Precarious Page 4

  He swallows and takes a few steps back before turning and walking to his bed. “Good afternoon, Ash.”

  His tone tells me we’re done.

  But my heart says otherwise.

  ~*~*~*~

  I hear the uproar before I see any movement. I stand from the desk in the office, where I’m doing paperwork, and poke my head out of to see the guards dragging a struggling Beau down the hall. His face is dripping with blood, his eyes are swollen, and his fists are raw. My mouth drops open as they pass me.

  I stand and rush out, running into Tristan.

  “Out of the way, Ash.”

  “What happened?” I ask, pointing to Beau.

  “He got into a fight. We’re taking him to get cleaned up. If you can come and help out, that would be appreciated, because I’m putting in to get him moved. He’s causing too many problems.”

  Too many problems? He’s been rather quiet, to be honest. The only problem he caused was because Tristan apparently went in and flogged him. I don’t have time to think about it. I hurry down the hall after the guards. We arrive in the medical office, and I step back as they chain Beau to the table, forcing him to sit.

  “Where’s the nurse?” a guard barks.

  Tristan turns to me. “Have you seen Kaitlyn?”

  I nod. “She was at lunch, last time I heard. Did you want me to clean him up while we wait?”

  Tristan stares at me, then grunts, “Yeah, I need to attend to the other prisoner. Larry, Tuck, you two need to stay in here with her.”

  The other two guards nod, and Tristan pats my shoulder before disappearing out the door. I can still hear the commotion outside as I walk forward, gathering everything I’ll need. I feel Beau’s eyes on me as I move.

  I place a tray of items far enough away from him so that he can’t reach, and then I fill a bowl full of saltwater and dip in a washcloth, turning to him. He’s messed up in a big way; his face is battered and bruised, and there’s both dried and fresh blood coating his cheeks and his lips. His left eye is swollen, but still slightly opened. With a swallow, I step forward so I’m in front of him.

  He’s got his eyes trained on my face as I take another shaky step. My heart hammers as I lift the warm cloth to his eyes, gently placing it against his skin and wiping the grime away. I’m finding it difficult to breathe, my skin is prickling, and the thought of his eyes on me is giving me a flood of emotions I’ve never felt before.

  It’s unnerving.

  I’m fully aware he’s studying me. I try to concentrate on removing the dried blood, but it’s getting more and more difficult the longer his eyes stay locked on my face. His expression is so hard, yet there’s a depth to it that’s showing me more than he’s shown me in the last two weeks.

  I reach down, taking his cuffed hands. I soak the washcloth, and then place it against his split knuckles. Whoever he beat, he did a good job of them, of that I’m sure. I notice as the blood is cleaned off his skin, that he’s got tattoos across his fingers that read, Lace.

  “That’s a different tattoo,” I dare to say, as I continue cleaning.

  “It ain’t none of your business,” he mutters.

  Of course it isn’t.

  I drop his hand and take the bowl, emptying it before refreshing the water. Then I take his other hand, cleaning it, too. I see he also has tattoos on these fingers, this hand saying Krypt. Interesting. I drop his hands and continue on with his face, focusing on the deep gash under his eye.

  He flinches when I run the cloth over it, and I feel a puff of his warm breath hit my cheek. I realize I’m too close and go to step back, but he moves like lightning. His bound hands reach out and take one of mine, tugging me closer. His fingers are calloused and hard against my smooth flesh. I gasp and my eyes are wide as he brings me so close we’re nearly nose-to-nose.

  He says nothing; he doesn’t need to. His eyes are on mine, his expression telling me everything he can’t. It screams don’t mess with me, as well as something else, something deeper—no doubt something about the guards that he wants me to know—and part of me wishes he could tell me. The guards jump into action quickly, jerking me backwards and securing him. His eyes don’t leave mine, even as they recuff his hands, this time behind his back.

  “Don’t move again,” Larry barks.

  With a swallow and trembling hands, I step back and continue cleaning his face. I decide while he’s here, and he can’t escape, I might as well ask some more questions. “Do you want to tell me why you got into a fight?”

  He glares at me, but I continue. “Did he say something about your family?”

  A flinch.

  “About . . . your sister?”

  He bares his teeth at me in a snarl that has me taking a step back. His look is murderous, and it stuns me for a moment. I catch my breath and take the step forward so I’m close and only he can hear me. “I get it. I understand how it feels to be angry at the world, to want revenge. You might think I’m here to make your life harder, but I’m not. I understand what you said—I’m taking notice. I hope you know that I’d never let anyone hurt you if I had a choice.”

  Our eyes lock, and we don’t move until the door swings open and Tristan enters with Kaitlyn following closely behind. I drop the washcloth, giving Beau a determined stare before turning. “I got most of the blood, Kait,” I say, smiling at the young, redheaded nurse.

  “Thanks Ash.” She smiles back, taking over.

  I walk over to Tristan when he beckons me, and lean in close.

  “He say what happened?” he asks.

  “No.”

  “He nearly killed the other inmate. Neither of them will talk so a decision has been made that he needs to be transferred to a higher-security prison. We don’t have the facilities here to deal with this kind of violence. It won’t be the first fight he’ll get into.”

  I turn and look at Beau, whose eyes are still on me. I don’t see this as being something he’s gotten himself into, and it worries me. He really has no reason to be transferred, but there’s nothing I can do to stop it. My argument is pointless in this situation.

  “If you’ve got the morning free tomorrow, it would be good if you could accompany us. Two guards are off sick and we need extra hands. I know you don’t usually do transfers, but in this case we don’t really have a choice.”

  “I’m happy to,” I say, giving him a forced smile.

  At least I can get a feel of what’s going to go down if I go.

  He pats my shoulder. “Thanks, Ash.”

  I nod then glance back to Beau. He’s watching me still, his eyes narrowed.

  Why has this prisoner gotten to me in such a way?

  Maybe it’s because I truly don’t believe he’s a bad person.

  CHAPTER SIX

  It’s a cold morning when I head out the next day. I pull on a coat, dragging the ties around my waist to hold it secure. I say goodbye to Claire and Leo, telling them my plans. They’re too busy arguing over breakfast to hear me. With a wave of my hand, I leave.

  The drive over to work is long; that would probably be because I’m spending my time pondering Beau and the issues going on around me. I’ve lain awake all night wondering why they’re transferring him. It has to be orchestrated; I’ve seen prisoners do far worse and never get moved. Someone is behind this, and it scares me to think of why they’d be going to such an effort.

  I arrive just as they’re preparing the transfer vehicle. It’s a large truck, with a fully secured back. In the back with Beau there will be two guards. He will also be fully shackled to the ground and walls of the truck, making sure he can’t move. I’ll be in the front with two other guards.

  “Are you ready?” Tristan asks as I approach.

  I nod, wrapping my coat around me even tighter. “Sure.”

  “I’m not coming, I have a meeting, but you’re with some good guards.”

  He’s not coming? That’s strange. He always comes to these things.

  “You’re not coming?” />
  He shrugs, but I don’t miss his eyes darting away for just a second. “It’s a meeting I can’t change, sorry.”

  “Okay,” I mutter.

  He pats my shoulder. “Let the security guys go over you, then jump into the truck. They’re loading Dawson now.”

  I give him a fake smile as I head towards security. They make sure I’m not packing any weapons to attempt a prison break, and then I walk over and climb into the truck. Larry is already in the driver’s side.

  “Morning,” he grunts, nodding at me.

  “Hi,” I say, feeling awkward. I cross my arms and tuck my knees up, waiting.

  They load Beau about fifteen minutes later. Guards bark orders at one another, and then Peter jumps into the truck, staring over at me. He gives me a jerk of his head and then looks over to Larry. It’s awkward being stuck in between them. “We’re good to go.”

  Then we’re off. Larry drives the truck out of the prison, taking us towards the highway. The high-security prison is about an hour and a half away, in the neighboring city. It’s not that it’s better than the prison I work at; it’s just that they tend to be better equipped to deal with the more aggressive prisoners. Not that Beau is an aggressive prisoner.

  I pull out a book when we hit the highway, and busy myself reading while Larry and Peter talk casually between them. The ride is smooth and easy, at least until the deep rumble of bikes comes sailing through the window. Larry turns and stares out his rearview mirror.

  “That the motorcycle gang?”

  I shudder. It’s a club, for a start. Not a gang. And if it is, we’re in big, big trouble.

  The other thing that bothers me, is that he doesn’t seem scared about it.

  “What’s going on?” I ask.

  They ignore me as Larry continues to stare out the rearview mirror.

  “They’re early.”

  What?

  My heart picks up and I turn to find Peter with a gun pointed at me. I reel backwards, confused.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Shit, Peter,” Larry barks. “It ain’t them. It’s the boy’s fuckin’ gang.”

  The boy’s? Beau’s? What’s happening?

  “What do you fuckin’ mean it’s the boys? How the fuck did they find out? It ain’t meant to be them. Speed up, get off this road before they have the chance to get hold of us.”

  “What is going on?” I screech.

  “Shut the fuck up,” Peter barks, shoving the gun out the window and taking a shot.

  I open my mouth to scream, but it’s cut short when a bike lines up next to the truck. The biker, whose face is covered with a mask, raises his gun and shoots the tire, causing the truck to swerve off the road. Peter yells something, but I can’t hear what it is over my scream as the truck skids further off the gravel. We’re on a quiet stretch of road; there’s no one else around. This is bad, very bad.

  We’re also on an embankment, and I know the exact moment the truck hits the edge, because it tips. My body is sent forward in a rush as it flips down the hill. I scream, but it’s no use. Metal crushes around me, pinning me to the chair as the truck continues its descent towards the bottom.

  When we hit, my head is jerked forward, and it hits the dashboard with a thud. By the time we stop moving, I’m barely conscious. My head is pounding, my body feels like everything is broken, and my mouth is filling with blood. I’m trembling all over, and I can’t see.

  I reach out, trying to feel something.

  It’s silent.

  “Help?” I croak—both men are silent.

  No one answers. I try to blink, but it hurts.

  I hear the faint sound of voices yelling, and then two gunshots. They go off at the exact same time. I want to scream, fear coursing through my veins.

  A loud, crashing sound echoes through the air, and the voices near closer. A door is jerked open and the voices sound as though they’re in the cab with us.

  “Dead,” I hear someone say.

  I want to scream, but I can’t open my mouth. I can’t even move. Fear is holding me still. A gunshot rings out in the cab and my scream finally breaks free, although it’s hoarse and crackly.

  “Now they’re both dead.”

  Both dead? Both dead? Oh my God.

  I open my mouth and make another gurgling sound.

  “The girl is alive.”

  Oh God.

  “Take her,” a gruff voice says. Beau?

  “That ain’t a good decision, Krypt.”

  Who is Krypt? Confusion fills me. My body trembles and I make a whiny, broken sound as I try to cry out.

  “Take. Her. She’s innocent in this.”

  “Get her out.” A growl from another male.

  Hands curl around my arms, and things get shifted and shoved out of the way. I hear grunting and muttering as I’m pulled from the wreck. Pain shoots through my body, and I cry out as I’m jerked into someone’s arms. I can feel every thump as he strides towards wherever it is they’re taking me.

  “Throw her in the SUV,” someone orders. “We need to get the fuck outta here before anyone witnesses this.”

  Witnesses?

  My head spins as I’m placed onto a cold, leather seat. Somebody reaches in, pressing a cool cloth to my eyes, wiping them. Pain shoots through my head and I find myself crying out, louder and more shrill this time.

  “This is a bad fuckin’ idea.”

  A low growl. “Just fuckin’ trust me.”

  The door is slammed closed, and the car lurches forward. Panic seizes me, and I want so desperately to push myself up in a poor attempt to escape, but there’s no hope. I can’t move my body to even try to help myself. I’m in shock; I’m sure of it. Either that or I’ve got a serious back injury.

  I blink my eyes a few times, attempting to open them again. This time I get a blurry picture. I can see the back of a seat and just over, a leather jacket that is wrapped around a very large man. He turns and looks over to me, and a strangled gasp leaves my throat. Beau? I shake my head from side to side, panic rising.

  “Ash,” he says, his voice low and husky. “Not how you expected this to go? Should have listened to me. Oh, by the way . . . I’m Krypt.”

  That’s when I pass out.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  I wake to the sounds of low, murmured voices. I’m in the back of what I’m going to guess is a van. White panels of metal that lead to a roof are all I can see. There are no windows and it’s stuffy. I’m bouncing just slightly, as if we’re going over a dirt road. I move my hands to wipe my eyes, only to find them cuffed.

  This can’t be good.

  I blink rapidly, trying to clear my vision so I can get a better picture. I turn my head to the left, crying in pain as a sharp stabbing sensation radiates through my skull and travels down my neck. My entire body is stiff, and I can feel dried blood on my face so thick it makes moving my mouth slightly painful.

  There’s not a lot to see in here, just an empty space. I stare over at the back doors and see some chains. They’re loose. I shift my body over to them, taking them in my bound hands. These could do damage, if I wanted them to. It’s worth a damned try. If I have to stay here, bound and sick, I’ll probably die. I’ve been taught some great lessons in fighting; I have a chance, even if it is only slight.

  I pull the chains closer as the van continues to bounce. Then we come to a screeching halt, sending me rolling towards the back with a shout. Jesus. Ever heard of breaking slowly? The front door slams and I shove to my hands and knees, clutching the chains. I’ll have to make this hurt for it to be successful. I have no idea what I’m going to face when these doors are opened, but I can’t go down without a fight.

  I just hope they don’t kill me.

  The door rattles and I brace myself, moving as close as I can get. I tighten my hands around the chains, holding them out, ready to lunge. The back door swings open and I don’t think: as soon as I see the flash of a leather jacket, I leap out. My body screams in pain, agony r
ipping through me.

  I land on a tall, solid man. I hook my arms and the chains around his neck, pulling back tightly. I’m half on his side, half on his back. “Motherfucker,” he curses, reaching up with thickly ringed fingers and taking hold of the chain. It’s at that angle I see the tattoos on his knuckles and realize it’s Beau.

  “You can’t take me against my will,” I growl, tugging back tighter. “I won’t go down without a fight, you son-of-a-bitch!”

  “Fuck, Rhyder, get this fuckin’ woman off me.”

  I tug as hard as I can, causing a bellow to leave his mouth. He throws his head back, jerking his body, trying to flick me off. A large arm goes around my waist, pulling me backwards as Beau shoves the chains off his neck, and I’m thrown to the ground with a thump. I cry out, pain ripping through my body. It takes me a moment to roll, and I’m so angry when I do. How dare he? How fucking dare he steal me and think he’s just going to get away with it?

  “And to think I—”

  I roll all the way over, ready to abuse Beau, but stop abruptly when I see around about twenty bikers staring down at me with angry expressions on their faces.

  “Oh boy,” I breathe.

  “Yeah,” Beau growls, leaning down and hurling me up. “Oh fuckin’ boy all right.”

  He shoves me towards a large cabin and a huge shed that is behind the group of bikers. They part as I step through, some of them baring their teeth at me in not-so-nice gestures. I put my head down. That was a failure on my behalf, it would seem. Beau . . . or Krypt as he calls himself, keeps shoving me, forcing my aching feet to move.

  Before we reach the door, a large biker steps in front of us. I stop dead and stare up at him, my mouth dropping open. He’s huge. Like, mega. He’s at least six-foot two, with shoulders bigger and thicker than any shoulders I’ve ever seen on a man. He’s got the lightest blue eyes and thick, dark hair that is long and sitting just below his shoulders. I don’t even dare try to count the tattoos winding up his arms.

  “You better be sure this girl ain’t gonna get us into trouble, Krypt. We don’t need any more shit,” he barks.

  Krypt steps forward just as the other biker swings on his jacket, pulling it firmly over his massive shoulders. I see numerous patches on the leather, including one that states he’s the “President”. So he basically runs the club? I have read enough about bikers to figure that much out.