Chapter 8 Harper
HARPER
“Why’d you do it?”
“Do what?” Knox asked, his silver-blue eyes tracking my every movement as I washed my hands and put on medical gloves.
“Intervene.”
Silence stretched between us, thick as the antiseptic smell that clung to everything in this infirmary. He just looked at me, those husky eyes seeing too much.
“You could’ve just sat there.” I inspected the source of his visit today: his knuckles. Which were bleeding through the gauze. “But you stuck up for me. Why?”
“Would you prefer I didn’t?”
I unwound the gauze completely and examined my work from yesterday. “This looks like the stitch was …” I eyed it closer, furrowing my brows. “Torn cleanly. Or cut?”
“Weird,” he said. Super suspiciously.
I eyed him and sighed. “Do you ever answer a question straight?”
His lips ghosted up on one side. Just the hint of a smirk, but enough to make my stomach do something strange.
Probably just from skipping breakfast. Yeah, that’s it.
I dabbed antiseptic on the wound, not entirely surprised when he didn’t even wince.
“You shouldn’t go to the supply closet alone.” His voice dropped. “Not without a CO present.”
“I didn’t have much choice. The officer abandoned his post, remember?”
“You shouldn’t have been the one going in the first place.”
“Well, Mercer told me that Doyle usually handled supply runs. That was part of his job as the orderly.” I shrugged. “Until Dr. Mercer finds a replacement, supply runs fall to me.”
Something flickered across his face. There and gone before I could name it.
“They should fill that position,” he said. “Soon.”
“I’m sure the warden will get around to it eventually. From what I hear, this place isn’t exactly known for its efficiency.”
Knox’s shoulders tightened like he was filing that information away, but after a few seconds, he returned his focus to our original conversation.
“Don’t let them smell your fear.”
“I’m not afraid.”
His smirk deepened. “Okay.”
The way he said it, like he knew I was lying but wasn’t going to call me out on it, almost made me smile.
“There are a lot of ways to earn a living.” He raised an eyebrow, the implication clear. “Plenty of hospitals hiring nurses. Clinics. Doctor’s offices with free coffee and patients who don’t shank each other over commissary snacks.”
I snorted. “You’re giving me career advice?”
“Just an observation.”
“And what, exactly, are you observing?”
He was quiet for a moment. Studying me the way I imagined he studied everyone in here. Threat assessment. Survival instinct. But there was something else in it too. Something that felt less like calculation and more like … concern.
“You flinch,” he said finally.
My hand stilled. “Excuse me?”
“With loud noises. You flinch.” He said it like he was commenting on the weather. Matter-of-fact. No judgment. “And you grip things too tight when you’re nervous. Like the tray earlier.”
“Most people don’t notice things like that,” I said carefully.
“Most people aren’t paying attention.” His gaze flicked to my cheekbone. Just for a second. But long enough. “That scar’s fresh. Whoever gave it to you was right-handed.”
My breath caught.
“So, I’ll ask again.” His voice stayed gentle. Almost soft. Which somehow made it worse. “Why come looking for more monsters when someone already taught you what they look like?”
I swallowed hard, focusing on his knuckles instead of his words. “This job pays well. Benefits are good. And I’m tougher than I look.”
“Never said you weren’t tough.”
Something warm flickered in my chest. I cleared my throat and stepped back, putting professional distance between us.
Focus, Harper.
“If you did it to try to get in my good graces, it’s too late,” I claimed, wishing I meant it as much as I should have.
I resumed re-stitching and cleaning his wounds, his hand dwarfing mine.
“I already filled out all my medical documentation yesterday. And Mercer did for Doyle too. Anyone reading it with half a brain will figure out you were the aggressor.”
“Do you think I intervened today so you would modify your report?”
I paused. “From what I understand, the other nurses were less … thorough in their notes.” I’d checked actually.
The nurses’ reports were bare-bones at best. Understaffed, overworked, or maybe just smart enough to know that detailed reports on Knox Blackwood might not be career-enhancing.
“From what I understand, you’ve gotten away with a lot of shit in this prison. ”
“Sounds like you understand a lot of things.”
“I also understand you don’t talk to people.” I kept my eyes on his knuckles, working methodically. “Dr. Mercer said in all her time here, you haven’t spoken a word to medical staff.”
Knox said nothing.
“So, why talk to me?” I finally looked up. “Why answer my questions on my first day when you’ve spent years giving everyone else the silent treatment?”
He didn’t answer immediately. Just watched me with that unnerving intensity, like he was deciding how much truth I could handle.
“It was your first day,” he finally said. “You seemed afraid. Thought talking to you might make you less afraid.”
He’d done it to put me at ease?
Something shifted in my chest. Something I absolutely refused to examine.
“And now?” I heard myself ask. “You’re still talking to me.”
“Guess I didn’t hate it.”
I leveled him with my best bullshit-detector glare.
Knox rolled his eyes. Actually rolled his eyes, like I was being ridiculous. “Fine. You still seem afraid. I’m still trying to make you less afraid. Happy?”
No. Not happy. Because that answer made all my preconceived notions about this guy shatter, and I refused to let that happen.
I cleared my throat again and focused on tying off his suture.
“People are afraid of you.” Another dab. “I’m sure some of that is your size, but some of that is probably what you did yesterday. Which brings me to my next question. What did Doyle do? To make you beat him up?”
Knox pressed his tongue against his molars. “That’s not a conversation we’re having.”
Well, that’s interesting. “Why not?”
“Because you won’t like the answer.”
What the hell?
This time, when Knox looked at me, he unleashed the full weight of his stare.
It was overwhelming. Intense in a way that should have scared me, but didn’t.
Unlike those other inmates with their leering grins and hungry eyes, Knox looked at me like I was a person.
A person worth breaking his no-talking-to-staff policy.
“Why wouldn’t I like the answer?”
Knox’s expression shuttered. “Drop it.”
“Knox.”
“I said, drop it.” His voice was harder now. Final. And I realized it was the first time he’d been even a hint of curt with me.
“Fine. Keep your secrets.”
We fell into silence, but as I resumed stitching his wound, Knox began to relax. And, after a couple of minutes, he filled the silence again, this time with his usual gentle tone.
“It made you uncomfortable today that I stuck up for you,” he said.
“I never said that.”
“You didn’t have to.” He leaned back slightly, his gaze never leaving mine. “I can see it in your body language. You try to hide your fear by jutting your chin up and straightening your shoulders, but I saw you grip that tray so tight, your knuckles turned white.”
Okay, that’s … unsettling. And maybe a tiny bit impressive. Not that I’d ever admit it.
“Maybe I was thinking of taking that tray and smashing it over the guy’s head.”
Knox’s smirk deepened. “Now that would’ve been interesting to see. But for a minute there, you were afraid. That’s why I stepped in.” His voice dropped lower, rougher, as he finally answered my original question. “I didn’t want you to feel afraid.”
Well, shit. There he went again, saying things that made my stomach clench ten percent less.
“But right after I stepped in,” he continued, “I saw the way you nibbled on your lower lip, processing it. Could see you wrestling with your feelings. The way you shifted from one foot to the next. You appreciated me intervening, but you hated it too. Because you wanted to be able to stand up to those guys all by yourself.”
He’d seen all that? In the chaos of the moment, while facing down two other inmates, he’d been watching me that closely?
My heart did something stupid in my chest.
“I’m guessing that’s because the last person you tried to stand up to left you that scar.” Knox nodded toward my cheekbone, his voice gentler than I’d heard it before.
I swallowed hard. He wasn’t kidding; he really was good at reading people. Fourteen years of practice, honing his craft with nothing else to do but observe and survive.
Not that I would confirm or deny anything he’d said. That would be inappropriate. Just like the tiny flicker of … something I’d just felt. Not affection. Definitely not affection. Just appreciation. Professional appreciation for a patient who’d protected his nurse.
Right. Keep telling yourself that, Harper.
And yet something in me had shifted. I couldn’t name it. Didn’t want to. But the way my pulse steadied when he spoke, the way my shoulders had dropped without me noticing … my body was responding to him in ways my brain hadn’t approved.
“Won’t you get in trouble with the other inmates?” I asked suddenly. “For helping a prison employee? Aren’t there rules in here? Some kind of inmate code?”
Knox’s lips twitched. “You worried about me, Princess?”
Princess. I should have been appalled by a prisoner giving me a nickname. You hear that, you stupid stomach butterflies?
“I don’t want …” I stopped myself. What was I going to say? I don’t want you to get hurt? I don’t want your parole denied? I barely knew this man.
“You don’t want what?” Knox asked, his voice soft now. Curious.
“Nothing. Forget it.”
But he was looking at me like he knew exactly what I’d been about to say. Like he could read every thought scrolling across my face.
“Well”—I snapped off my gloves, needing something to do with my hands—“you’ll live. Try not to rip the stitches again. That skin’s been through enough trauma, and I’d rather not explain to Dr. Mercer why my patient keeps showing up, looking like he lost a fight with a cheese grater.”
“Thought I won the fight.”
“You won the fight. Your knuckles did not.” I tossed the gloves in the trash. “The skin around the metacarpals is thin. Delicate. Keep tearing it open, and you’re looking at infection, maybe permanent nerve damage. So, unless you want to spend the rest of your sentence unable to make a fist …”
“I’ll be careful.”
“You’ll be careful,” I repeated flatly. “Says the man who apparently tore his own stitches to get back into my infirmary.”
Knox’s expression didn’t change, but something shifted in his eyes. “Never said that.”
“You didn’t deny it either.”
He was quiet for a moment. Then, softer: “You pay attention.”
“Someone has to.” I crossed my arms. “Since you’re clearly not going to take care of yourself.”
Something flickered across his face. There and gone. But it looked almost like he wanted to say something else. Something that had nothing to do with stitches or wounds or medical advice.
Instead, Knox stood. Six foot four of tattooed muscle, yet he angled his body slightly away and kept his shoulders relaxed, making himself less threatening without making it obvious. How did the most dangerous man in here know exactly how not to scare me?
He started toward the door, then paused. Looked back at me over his shoulder. “Harper.” The sound of my name in his voice did something to me. Something warm and unwelcome. “Stay away from Doyle.”
I blinked. “He’s in solitary. And after what you did to him, I doubt he’ll be working as an orderly again anytime soon.”
Knox didn’t look reassured. “Doyle’s dangerous.”
“So are you.” Okay, I was totally aiming for sarcastic, but my eyes flew wide when I realized how wrong it had come out.
Before I could apologize, Knox offered me a gentle smile, his voice softening. “Some monsters are made, not born. Doesn’t make them less dangerous. But it might make them worth understanding.”
He held my gaze, and I realized he wasn’t talking about Doyle anymore.
He was asking me, in his own guarded way, to see the difference.
Before I could respond, he turned and walked out.
I stood there, medical supplies forgotten, his words echoing in the sterile silence.
“It might make them worth understanding.” Like understanding why Knox had stepped between me and those two inmates earlier. Why he’d made himself a potential target just to keep them away from me.
And why, just now, he’d taken the time to warn me about Doyle.
Not the actions of a monster.
The most dangerous man in this prison had appointed himself my protector.
And I had absolutely no idea what to do about it.