Trust (Sinners and Saints #5)

Chapter 1

KNOX

When I woke up in the concrete box that had been my home for fourteen years, I had no idea that in a matter of two hours, I’d beat another inmate at Coldwater Penitentiary within an inch of his life.

Hell, the last thing I intended to do was to jeopardize my parole with a fight.

But here’s the thing about plans. They don’t account for monsters.

They also don’t account for the ghosts that follow you into your cell every night.

I sat on the edge of my bunk and scrubbed a hand over my stubbled jaw, trying to shake the dream that still clung to me like smoke. Pigtails bouncing in sunlight. A tiny voice screaming, “Daddy,” as I was hauled away in handcuffs from that courtroom.

She’d been four years old.

Now she was eighteen. A whole person I didn’t know anymore.

Did she still have that dimple on the left side of her face? Did she still have rosy cheeks with freckles dusting her nose? It had been ages since I had seen her last, and I wondered, painfully, every single day what she might look like now.

I’d missed fourteen years.

Her first day of kindergarten, standing at the bus stop with a backpack bigger than she was.

Birthday parties with cone hats and balloons and a cake she probably helped frost with crooked little letters.

Christmas mornings tearing into presents while the tree lights blinked and hot chocolate went cold because she was too excited to drink it.

I wasn’t there to teach her to ride a bike. Wasn’t there to pick her up when she fell and put a Band-Aid on her knee and tell her she was brave. Wasn’t there for the nightmares, the school plays, the first heartbreak.

Someone else got those moments. Or worse, no one did.

And I would never get them back.

What I wouldn’t give for just one visit from her. Or hell, I’d settle for a phone call.

Calls to my ex, her mother, stopped going through years ago. For a long time, I resented the hell out of that. I wanted to co-parent and be part of Gwen’s life in whatever way I could. But it wasn’t long before my ex cut ties.

I could’ve gotten Ryker involved. My best friend was a damn good attorney now, and he’d offered more than once to make some calls.

But as much as I hated what my ex was doing, she had always been a good mom. And I wondered if maybe she knew better than I did what Gwen needed.

Still, it was fucking heartbreaking, having the one person in the world I cared about more than anyone, the one person I’d sat in this concrete cage to protect, go through her life without me in it.

Maybe she was better off without me. That’s what I’d been telling myself for years.

And yet I still wrote the letters.

Still wondered what her life looked like. She would’ve graduated high school by now. Was she off to college? What did she want her career path to be?

Did she ever think about me?

It was pathetic to have those thoughts though. A stronger father would only care about her well-being. A better man wouldn’t feel like his chest was being cracked open every time he imagined her easily living without him.

Enough.

I forced myself to breathe. To focus.

One goal. That’s all I had. Make parole this year. Get out. Find her. Even if she refused to speak to me, I would contribute something meaningful to her life. I’d get a job, give her every paycheck. Every cent. I’d live with a hundred roommates, walk to work, survive on canned soup. I didn’t care.

Every dollar belonged to her. I’d help her pay for college, buy a home, start a business, allow her to travel. Whatever she needed to jump-start her adult life, I’d give her everything I had.

It was the least I could do for missing the last fourteen years of her life. Hopefully, she’d let me be there for her in more ways than financially too.

So, yeah, being a model prisoner was my new mission. No fights. No incidents. No giving the parole board a reason to deny me again.

Again.

I’d been denied twice before. Twice, I’d let myself believe I was getting out. Let myself imagine holding my daughter, hearing her voice, being her father again.

Twice, they’d gutted me.

Ryker thought I’d stopped caring. I let him believe that. Let everyone believe it. But the truth was, I wanted out so desperately, it burned through me every single day. I just couldn’t afford to hope out loud anymore. Couldn’t survive another rejection.

So, I buried it. Kept my head down. Played the long game.

As I walked to breakfast, Ryker’s voice echoed in my head from our last visit. “Don’t do anything stupid …”

The cafeteria smelled like industrial disinfectant and powdered eggs.

I grabbed a tray and fell into line beside Ronan, my cellmate. He was a muscular guy with quick eyes and a mouth that never stopped running. Annoying as hell, but loyal. In here, that counted for something.

“You feel that?” Ronan muttered, scanning the room.

I didn’t answer. Didn’t need to.

After fourteen years, I’d honed my survival instincts into something that couldn’t be explained to people on the outside. It was more than a sixth sense. You could taste when something was about to happen. Like electricity buzzing through oxygen particles before a lightning strike.

This morning, the air tasted like violence.

“Everyone’s practically vibrating,” Ronan said, loading his tray with something gray that was allegedly oatmeal.

I tracked the room with a flick of my eyes. Clusters of inmates huddled together, voices low, energy high. Too much movement. Too much attention directed at one corner of the cafeteria.

“What’s going on?”

“Been down here ten minutes, man. That’s all anyone’s talking about.” He jerked his chin toward the buzzing corner. “New nurse starts today.”

I grunted. “That’s what everyone’s worked up about? It’s not the first nurse we’ve had.”

“Yeah, well, Erkhart was doing janitorial when she came in to get her badge,” Ronan continued. “Said she’s young and gorgeous. Now the rumor mill’s losing its mind.”

A gorgeous woman working here.

Fantastic.

Men in this place had nothing but time and depravity. While the hope of getting out kept guys like me (mostly) in line, the same couldn’t be said for everyone.

Poor woman probably wouldn’t last a week.

“Based on that cluster, looks like Doyle’s running his mouth.” Ronan jerked his chin toward the far corner. “Bet my left nut, it’s about her.”

My jaw tightened.

Doyle.

If the devil had a face, it would look like that man. Convicted of multiple rapes and the attempted homicide of two women. How the hell he’d ended up in a medium-security facility instead of maximum was beyond me. But then again, our prison system wasn’t exactly known for being perfect.

We rounded the bend toward our usual table, and that’s when I heard his vile voice infecting the air.

“Tell you what I’m gonna do to her.” Doyle’s voice cut through the noise like a saw.

He was holding court at his table, goons flanking him.

“Gonna wait till she’s alone in the supply closet.

Lock the door behind me.” He leaned back, spreading his arms wide like he was describing a vacation. “Bet she squeals real pretty.”

My fingers curled into fists.

Walk away, I told myself. It’s not your problem.

But his words kept coming. Graphic. Detailed. The kind of plans that came from experience and honest intent.

And I thought about Stacy Morales. She’d been in my Economics class freshman year of college, back when I thought I’d have a normal life. Quiet girl. Sat in the front row, always had her notes color-coded. Then, one night at a frat party, some piece of shit decided her body belonged to him.

I saw her three weeks after it happened. Watched her flinch when someone dropped a textbook. Watched her make herself small every time a man walked too close.

That was years ago, and I still remembered the hollow look on her face.

This nurse, whoever she was, could be someone’s daughter. Someone’s sister. Someone’s Stacy.

And Doyle wasn’t all talk.

A few years ago, he’d assaulted a female correctional officer. Got time added to his sentence, sure. But not nearly enough. Should’ve been shipped off to max security with the rest of the animals. But overcrowding. Budget cuts. The usual bullshit.

He stayed.

Worse, he eventually “earned” back privileges, like working in the infirmary as an orderly.

Which meant he had access to this new nurse. Time alone in the medical wing with her while the guards rotated in and out. And knowledge exactly how and where to strike.

He’d do it again. It wasn’t a question of if. It was a question of when.

“Knox.” Ronan’s hand landed on my shoulder. “Don’t.”

Evidently, I was already leaning.

“She’s probably got a tight little—”

“Shut your mouth.” My words were low. Quiet. The kind of quiet that made smart men nervous.

Doyle’s head swiveled toward me, and his grin widened.

And there it was. The flicker of satisfaction in his eyes.

I’d seen that look before. Doyle had been gunning for me for years. In prison, there’s always an alpha. Someone the other inmates respect, fear, or both. For better or worse, that someone was me.

Doyle wanted my spot. And the fastest way to become said alpha was to take down the current one.

“Well, well. Blackwood finally speaks.” He tilted his chair back on two legs. “Go back to your breakfast. This doesn’t concern you.”

“I hear one more word out of your mouth about that woman, and I’m reporting you to the guards.”

Doyle’s laugh was ugly. “Go ahead. File your little report.” He spread his hands wide, mocking.

“You know how long those investigations take? Two weeks minimum before anyone even reads the paperwork. Three before they interview witnesses.” He leaned forward, eyes glittering.

“That’s twenty-one days, Blackwood. Twenty-one days where she’s alone in that infirmary. With me.”

My blood ran cold.

“And that’s if they take it seriously at all,” Doyle continued, clearly enjoying himself.

“You’ve attacked a woman before. They’ll take it seriously,” I snapped.

“Maybe. Then again, when I tell them you’re just trying to look good for your parole by making up a story where you look like a hero, they might not.

Either way, you know how short-staffed they are.

By the time anyone looks into it, I’ll be done.

And she’ll be …” He trailed off, letting the silence fill in what his words didn’t.

This was something else that made Doyle uniquely dangerous: the guy didn’t seem to care about time being added to his sentence.

Ronan’s grip tightened on my shoulder. “Knox. Don’t let him bait you.”

But Doyle wasn’t finished.

“Best part?” Doyle stood slowly, savoring the moment. “I work the infirmary now. I’ll see her before anyone else does. Every single day. All those blind spots where guards don’t reach.” His tongue darted out, wetting his lips. “She won’t even see me coming.”

“Keep your head down. Don’t do anything stupid.”

Ryker’s voice again. My daughter’s face flashing behind my eyes.

I forced myself to turn away.

“That’s what I thought,” Doyle called after me. “Big, scary Blackwood, rolling over like a—”

“You touch her,” I said, turning around, “and I will end you.”

Silence rippled outward like a stone dropped in still water.

Then Doyle laughed. “Look at you. Trying to be the knight in shining armor.” He stepped closer. “What’s the matter, Blackwood? Haven’t had your dick wet in so long, you’re getting possessive over a woman you’ve never even seen?”

My shoulders rolled once. A reflex. Muscle memory preparing for what my brain was still trying to prevent.

Don’t.

“Sit down, Doyle.”

“Or what?” He circled me slowly, like a predator testing its prey. “You gonna lose a fight for some bitch you don’t even know?”

Ronan appeared at my side, voice tight. “Knox. Think about this. Think about your daughter.”

Yes. I needed to think about Gwen.

But what kind of man did I want to be when I finally saw her again? What kind of father shows up after fourteen years and says, I looked the other way while a woman got raped because I didn’t want to mess up my parole? Or, Hey, I tried. I reported it, even though I knew it wouldn’t save her?

If someone was about to hurt my daughter, I would pray to God that someone would have the courage to intervene.

“Last chance,” I said. “Walk away.”

Doyle leaned in, voice dropping to a whisper meant only for me. “I’m gonna make her bleed. And while I’m having my fun with her, I’ll be imagining all the things I’d like to do to that pretty little daughter of yours and—”

My fist connected with his jaw before my brain caught up. Bone cracked. Doyle staggered. And then everything turned into a blur.

Someone was screaming. I registered my fists hitting him over and over, then my feet kicking his ribs.

I hit him again. And again. And again.

Until hands were hauling me backward and Doyle was a crumpled heap on the concrete, blood pooling beneath his limp head.

Ronan’s voice cut through the chaos, somewhere between horrified and impressed. “Jesus Christ, Knox. Breakfast isn’t even over yet.”

Guards swarmed in, shouting orders, forcing me to my knees. I didn’t resist.

Through the blood roaring in my ears, I heard someone yelling for medical. Heard Doyle groaning, which meant the bastard was still alive.

But barely.

His eyes were swelling shut. His jaw hung at an angle that said it wouldn’t be forming words anytime soon. Whatever plans he’d had for the new nurse, he’d be too busy drinking his meals through a straw to execute them.

Good.

Two guards hauled his limp body off the concrete and started dragging him toward the infirmary.

A third guard yanked me to my feet and shoved me in the same direction.

And just like that, the adrenaline crashed. Leaving nothing but the cold, heavy truth of what I’d done.

Three months. I’d been three months away from possible freedom. Three months from finding my daughter, from finally being the father she deserved.

Now?

Now, I’d be lucky if I saw the outside of these walls in a decade.

You failed Gwen, the voice in my head whispered. You promised yourself. And you threw it all away.

For a woman I’d never even met. A woman who didn’t even know I existed.

My chest ached. My eyes stung. For a moment, the grief threatened to swallow me whole.

But I’d killed once to protect someone I loved. Spent fourteen years paying for it. And I’d be damned if I ever became the kind of man who stood by and let monsters like Doyle hurt people.

That wasn’t who I was. That wasn’t who Gwen’s father was going to be.

The guards shoved me forward, toward the infirmary.

Looked like I was about to meet the nurse who’d just changed everything.