Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
Gin had conducted two awesome group sessions on Friday morning. Her case management paperwork was caught up. Her day had gone so well…until now.
She studied the inmate sitting across from her desk.
He looked like a skinhead version of Frankenstein’s monster.
The swastika on the back of his shaved scalp summed up his politics.
Holes from his piercings dotted his nostrils, ears, and lips.
Yellowing around his left eye lingered from the fight he’d been in a month ago.
And, much to everyone’s regret, he was out of administrative segregation and back in the general population.
His gaze roved over her body and increased her discomfort. “If you give me what I need, Slash can be very…generous,” he said.
He often referred to himself in the third person. She’d heard some BDSM submissives would, but “Slash” used it for pure intimidation.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Cole. I can’t get you an assignment working on the grounds.” More like she wouldn’t. After talking with him, she wouldn’t trust him outside the building walls. From the aura of violence he gave off, she wondered how he’d ended up here in a lower security facility.
He shifted in the chair, his legs spread widely apart so his dark blue denim pants revealed a jutting erection. “Heard in the yard ’bout a counselor who likes the beasts. A lot.” His gaze held hers as he stroked himself. “Maybe she’s you? You wanna hear ’bout rape an’ murder?”
“This session is over.” Her stomach twisted. Surely there were no counselors attracted to murderers or sexual offenders. Don’t throw up. Rising, she hit the desk intercom to summon the correctional officer.
The inmate jumped to his feet, leaned over the desk, and grabbed her right wrist. With his face far too close to hers, he snarled, “Made a mistake, cunt. You don’t fuck with Slash.”
“Let go of me,” she yelled. Heart hammering, she struggled to free her wrist from the painful grip. Her other hand groped for a weapon. Anything. Her fingers bumped something, latched on—and she hit him across the face with her heavy ceramic coffee cup.
“Fuck!” He jerked back. “You cunt.” He slammed her forearm down on the edge of the desk.
Pain exploded in her arm.
The CO burst into the room. “Hey!”
Gasping, she sank into her chair and cradled her arm to her chest. It hurt.
Slash turned to the guard with his hands up. “Sorry, boss. I shouldn’t have yelled at Ms. Virginia. My bad.”
The CO yanked him away from the desk. “Maggot, if you—”
“Didn’t do nothin’,” Slash protested. “And I want a new counselor. Fuck, I think this one pissed herself just lookin’ at Slash.”
“Ms. Virginia, what do you want me to do with him?” the officer asked.
Averting her face, Gin fought for control. A breath. Another. Her arm roared with pain. Another breath. “He gets a ticket for assault.”
“You got it.”
She noticed her coworkers in the doorway and said to the gray-haired receptionist, “Remove Mr. Cole from my caseload, please.”
“Of course.” As Mrs. Warner started back toward her desk, Penelope said in a too-loud voice. “You can put him on mine. I have room.”
As the CO escorted the inmate away, Gin looked up.
Slash was laughing. He’d found the counselor who liked tales of rape and murder. Sickness clung to the back of Gin’s throat.
“You weren’t prepared for a creep like him, were you?” Mr. Slidell surveyed her from the doorway, his mud-colored eyes disapproving. “I warned you about trusting any of the bastards. Scum. They’re all filth, and you girls don’t have a clue.”
Girls? Gin let her breath out. “It’s a dangerous job. One big risk is thinking that all the inmates are alike. I’m afraid you boys often fall into that trap.”
Color rose in his face, and anger compressed his thin lips. Without a word, he stomped into the hall.
Gin was shaking too violently to enjoy the victory.
After visiting his brother, Atticus stopped to talk with two correctional officers before leaving the prison.
Outside, heat waves shimmered off the concrete and sunlight glimmered on the razor-wired chain link fences.
The place gave him a sense of being trapped; he couldn’t imagine what it did to a man after months and years.
“Any recent problems?” he asked. Any rumors he picked up, he’d pass to Bear Flat’s chief of police.
This facility reminded him of his high school.
Most of the COs were good people, but the warden was an incompetent, venal dick, and laziness tended to slide downhill.
The staff needed a good kick in the pants to up their game.
From what Sawyer said, the amount of contraband smuggled into the prison was probably greater than marijuana across the Mexican border.
“We got more level IV convicts sent in again,” one grumbled. “Bastards should be kept in the higher security facilities.”
“No shit.” Saldana was one of the better COs. “Dumping aggressive prisoners in here increases violence in the general population. Damn overcrowding.”
“I can see why you’d be concerned,” Atticus said diplomatically.
Unfortunately, they hadn’t stepped up security in response.
This prison housed special needs inmates—kept here for their own safety—as well as the lower security inmates.
The relaxed rules had caused the place to be called a vacation camp.
The prison staff rarely searched visitors—and it was amazing what a tangle of dreadlocks could conceal—let alone performed routine inmate strip searches. With the overcrowding, the COs were understaffed, outnumbered, and…if they weren’t careful, they’d soon be outgunned.
Gin shouldn’t be working here.
He glanced at his watch. Five p.m. She should be leaving about now…the main reason he’d hung around.
And there she was, across the room, turning in her body alarm and keys, taking back her chit, and signing out. So pretty. Not even her shapeless clothes could disguise her very feminine body beneath. The overhead lights glinted off the red-gold streaks in her auburn hair.
The sergeant was patting her shoulder, and Atticus smiled. She made friends easily, didn’t she?
The two officers beside Atticus turned to see what he was looking at.
“Now there’s one nice piece of ass.” The new one massaged his crotch.
“She’s a lady, dipshit.” Atticus considered flattening the guy’s balls, but controlled himself…although a growl escaped. “Watch your fucking mouth.”
The man took a step back.
Good enough. Atticus nodded at Saldana, who was stifling a smile. “Catch you later.”
“You bet. Take it easy.” Saldana slapped his shoulder.
Atticus stopped on the pavement outside the building and sucked in the fresh air. A hint of frost. Clean without the stench of anger and violence, of sweat and fear and frustration.
To the right were the Level II yards, buildings, and pods.
Watchtowers broke up the long line of double fencing.
To the left was the lower security half.
No watchtowers. The yard work inmates with their guard dog CO were raking the debris from the landscaped area.
He had to be pleased that Sawyer had made it to that section.
Atticus watched the door for Gin. He hadn’t wanted to greet her under the eyes of the staff. Most women in prisons tried to avoid being thought of in any sexual context at all, although—as the asshole CO had shown—a woman as pretty as Gin was still assigned the label piece of meat.
Jesus, he hated that she worked here.
Leaning a shoulder against the side of the building, he crossed his arms. His body was tired from thin rations, constant travel, and close to a week in the wilderness. Earlier, he’d turned Virgil down on his invitation for a beer at the ClaimJumper and had intended to head home and sack out.
But, somehow, his truck had turned up the road to the prison. Dammit, his craving for the little submissive wouldn’t quit. Even if she didn’t want to join him tonight, he’d be happy merely talking with her.
Then again…he did have a nice big bed.
There she was.
As she drew closer, he realized every freckle stood out on her pale face. Her arms were wrapped around her torso. Visibly shaking, she didn’t even notice him.
“Gin,” he called.
Her startled flinch looked close to panic.
“Easy.” He kept his voice slow and even. “Easy, girl.” He walked up to her at half-speed to allow her time to recognize him.
When she did, her shoulders sagged. “Atticus.” She planted her face in his chest.
“Hey, hey, hey.” He wrapped his arms around her trembling, fine-boned frame and rubbed his chin in her fragrant hair. Fury flooded his veins along with a craving to rip apart whoever had scared her.
But he’d learned, as a Dom and the son of an abused woman, that sometimes the best response was a willing shoulder.
And time.
After a couple of minutes, far sooner than he liked, she pulled back. Staring at the ground, she said almost inaudibly. “Thank you. I—”
He put a finger under her pointed chin and lifted, forcing her gaze up to his. “You can use my shoulder any time you’d like, Gin. It’s not exactly a hardship to hold you, you know.”
“You’re…very kind.” Brow crinkled, she pulled out of his reach. “I appreciate your time. It was nice seeing you again.” With an obviously forced smile, she walked away.
What the hell? Kind? Time? Sounded a fuck of a lot like a brush-off to him. But why?
She’d forgiven him for being an asshole. Had liked being spanked. They’d made love, talked, cuddled. No fight, dammit. He’d walked her into Serenity Lodge before he left and…
Before he’d left several days ago.
He hadn’t been in touch since, and she wouldn’t be hooked into the police department’s network to know he wasn’t in reach.
Stretching his legs, he caught up to her. “Gin, I’m sorry I didn’t call.”
“It doesn’t—”