Chapter 7 Harper
HARPER
The second day on the job, I discovered that the medical supply closet was past the inmate waiting area.
Of course it was.
Because nothing in this understaffed prison could ever be convenient or, you know, extra safe. The closet used to be next to the exam rooms, back when logic still existed, but overcrowding had transformed every spare inch into makeshift medical space.
I gripped my empty medical tray and headed out of the exam area, the door clicking locked behind me with a finality that made my stomach tighten. The CO behind the desk barely glanced up from his newspaper.
Two inmates slouched on the bench like they’d been poured there, all loose limbs and practiced boredom.
The taller one was picking at something under his thumbnail with the dedication of someone who had nowhere else to be for the next five to ten years.
His cellmate—I assumed they were cellmates by the way they sat with that particular brand of comfortable hostility—was staring at a water stain on the ceiling like it held the secrets of the universe.
Until I walked by.
Suddenly, they found religion. Or at least, they found something worth worshipping in the way my scrubs moved when I walked.
The nail-picking stopped. The ceiling lost its appeal.
I kept my spine straight, my pace steady, channeling every ounce of fake-it-till-you-make-it energy I’d cultivated since my first day yesterday.
Power, I reminded myself. You have the power here. Not them.
It was a nice theory. One I’d rehearsed in my bathroom mirror this morning while concealer worked overtime on the faint scar on my cheek.
Seriously, how had Knox even seen it?
The supply closet loomed ahead, and I heard the distinctive shuffle-clink of shackles echoing from the opposite direction. A CO rounded the corner, escorting someone who made my breath catch.
Knox Blackwood.
Standing upright, unconfined by my examination table, he was …
overwhelming. Six foot four of controlled violence, wrapped in orange cotton that strained against shoulders built for damage.
The fluorescent lights caught the silver in his eyes, turning them arctic.
Where tattoos crept above his collar, the ink looked less like decoration and more like warning labels.
Knox’s gaze found mine.
And held.
I should have looked away. I knew better than to make prolonged eye contact with inmates.
Page twelve of the employee handbook, right under Maintain Professional Boundaries and right above Do Not Accept Gifts.
But something in those silver-blue eyes pinned me in place.
Not a threat. Not the hungry appraisal the other two had given me.
Something else. Something that felt like recognition, though we’d only met once, and he’d been bleeding on my table at the time.
The moment stretched. One heartbeat. Two.
Then the CO deposited Knox onto the bench with the other two, breaking whatever strange spell had settled over the corridor.
I fumbled with the supply closet key, my fingers suddenly clumsy. Inside, I loaded my tray methodically—gauze, tape, syringes—while my pulse did jazz hands in my throat.
Get it together, Harper. He’s an inmate. A violent one. A man much worse than Silas.
Once I had the supplies and entered the hallway again, a guard’s radio crackled. “Need assistance! South wing—now!”
To my absolute horror, I watched the CO abandon his post, his footsteps thundering away down the corridor.
“Wait!” I pleaded, but the CO still fled.
Three inmates now had no supervision.
It was probably fine. He’d be right back. He wouldn’t leave me here with three inmates if doing so was a danger to me.
Right???
Besides, just past those doors, Dr. Mercer was inside.
Do not let them smell fear. This is not maximum-security prison, Harper. It’s “only” medium security, which means these men aren’t the worst of the worst.
Somehow, that thought was not as comforting as the employee handbook had made it sound.
Just walk. Just get to the locked gate. Fifteen feet. Maybe twenty.
But the two inmates who’d been practicing for the Boredom Olympics were suddenly very much not bored. They shifted on the bench, restless energy crackling between them like static before a storm.
Ten feet from the door, they stood.
My path disappeared behind orange cotton and poorly concealed anticipation.
“So, you’re the new nurse.” The taller one’s smile had too many teeth. “Pretty little thing, isn’t she, Mark?”
“Step aside.” My voice came out steadier than my hands.
But my mind was screaming. Look at these men. Either one of them could overpower me without breaking a sweat. I’d escaped one monster, only to lock myself in a building full of them.
No.
No. I was done being afraid of men. Done flinching. Done shrinking.
I straightened my spine.
“Told you she was fucking hot.” Mark’s eyes did another lazy tour of my body, like he was memorizing me for later. For what, I didn’t want to know. “Talk of the whole block.”
My stomach turned to ice water. In a place full of violent men with infinite time and limited entertainment, being “talk of the block” was probably a death sentence delivered in slow motion.
Fake it till you make it. Do not show fear.
“Move. Aside,” I repeated.
“Relax, darlin’.” The tall one stepped closer, bringing with him the scent of cheap deodorant and desperation. “Just being friendly.”
“Do not call me that.”
The employee handbook had a whole section on verbal harassment. It said nothing about kneeing someone in the testicles, but maybe it should.
“You know,” he continued, “there are lots of places in this prison where people can … disappear for a while.”
The threat hung between us like a noose.
“The officer will be back any second.” I tried to step to the right, but he matched it. Blocked me. Again.
Mark laughed, a sound like grinding gears. “Maybe. Then again, this place is pretty understaffed.” His tongue darted out, wetting his lips. “Could be five minutes. Could be twenty.”
Fear coiled in my chest, cold and familiar. I hated it. Hated that my body still remembered how to be small, how to brace, how to calculate the distance between a man’s fist and my face.
I was so sick of being afraid.
“This is your last warning. Move aside,” I demanded.
“Or what?” The tall one invaded my space, probably expecting me to retreat.
Fuck. That.
I stood my ground, even as my heart tried to claw its way out through my ribs. Even as every instinct screamed at me to run. I was done running.
He reached for my face, his fingers inches from my cheek when, suddenly, a hand clamped around his wrist.
Knox Blackwood’s hand.
He’d moved without sound, without warning, materializing between me and the threat like violence given form.
His broad back now blocked my view, shoulders rigid beneath orange cotton, and I watched the muscles in his forearm flex as he squeezed the other man’s wrist. Not enough to break. Just enough to promise he could.
“Back. Off.” Two words. Low. Deadly.
The corridor went silent.
Peeking around Knox, I saw the way Mark went pale, the way the tall one tried to jerk free and failed.
Knox didn’t let go. Didn’t move. Just stood there, a wall of controlled fury, holding the man’s wrist like it meant nothing.
Like he meant nothing.
“I ain’t afraid of you, Blackwood.” But the tall one’s voice cracked on the last syllable.
Knox tilted his head, and something in that small gesture made the temperature drop ten degrees. “You sure about that? After what happened yesterday?”
Silence stretched like a blade.
Then Knox released him.
The tall inmate stumbled back, clutching his wrist. Mark was already sinking onto the bench, eyes fixed on the floor. Neither of them looked at me anymore. Neither of them looked at anything except their own shoes.
Knox had done that. With two words and a grip.
And now all that controlled violence was turning toward me.
He faced me, and this close, I could see the storm in those silver eyes, the way his jaw clenched like he was biting back words. He smelled like prison soap and something darker. Danger maybe. Or salvation.
His gaze dropped to my hands.
I followed it down. The medical tray was quivering. Fine tremors running through my fingers that I couldn’t seem to stop.
I shifted the tray against my hip, trying to hide it, but his eyes had already tracked back to my face. He’d seen. Of course he’d seen. Knox Blackwood apparently saw everything.
“You okay?” The question was soft, as if he understood that damage didn’t always leave visible marks.
Our eyes held. And something shifted in my chest. A flutter. A catch. Like my heart had tripped over itself and didn’t know how to get back up.
His expression changed too. Just slightly. A softening around his eyes. The hard line of his jaw loosening by a fraction. Like he felt it, too, whatever this was. This strange current running between us.
A current that almost felt like …
No.
Absolutely not.
I shut that thought down so fast, it left skid marks.
He was an inmate. A murderer. And I was clearly suffering from some kind of adrenaline-induced brain malfunction.
Fear and gratitude were getting their wires crossed—that was all.
My nervous system couldn’t tell the difference between this man is dangerous and this man just protected me, so it was firing off signals that meant nothing.
Nothing.
And yet my throat tightened.
Knox Blackwood, the man who’d nearly killed someone yesterday, who had violence tattooed into his very skin, had just stood up when he didn’t have to.
Prison politics probably meant that intervening, playing hero for a nurse, would upset other prisoners.
If he only cared about himself, he would have stayed seated. Maybe even enjoyed the show.
But he hadn’t.
He’d moved faster than I could track, put himself between me and danger, and now he was looking at me like my answer actually mattered.
“Thank you.” The words rushed out before I could think better of them.
Knox’s eyes never left mine.
The world narrowed to this: a murderer watching me like I was something worth protecting.
“Sorry about that!” The CO’s voice shattered the moment. “Situation in south wing. Hey! Blackwood! Bench. Now!”
Knox didn’t move.
One heartbeat.
Two.
His jaw tightened, like he was fighting some internal battle. Then, slowly, he stepped aside. Gave me room to pass. But he didn’t sit. Not yet. He stayed standing between me and those men, those silver eyes tracking me as I walked toward the locked gate.
I should have kept my gaze forward.
Instead, I looked back.
He was still watching. Still standing. And when our eyes met, he gave me the smallest nod. Barely a movement at all, but it seemed to say, I’ve got you.
That’s what it felt like. Which was ridiculous. Impossible. But there it was.
I swiped my badge and stepped through the gate, the lock clicking shut behind me with a sound that should have felt like safety.
It didn’t.
Because Knox Blackwood was here for medical treatment of some kind, and chances were, I’d be the one treating him.
Which meant, in a few minutes, I’d be alone-ish with him again.
And I wasn’t sure if that thought terrified me or made me breathe easier for the first time since I’d walked into this place.