Chapter 9 Knox
KNOX
Two days.
Two days since I’d seen her, and I was kind of losing my damn mind.
“You’re pacing again.” Ronan’s voice hit me from across the cell.
“I don’t pace.”
“You’re literally wearing a track in the concrete.”
I dropped onto my bunk, the metal frame groaning under my weight.
Ronan leaned against the wall, arms crossed, studying me with that look he got when he was trying to figure something out. “This is about her, isn’t it? The nurse?”
“Don’t want to talk about it.” I pressed my tongue against my molars. Hard.
Ronan held up his hands in surrender. Truth was, I’d gotten lucky with him as a cellmate. Decent guy. Talked too much, but knew when to shut up. One of the few who could prod me with questions without ending up in the infirmary himself.
Just like Nurse Harper had tried to do.
Christ. Harper.
She’d wanted to know why the fight with Doyle happened. Not something I’d ever share with her. Not only because admitting the reason would basically be a confession of guilt, but also because I sensed it would terrify the hell out of her.
It was obvious that something bad had happened to her.
Didn’t need to see any physical scars to know that.
It was in her body language, the way she flinched at sudden movements while simultaneously trying to appear strong.
The way her fingers found the base of her throat when she got nervous, like she was protecting something.
Harper had been through hell. And a woman who’d survived the kind of violence I suspected she’d endured probably wouldn’t draw a line between justified and unjustified.
She’d hear what I’d done to end up in here, and that would be it.
Even if she learned it was for my daughter, it would still be too much.
“Your knuckles look better.” Ronan nodded toward my hands.
I flexed my fingers, frowning at the healing skin. “Yeah.”
I’d hoped Harper would need to see me daily for bandage changes. Clean the wounds, check for infection, all that medical protocol bullshit that would guarantee me time with her.
But no. And with the exceptional job she’d done, I had no excuse to see her now. Maybe ever …
I’d spent the last two days feeling uneasy. Watching the clock. Wondering if she was safe. If those pricks from the hallway had tried anything else. If she’d thought about me at all or if I was just another inmate she’d patched up and forgotten.
Ronan’s voice cut through my spiral. “Also, Ken says Bulldog’s planning revenge for what you did to Doyle.”
“You’re taking intel from a guy named after a Barbie doll now?”
“Just warning you. After what you did to his boy, you’ve got a target on your back.”
I stretched my neck, that familiar pre-violence tension coiling in my muscles. “What else is new?”
Ronan shook his head. “This is different. You really pissed him off.”
“You know why I did it.”
“Does she?”
I cracked my neck, buying myself a second I didn’t need. “Let’s just get some sleep.”
Sleep didn’t come that night. I lay there, staring at the concrete ceiling, and all I could think about was her.
I tried to figure out why and when exactly my brain had short-circuited.
Maybe it started with her looks. That dark hair falling like ink around alabaster skin.
The kind of skin that didn’t belong in a place like this, under these fluorescent lights that made everyone else look half-dead.
Not her. She practically glowed. And those green eyes.
Christ, those eyes. The color of grass on a sunny day.
Light. Optimistic. The kind that looked up at the sky and saw joy instead of concrete and razor wire.
She was beautiful. Objectively, undeniably beautiful.
I smirked in the dark.
But it wasn’t just that. Beautiful women existed. I’d seen plenty before my time in prison, and none of them had burrowed under my skin like this.
It was her personality.
The way she’d squared her shoulders when I’d gotten too close, even though I’d seen the fear flicker in her eyes. The way she’d expertly cleaned and sutured my knuckles. Twice. Professional. Good at her job. She hadn’t treated me like an animal either, like some of the other staff and COs had done.
The last three nurses at this place had been useless. One quit after a week. One cried every time an inmate raised his voice. The third was incompetent as hell.
Harper? Harper moved with precision and efficiency. Confidence born from competence.
A nurse that good could work anywhere. Cushy private practice. Some fancy hospital where the patients brought flowers instead of rap sheets. Instead, she was here. In this concrete hellhole, patching up men who’d sooner spit on her than thank her.
Why?
That question gnawed at me almost as much as the memory of when those inmates had cornered her. When I’d seen the fear flash across her face before she’d tried to hide it.
Everything in me had gone cold. Then hot. Then something beyond both.
NOT HER.
That was the only thought. The only thing that existed in that moment.
Not her. I will not stand by and watch them do something to her.
I rubbed a hand over my face, trying to calm the anger still simmering in my chest.
What the hell was wrong with me? I barely knew her. She was my nurse. That was supposed to be it.
But she had been so kind to me. Even after what she’d seen I was capable of, knew what I’d done to Doyle. And, based on that scar on her face, someone had been very unkind to her.
My tongue grazed along the edges of my teeth.
Was she still in danger?
Here, in this place? Yes. Absolutely yes. Men in here were unpredictable. Desperate. Some of them hadn’t seen a woman up close in years.
How long before one of them tried something?
The COs were useless. Half of them were corrupt. The other half were lazy. What if they couldn’t get to her in time? What if something happened during a shift change, or a lockdown, or any of the hundred moments when the system failed?
Would I even know if she was hurt?
Probably not. I’d just show up for medical one day, and there’d be some other nurse. Some stranger. And I’d never know what happened to the woman with the dark hair and green eyes.
Could I keep her safe? The question was laughable. I was an inmate. A convicted murderer. It was a full-time job to keep myself safe, constantly watching my back.
But the alternative. Doing nothing. Hoping for the best.
That wasn’t something I could live with.
The way she’d looked at me when I’d defended her in that hallway. Not with fear, but with something worse.
Curiosity. Dare I say, gratitude? When was the last time someone looked at me like an asset rather than a liability?
Harper had infected my thoughts like a fever, and I didn’t want the cure.
By morning, I’d made my decision.
Actually, that was bullshit. I’d made it sometime in the middle of the night, staring at the ceiling and counting the hours until I might see her again. My brain just needed a few hours to catch up to what my body already knew.
I couldn’t risk not seeing her again. Sure, a couple of days ago, I’d put in that request to work in the infirmary, but I hadn’t heard back, and even though one of the COs who liked me said he’d put in a good word for me, I wasn’t taking any chances.
After breakfast, after the mandatory count, after pretending to give a damn about anything besides the ticking clock in my head, counting down seventy-two hours since I’d last seen her, I pulled Ronan back into our cell.
“Dude, you okay?” He studied me like I was a math problem he couldn’t solve. “You’ve been weird all morning. Weirder than usual, and that’s saying something.”
“I’m great.” I rolled my shoulders once. “Need you to do me a favor.”
“Yeah? What’s that?”
I tilted my chin up, meeting his eyes straight on. No point in dancing around it.
“Need you to punch me. Hard as you can. Right in the face.”
Ronan blinked. Once. Twice. “The fuck?”
“You heard me.”
“Knox, man, I’m not gonna—”
“Fine.” I turned toward the cell door. “I’ll ask Bulldog. I’m sure he’d love the free shot.”
“Wait!” Ronan grabbed my arm, then immediately let go when I looked down at his hand. Smart man. “Why? Why would you want … Jesus, Knox. This is about her, isn’t it? The nurse?”
I went perfectly still. That dangerous kind of still that made other inmates step back.
“Just do it.”
“This is insane. You’re insane.”
Maybe. Probably. Definitely.
But soon, the COs would do their rounds. And if my face happened to need medical attention, well …
Protocol was protocol.
“Ronan.” My voice dropped to that register that meant business. “I’m asking nicely. Once.”
He swallowed hard, shifted his weight. “This is the stupidest thing you’ve ever asked me to do.”
“No.” I positioned myself, hands loose at my sides. “The stupidest thing would be making me ask twice.”
Ronan’s fist connected with my jaw a second later.
Pain exploded across my face, copper flooding my mouth. Perfect.
“Happy now?” Ronan shook out his hand, wincing.
I touched my split lip, blood coating my fingers. Felt the swelling already starting.
“Yeah.” I spit blood into the toilet, already calculating how long until the guards noticed. Until someone called medical. Until I saw her again. “Real happy.”