Chapter 31
Iwhimpered, more from anger and frustration as opposed to the pain of the fork punctures in my palm. The chains, still around my wrists, dug into my flesh with the nurse’s ministrations.
She dabbed the bloody wounds slashed across my palm. It hurt like a bitch, and it took everything in me not to flinch.
I studied the lines on the older woman’s face. She’d been brisk and to the point from the start, but I needed her to be skilled, not to have a good bedside manner.
She pressed the Band-Aid across the four red, bleeding dots on my palm. It still needed pressure.
“No bandage wrap?”
“Can’t have you hanging yourself,” she answered abruptly. I pursed my lips, and as soon as she let go of my hand, I pulled it to my lap to apply pressure. It smarted, but I could handle it.
A guard entered and nodded to Officer Sergei hanging by the door for the nurse’s protection. Obviously, because I was a stone-cold killer.
It truly was ridiculous.
A guard with a familiar face entered. All of them were starting to blur, but some had distinguishable features hard to ignore.
“You have a visitor,” he said to me, his eyebrows moving like they had their own mind. “Off.”
I slid off the bench. A visitor? Was it finally Sam? A thrill of excitement worked through my veins. If it were, and Bourne Pack could be exposed, all of this would be worth it.
He knelt and tugged at the chains around my ankles. They did it periodically to make sure no one had undone them. The good thing was that they only kept them on when they walked an inmate outside of the main cell area.
He waved me forward, and he fell into step behind me. Sergei took the lead, and I followed on his heels.
It was so funny to me—all of this. Like, I could overpower even one of them. The fluorescently lit hall was quiet as they led me through it and then across another door that needed a key card.
It opened to a hall with a glass pane.
My stomach began to turn over.
“Who is it?” I asked sharply, hesitating to look at the guard behind me. It was fifty-fifty whether he was going to answer me, but it didn’t hurt trying.
“Your Pack.”
“My Pack?” I jerked to sit up, and the cuffs dug into my wrist. “I don’t have a Pack.” Panic wrapped around my throat. “That’s impossible. I don’t have a Pack,” I repeated, my words bouncing off the walls of the quiet hall.
He didn’t say anything other than to twitch his thick eyebrows.
“You do today, inmate.” He clamped my elbow and urged me forward. Without another choice, I shuffled over the rubber tile toward the hall.