesh. He watched her as she went about the task of taking his blood pressure, pumping the bulb several times. She was close enough for him to smell pears again, and even though her hands were cool, her body radiated warmth. The cuff released with a hiss of air. “Good BPI,” she murmured, moving to type his numbers into the laptop sitting on the nearby stand, her gaze trained on the screen, focusing with such intensity that he knew she deliberately avoided looking at his face.

It was a wonder his blood pressure wasn't through the roof, considering the dirty direction of his thoughts. His pulse thrummed at his neck and his skin suddenly felt like it didn't fit his body.

She turned back to him, this time holding out a thermometer. “Open your mouth, please.”

He parted his lips and tried not to jerk when he felt her thumb brush his bottom lip as she placed the thermometer inside his mouth. Her face flamed bright red and he knew touching him sure as hell wasn't deliberate on her part. They both held still, two frozen statues as they waited for the damn thing to finish its reading.

It beeped and she quickly pulled it out from his mouth. “Ninety-­eight point two.”

Again, as hot as he was feeling from his interaction with her, it was a wonder he wasn't running a fever. He really had a problem being this close to her, which only made him think about every other poor bastard she came into contact with here. All the others who struggled with low impulse control. Which was essentially everyone.

“Couldn't get enough of this place, you had to come back so soon, huh?” he asked softly. Her hands shook a little as she presumably typed in his temperature.

She was still frightened. Of him. This place. Maybe both? He didn't know and the source of her fear didn't matter. Fear was fear. “Why are you here?” he demanded, inexplicably angry but wise enough to keep his voice low. He would feel a whole lot better if she quit. Not that it mattered how he felt. Not that she cared.

Her gaze snapped back to his face. Flags of red stained her cheeks. He'd never seen a woman blush so much. Even before prison, girls were always comfortable in his presence.
You weren't a criminal then.

Yeah, there was that.

“You don't want to be here.” He sent a quick glance around the infirmary as if assessing their surroundings. “God knows I wouldn't be here if I could help it.”

“
Couldn't
you help it?” Briar quickly countered, suddenly finding her tongue. “I mean, you made whatever decision that landed you in here. It's about choices, isn't it?”

He shook his head and felt a flash of annoyance. She didn't know him or what he had done. Or maybe she did. Had she gone home and nosed around on the Internet? His crime was no secret. It was open for public consumption. He swallowed back a snort. He was giving himself too much credit. She probably went home and had sex with her boyfriend without giving him another thought. She was just a judgy little shrew. Nothing more, nothing less.

He shrugged as that bitter pill washed down his throat. “Self-­righ­teous little thing, aren't you? Gotta tell you. It's been a long time since anyone thought I was worth the trouble of a lecture.”

There went that blush again. “Forget it. It's not my place.” She inhaled. “In answer to your question, I'm here because it's my job. And speaking of my job,” she said pointedly. “Can we get back to the matter at hand?”

God, she was so correct and proper. She had the stern nurse act down to a T. And it hit him like a punch to the gut. Who knew he liked that type? That he would ever think it was so fucking hot? She held up a light and checked his eyes. Her breath mingled with his. It would be so easy to lean forward and take her mouth, taste her.
Christ
. He was sick. As if she wanted anything to do with scum like him.

“How's your head?” she queried.

“Fine.”

“Any dizziness?”

“No.”

“Headache?”

“A little. I've had worse.”

She made a noncommittal sound and returned to type some more into the laptop.

“You can't be a nurse anywhere else?” He jerked his head toward the doctor. “He blackmailing you into doing this or something?”

That nose of hers went up a notch. “Not everyone is a criminal.”

The kitten had claws. He stared at her for a moment, studying her stoic face with the faintly pink cheeks. She blinked and looked down at her laptop again, clearly flustered.

“Why are you so nervous?” he asked.

“I don't hang out with a lot of felons. I don't know how to act.”

She was cute. Annoying, but cute. And not because she was female and there was a decided shortage of those in his life. She was cute, he decided, because she was cute. Feisty. He scanned her in her purple scrubs. Hard to tell for certain, but there was a banging body under there.

The door buzzed open. Chester and another bull entered the room.

He exchanged words with the guard near the door, his cagey, squinty eyes looking beyond the old man to survey the room. His gaze landed on the nurse and he actually licked his lips. Something ugly curled up inside Knox knowing that assholes like him could stare at women like her all they wanted. He could lick his lips and hit on her and be his general asshole self and it was okay. The world was okay with that. And that just summed up what a screwed-­up planet they lived in.

As if sensing his stare, the guard looked his way. Chester's lips twisted into its usual sadistic shape. Knox released a breath, knowing his time in the HSU was up.

Suddenly the nurse was at his side. Her brown eyes snapped with fire as she stood between him and the bed, facing the advancing bulls like some kind of gatekeeper.

Chester did not look troubled. He swaggered forward, holding out both hands as though calming some fractious colt. “Now, now . . . it's been twenty-­four hours. That's all you said you needed.”

Her gaze shot to the clock on the wall. “Twenty-­two hours, actually. It wouldn't hurt to have him under observation longer . . .” She turned in the direction of the doctor across the room, as though seeking aid from the man who was busy examining some old inmate's gnarly foot.

“C'mon. This ain't no place for bleeding hearts.” Chester stepped closer and touched her shoulder. A bitter taste coated Knox's mouth at the sight of those bloated sausage fingers covering her shoulder, flexing slightly, getting the feel for her. “Don't let him fool you into thinking he's sick.”

Knox tensed at the implication that he was faking illness to stay out of the hole. After eight years he knew how to take a stint in the hole.

Enough of this. Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he announced, “I'm fine. Ready to go.”

Chester dropped his hand from her shoulder. “See there.” The bastard smiled at her. “Nothing to worry about. Callaghan knows his place. Right, boy?”

Knox grunted as he reached for his shirt draped over the end of the bed. He'd kept it off ever since she bandaged his ribs.

He pushed both arms into the sleeves and winced as he pulled it over his head, the action pulling on his tender ribs.

Suddenly Briar's hands were there, grasping the hem of his shirt to help pull it down. The back of her fingers grazed him and his stomach muscles quivered. All of him quivered.
Shit
.

He stepped back, severing the contact. Yesterday had been bad enough with her hands all over him. Even as impersonal as her touch was, it had been too long since he felt a woman's hands on him. He didn't trust himself not to react.

“We'll need him back in a week to remove the sutures,” she instructed.

“Yeah, sure,” Chester said, grabbing hold of his arm.

“And if the ribs worsen, Mr. Callaghan, be sure to alert one of the guards that you need to return.”

Chester laughed. “
Mister
Callaghan. Ain't that nice. Like you're a real gentleman.”

Yeah. A piece of scum like him didn't deserve such a courtesy title.

Knox gazed coldly at the guard, not rising to the bait. He'd long since learned to feign deafness. To react would land him in trouble and prolong his sentence. In six months he would have another parole hearing. North was due for another hearing around then, too, and given the comments made from the board during his last hearing, North might be getting out this time around. Who knew? Maybe he had a shot, too. He sure didn't need to mouth off and jeopardize his chances.

Nurse Davis's face flushed and it gave him some satisfaction knowing she didn't care for the guard any more than he did. The idiot didn't realize he was insulting her as much as Knox by laughing at how she chose to address him.

As he was led from the room, he looked once over his shoulder.

She was still standing beside the bed he had occupied. This time she had no trouble staring at him. A frown marred her smooth features, probably left over from her displeasure with the guard.

“C'mon, Callaghan. Move it.” As soon as they were out in the hall and the door to the HSU shut behind them, Chester pushed him against the wall and elbowed him in his bandaged ribs.

He bowed over from the force of the blow, the air leaving him in a great whoosh as fiery pain burst in his side. He lifted his head slowly to gaze at his abuser, smiling because he knew that would only piss him off more.

The bull pushed his red sweaty face closer, hissing at Knox in a stink of stale coffee breath. “You think a nice girl like that cares about a piece of shit like you?”

Knox trained his expression into blankness.

The guard grinned then and stepped closer. He spoke, the words puffing against Knox's cheek. “I think I might take her out this weekend. You see, sweet pussy like that isn't for the likes of you. You're stuck in here, sucking cock with the rest of them.”

Knox's hands curled into fists at his sides. He clenched his jaw so hard his teeth ached.

Chester laughed once in a heavy breath. “Huh. Don't like that?” His gaze raked him up and down. “What are you going to do about it?”

The cocky son of a bitch grinned, waiting. Knox would love to see this guy on the outside, without his uniform to protect him. Or better yet, on the inside without his uniform to protect him. Let him know what it felt like.

“Nothing,
boss
,” he said, treating the title to heavy disdain.

A muscle ticked near the corner of Chester's eye. “That's right, prick.
Nothing
. Now let's go.” Chester pushed him forward. The two guards fell into step behind him, following him back into hell.

 

SIX

A
FTER FRIDAY, BRIAR'S
life resumed its familiar routine. She breathed a little easier knowing she had almost an entire week before she had to return to Devil's Rock.

She spent her Saturday doing laundry and grocery shopping. Sunday morning she went to church and then drove to her sister's place for an early dinner. Laurel lived forty minutes away in the slightly bigger town of Fort Stockton. Briar enjoyed playing with her nieces and nephew. And she loved her sister even if she didn't love her prying.

“I don't understand. Why
you
? Can't anyone else go with him?” Laurel bounced the baby on her lap as her other two kids played loudly on the play set a few yards away. Her husband Caleb stood over the sizzling grill, flipping burgers.

“No one else was exactly jumping to volunteer,” she explained. Again.

“Well, go figure.” Her sister cocked her head and rolled her eyes.

“Laurel,” Caleb chided, clearly disapproving of her sarcastic tone. He sent Briar a sympathetic look as he took a long pull on his beer.

Her brother-­in-­law was a saint. A truly gentle man who loved her sister and worked hard, putting in long hours of overtime to provide well for Laurel and the kids. Everything he did, he did for them. In looking for a life partner, Laurel's goal had been simple. Find the polar opposite of their father. She had succeeded in that.

“What?” Laurel blinked her big eyes. “Am I not supposed to say anything when my baby sister puts herself in a dangerous situation?”

Caleb sent Briar a look that said:
Score one for big sister.

Briar bit back the thought breezing through her mind.
You had no problem leaving me alone with Dad.
You got out as fast as you could
. Of course, she wouldn't say that. Laurel had left home and married Caleb as soon as she graduated. Briar had been fourteen. She had four more years of Mom and Dad without Laurel for company. The fighting. The tears. The slaps she wasn't supposed to hear. No, she couldn't blame Laurel for getting out of that house as soon as she could. If the situation had been reversed, she would have probably done the same.

“Laurel, it's one day a week.” Briar wasn't about to tell her she had gone twice last week. “And I'm in the infirmary. With a guard and cameras and a panic button. It's not like I'm walking the cell blocks.”

Laurel snorted and rubbed circles over the baby's back, clearly unconvinced.

“And the inmates we see are usually sick, you know,” Briar added. “They just want relief. They're not inclined to bite the hand offering to help them.”

Laurel shook her head, her short red curls tossing around her. “I don't like it.”

“Have you talked to Mom?” Briar asked, deciding to change the subject before she became truly annoyed.

Laurel stood, propping the baby on her hip. “Not lately. But we're supposed to have lunch next week. I'm going in to get the potato salad.”

She disappeared inside the house, sliding the glass door shut behind her.

“That's one way to get her to stop talking,” Caleb said as he placed burgers in a square tin.

She smiled at him. “Never fails. Bring up Mom.”

“Or your father.”

Briar's smile slipped. Even she didn't talk about him. She maintained a superficial relationship with her mother. Phone calls. Texts. Occasionally they met for a meal. Not Dad. Never Dad. If she was lucky, she wouldn't have to see him ever again.

“Laurel is worried about you, Briar. And she's questioning your motives for working at the prison. I can't say I haven't been wondering myself.”

Briar stared at him for a long moment. “Like what? That I'm attracted to violent men? I'm drawn to them and want to be around them?” Her stomach turned at the notion. Laurel hadn't been around in those last years. When her father drank more. When he hit more. Laurel had no idea how bad it really got.

Shaking her head, she stared at her adorable niece and nephew as they clambered up the faux rock wall of the play set and slid down the slide with happy squeals. A pang punched her in the chest.

Laurel had built a beautiful life with Caleb and her children. She'd turned her back on the past. Moved on. Forgotten it—­or simply refused to look at it anymore. When was Briar going to do the same? Why wasn't it as easy for her?

“I'm not attracted to violent men, Caleb.” Far from it. Whenever she was in that prison, she could hardly breathe.

Her brother-­in-­law shrugged, and that irritated the hell out of her.

“I'm not.”
I
'm not like my mother
. “I'm not going there for kicks.”

For some reason, Knox Callaghan's face flashed across her mind. He put her on edge. Something about him. The tension she felt coiled tightly inside him, just beneath the surface. He was a storm waiting to break. She just hoped she was nowhere near him when that happened.

“So,” Laurel proclaimed as she returned, baby and a giant bowl of potato salad in tow. “Did Caleb tell you about his boss's nephew?” She waggled her eyebrows. “He's a partner at a big accounting firm. Single, of course. Balding but attractive. He's got that Bruce Willis thing going for him. He's very open to being set up. He's just coming out of a bad relationship.”

“Isn't Bruce Willis like sixty now?”

Caleb snorted back a laugh as he set the burgers down on the table. Laurel glared at both of them. “I didn't say he
was
Bruce Willis. And I meant Bruce Willis like in his
Die
Hard
days.”

Briar grinned and took a sip of her iced tea. Laurel plopped the baby in Briar's lap and started fixing the kids' burgers. “C'mon. When was the last time you went on a date with a nice guy?”

Briar couldn't remember.

“Say yes,” she commanded in that bossy way of hers.

“Maybe,” she hedged.

“I'll give him your number.”

“Laurel,” she warned.

“What? Is it so wrong I want you to meet a nice guy? Have you dated anyone seriously since college? Since Beau?”

Beau
. Her stomach bottomed out. No. There hadn't been anyone since him. Not really. She'd dated off and on a little in college after they broke up, but no one serious. Her father and Beau had pretty much killed her faith in the male gender. Neither were exactly stellar examples. After them, who wouldn't swear off men forever? Of course, she had never told her sister the full story regarding Beau. Laurel had been pregnant with Addy at the time, but that wouldn't have stopped her from coming after him with a shotgun.

“Let's eat.” Briar clapped her hands and bounced little Tyler on her knee. Her sister wasn't the only one good at pretending the past had never happened. Sometimes she wondered if she pretended enough, maybe she could forget it all.

IT WAS THE
darkness that got to Knox the most—that found its way under his skin like a parasite digging for home.

The unending stretch of hours. The smothering silence that only came with darkness. He tried to sleep at night when the dark was the worst, the deepest, the most impenetrable . . . desperate to escape that smothering tar, but the hole was a tricky place.

In the hole, even the daylight hours were dark. Well,
gray
. Paltry light crept out from the small slit where they delivered food to him and where prisoners stuck out their hands to be cuffed. Like a weed growing out of concrete, the light fought its way in, trickling onto him where he sprawled on the cot. He held his hand up to that ribbon of light, turning it over, letting it flow over his fingers as though it were something tangible. Something he could
feel
.

Men went crazy in here. Tear-­out-­their-­hair, see-­the-­ghosts-­of-­their-­victims, and cry-­for-­mommy kind of shit. He clung to sanity by building a regimen and dedicating himself to it. That was the key to keep from going nuts in segregation, to keep the demons at bay.

Out of the hole, there wasn't a day he and his brother didn't break their backs exercising. He and North worked out both in the yard and in the privacy of their cells. It was one of the first things Knox established when they got to the Rock. A permanent workout routine. They didn't need a gym. They stayed fighting-­strong working out and pushing past the pain. Anything and everything to make themselves formidable amid a cesspit of punks and killers and men that would jack up their own grandmothers for a C-­note.

A stint in the hole changed nothing. If anything, he amped up his workout. He kept at it, pushing though his injuries, training his body to the point of exhaustion. Push-­ups. Lunges. Sit-­ups. Jogging in place. By Monday he added jumping jacks, ignoring the tenderness in his ribs. There was no room for tenderness in the Rock. He killed all softness from his body, using the wall for a punching bag, toughening up his fists.

If, during the nights, the darkness ever got too much and pushed at his carefully constructed walls, he just closed his eyes and fell into the colors inside his mind. Peach skin and hair a dozen different shades. He imagined he was somewhere else, with someone else.

Dipping into a pool of make-­believe, he dreamed up sunshine. Air that smelled after-­rain fresh. Grass all around him. And a woman beneath him.

He stroked himself off, pulling hard at his cock, pretending it was a female's heat, her softness milking him, her creamy thighs spreading wide in welcome. If, at the end, her face resembled the nurse from the HSU, if her mouth cried out sweet, dirty things as he fisted her hair, then so be it. It was just a fantasy to get him through. No harm.

Someday he'd be out of this hellhole and then he could stop losing himself in impossible dreams and start living again. Someday, when he and his brother were free of this place, he could finally have a life worth living. He wouldn't need to jack off to the image of a girl who thought he was a low-­life bastard.