Chapter 1 #2
An electric cage? Bars and chains aren’t enough to contain him?
I try to cast a discreet glance at him, but he’s still watching me.
He’s standing very still, and I feel like his eyes are boring right into me.
Like he can see through my disguise. See what I look like under my clothes. My cheeks burn even hotter.
Is he a shifter? He reminds me of the guys who come into the pub—half man, half beast, with fierce eyes and gruff ways.
The first convict approaches the table. He’s gnashing his teeth and snorting like a rabid beast.
“Okay, I’ll be off now,” I squeak.
“Oh, no, sweetcheeks. Yew gotta serve ’em, too,” the guard whines.
“No, that’s not part of it. I’m just doing delivery. We’re a restaurant, not a catering service.”
He shakes his head sadly. “We’re not allowed to serve them. Prison protocol. It disrupts the power balance.”
I snort. “Better if an unarmed civilian serves them instead?”
“Up to you,” he says in a sing-song voice. “Yew don’t feed them, they don’t eat.”
Fuck.
Each one of them looks like he could tear my head off with his teeth. The thought of being in arms’ reach of them fills me with terror.
Definitely not what I signed up for. This situation is getting worse and worse.
“Go on, miss, they won’t hurt you. We’ll have guns trained on them at all times.”
I puff out my cheeks. I hate that this asshole is putting me in this position.
But I also hate the thought that the prisoners will go hungry.
I calculate. There are thirty of them. If each one takes thirty seconds to serve, I’ll be done in fifteen minutes.
Then I’ll be back in my car and straight back to Perdue.
I take a deep breath.
“Okay,” I say.
My heart hammers as the first convict approaches. His nostrils are twitching ravenously.
“I’ve got beef stew. Chicken tray bake—”
“Food!!” he roars.
“F-food, right.” My hands shake as I shove a bunch of cartons at him.
He snatches them, tears the lid off the first one, and starts shoveling beef stew into his mouth with his hands.
“Get a move on, prisoner.” One of the guards jabs him in the back with the butt of his gun. He lets out a roar of rage, but keeps eating.
I wind up giving each convict a portion of everything. I’m so glad I made a ton of food. Each guy is as feral as the last, but from the sounds they’re making as they eat, I can tell they’re enjoying it. And I’m glad.
Ten guys done. Ten more minutes until I’ll be out of here.
It can’t come soon enough. The back of my shirt is clinging to my back and perspiration is stinging my eyes.
When the eleventh prisoner snatches up the cartons with a grunt, my heart beats faster.
Because the next guy is the extra-huge one. The one whose eyes have been burning into me this entire time.
The guard prods him with his rifle, directing him in front of me. My mouth has gone extra dry. I keep my head down, just shove the food at him.
“Beef and chicken, please,” says a deep baritone voice.
That’s not the voice of a beast.
My head snaps up.
It’s a sexy voice. A voice that does things to me. Sends tingles from my core to my nipples and back again.
Oh, god. And now I’m looking right into his eyes. They’re piercing blue; light irises ringed with black. Thick lashes, heavy black brows.
And they’re filling with recognition.
My breath hitches.
No. Not possible.
But now I’m hyperventilating, because there’s something familiar about him, too.
Who is he?
The reality is, there are so many people he could be. My father always had a ton of associates coming over to the house.
Now, one of them’s in jail. Not a massive shocker, since all my father’s associates were criminals.
Stay calm. Breathe and pass him his food. I drop my gaze again, thrust the chicken, beef, and a bologna sandwich at him.
“Wait—” His voice again.
I look up. I can’t help it.
Torment burns in his eyes. He opens his mouth to say more—
The guard jabs his rifle into his kidney. He grunts, and I flinch. It’s vicious; way excessive. Two more guards cock their rifles at his head, step in closer.
He doesn’t move. He just stands there looking furious.
He sleeps in an electric cage.
The thought sizzles, white hot in my brain.
Who is he? Why is he having this effect on me?
He gives me one more burning look, then another convict takes his place.
Blood pounds in my ears. I count each prisoner off, shoving the food cartons at them like an automaton. Breathing in and out.
No big deal… no big deal…
Prisoner twenty-six… twenty-seven. I’ll be out of here in three minutes.
I will not look at him again.
I’ll forget I ever saw him.
I picture myself getting back in my car, hightailing it back to Perdue. Hiding out in the pub kitchen. Keeping myself safe from prying eyes. I’ll happily spend the rest of my life like that—
Roarrr!!! An incredible sound rips through the air.
I jerk away from the table, spin around.
At the far end of the chain gang, two of the prisoners are beating the hell out of each other.
Bellows and screams; a sickening thud as one headbutts the other.
And then a bunch more of them pile in. Fists pounding, chains flying.
“Fucking hell!” screams a guard. “Shoot ’em… in the leg!” They charge off, rifles cocked.
I stand, rooted to the spot. Run, run, run! My brain is screaming.
There’s a bang, and another one. Yikes. I throw myself flat on the ground, cover my face.
But between my fingers, I see a blur of orange breaking away from the rest.
Oh, my god. One of the prisoners has escaped.
And he’s coming right for me.
It’s him.
The earth shakes as he charges toward me. A mass of muscle and raw energy.
He bounds to a stop, inches away, and crouches down in front of me. His chains are hanging loose on his arms and legs and his eyes are blazing.
Whimper escapes my lips. Is he going to tear my throat out with his bare hands?
“Emory!” he grates out.
I’m going to be sick. “Not Emory,” I croak, but it’s way too late for that.
“Emory, it’s Maxim,” he urges, eyes burning with frustration.
Maxim. His name hurtles back through the years. My father’s bodyguard. From a long, long time ago.
“W-why are you here, in jail?” I stammer.
Those glowing eyes of his narrow as they flick from my glasses to my hair, to the tattoo creeping up from the neckline of my shirt. “You’re in hiding. But you’re not safe here. You need to—”
“Fuck…that motherfucker’s escaped!” a guard bawls. “Shoot!”
There’s a clicking sound, followed by a gunshot.
“Agghh!” Maxim grabs his shoulder. Blood spatters between his fingers.
“Maxim! Oh, my god!” I scream.
They shot him. They fucking shot him.
I stay flat on the ground, head swiveling. There are guns pointing everywhere. Mean, trigger-happy guards, who look about ready to kill everyone in sight.
“You need to get the hell out of here, miss!” one of the guards screams. His eyes are bugged out; he looks high. “Forget this ever happened.”
“Go! I’ll come back for you,” Maxim grunts, features drawn with pain.
What does he mean? I barely have time to think as I give him one more panicked glance, then I get up and run like hell.