Beau is saying nothing. His club is saying nothing. Beau rarely speaks at all, and if he does it’s to spit curses. Mandy said she couldn’t get a word out of him, that he won’t give her anything. He’s protecting himself; I get that. But I also think it has a lot to do with protecting his club.
I don’t know how, but it would make sense for him to keep quiet if they were trying to do something to change his sentence. After all, if he speaks, it could ruin anything they come up with. So, I continue on each day doing my rounds. Beau gives me the same, angry expression every time I stop at his cell.
I keep stopping there, though. Because, for some reason, I truly believe he likes it.
“The guards told me you don’t sleep a lot?” I say leaning against his cell door, “You bein’ picked on, Beau?”
He glares at me, and surprises me by muttering, “Do you ever go a-fucking-way?”
“That’s not a word,” I point out. “And no, it’s my job.”
“So I hear, Wildcard,” he sneers.
“It appears you have a problem with me, Beau.” I smile sweetly.
He smirks, his eyes growing even colder. “I have a problem with the fuckin’ law.”
“Well, that’s apparent.”
He shakes his head and turns away. “Maximus fuckin’ makes a lot of noise at night. Go and sort that shit out.”
“I’ll talk to him.”
“Do more than that, eh?” he grunts.
“Are you always so mean?”
He narrows his eyes and crosses his big arms. “Are you supposed to talk to me like that? Pretty sure you ain’t.”
I cross my arms, too. “I’m not disrespecting you, am I?”
He studies me. “What’s a girl like you workin’ in a place like this for, anyway?”
I tilt my head to the side. “I like it. It gives me something different to an everyday office job.”
“I hear you’re feisty,” he murmurs, letting his gaze travel down my body. “I like them like that.”
I shiver. Oh boy. I straighten and uncross my arms. “Good for you. I like mine outside of a cell.”
With that, I walk away.
Concentrate. Focus. Remain professional.
I’m not meant to be here. My shift is over, and it’s just past midnight. I’m running late, because I got caught up talking to Mandy about Beau. It seems to be a good thing, though, because if I wasn’t here I would have missed the commotion that starts as I’m leaving. It begins with a faint noise, and it grows louder and louder as I near.
I step around the corner and into Ward D. I see Luke, Tristan and another guard named Peter in Beau’s cell. They are holding him down, and Tristan lifts his hand and drives his fist into Beau’s face. I yell out, not even thinking, and he spins around quickly, panting with rage.
“What are you doing, Tristan?” I cry.
He’s not allowed to hit prisoners unless there’s absolutely no way around it and he’s lying on the floor about to die from an attack – even then, we learned how to defend ourselves properly in our training. There’s no need for this.
“He attacked me when I came in here. I had no choice,” Tristan barks.
“You need to step out and call it in,” I demand. “I’ll wait with him. You know the rules. Get out, Tristan.”
Tristan turns, and Beau glares up at him. He has blood running down his mouth, so much so that it makes me wonder if he’s been hit more than once. Tristan cuffs his hands behind his back and steps back, nodding at the other two guards. They both stare at me, and then exit the cell. Tristan pulls out his radio and calls it in as he passes me.
When they’re gone, I step inside and stare over at Beau. He glares at me, his face a mess. I pull off my jacket and walk over, sitting beside him on the bed, and pressing the cotton material to his face. He growls but he doesn’t make any move to attack me, which seems strange, considering they accused him of attacking them.
“Do you want to stay in here?” I mutter, staring at the split in his lip.
“Why are you fuckin’ here?”
“Because you’re beating my guards.”
“Wrong,” he growls. “They were beating me.”
“Because you attacked them.”
He leans in close, causing me to flinch, but I don’t move back. He’s trying to get into my space, trying to intimidate me. It won’t work.
“Tough little thing, aren’t ya?”
I shrug. “Just doing my job.”
“Let me tell you a little somethin’ about your job,” he murmurs. “You got a whole lot of fuckin’ criminals around you.”
“No shit,” I snort. “Last time I checked that’s what’s usually in a prison.”
He narrows his eyes into a full-throttle glare. “Not what I meant. It ain’t the criminals inside the cells you should be watchin’.”
“What are you talking about?” I say, even though I’ve already had the same thoughts cross my mind. “You’re hardly in a place to be making accusations.”
He raises his brows. “That so? If anything, I think I am in the perfect position to be making them.”
“How do you figure?”
He smirks. “Because I’m a criminal myself, remember?”
Asshole.
I say nothing; I just cross my arms.
“I’m guessing I have about five minutes before they come in here and lock me down, so here it is. Your boys, there, came in here and beat the fuck outta me. I was sleepin’ in my bed, doin’ nothin’. There is a reason for that, but it’s a reason I’m not discussing while I’m in here. Just know those boys are up to no fuckin’ good, and they’re doin’ some bad shit. Keep your eyes peeled.”
I don’t know how, but it would make sense for him to keep quiet if they were trying to do something to change his sentence. After all, if he speaks, it could ruin anything they come up with. So, I continue on each day doing my rounds. Beau gives me the same, angry expression every time I stop at his cell.
I keep stopping there, though. Because, for some reason, I truly believe he likes it.
“The guards told me you don’t sleep a lot?” I say leaning against his cell door, “You bein’ picked on, Beau?”
He glares at me, and surprises me by muttering, “Do you ever go a-fucking-way?”
“That’s not a word,” I point out. “And no, it’s my job.”
“So I hear, Wildcard,” he sneers.
“It appears you have a problem with me, Beau.” I smile sweetly.
He smirks, his eyes growing even colder. “I have a problem with the fuckin’ law.”
“Well, that’s apparent.”
He shakes his head and turns away. “Maximus fuckin’ makes a lot of noise at night. Go and sort that shit out.”
“I’ll talk to him.”
“Do more than that, eh?” he grunts.
“Are you always so mean?”
He narrows his eyes and crosses his big arms. “Are you supposed to talk to me like that? Pretty sure you ain’t.”
I cross my arms, too. “I’m not disrespecting you, am I?”
He studies me. “What’s a girl like you workin’ in a place like this for, anyway?”
I tilt my head to the side. “I like it. It gives me something different to an everyday office job.”
“I hear you’re feisty,” he murmurs, letting his gaze travel down my body. “I like them like that.”
I shiver. Oh boy. I straighten and uncross my arms. “Good for you. I like mine outside of a cell.”
With that, I walk away.
Concentrate. Focus. Remain professional.
I’m not meant to be here. My shift is over, and it’s just past midnight. I’m running late, because I got caught up talking to Mandy about Beau. It seems to be a good thing, though, because if I wasn’t here I would have missed the commotion that starts as I’m leaving. It begins with a faint noise, and it grows louder and louder as I near.
I step around the corner and into Ward D. I see Luke, Tristan and another guard named Peter in Beau’s cell. They are holding him down, and Tristan lifts his hand and drives his fist into Beau’s face. I yell out, not even thinking, and he spins around quickly, panting with rage.
“What are you doing, Tristan?” I cry.
He’s not allowed to hit prisoners unless there’s absolutely no way around it and he’s lying on the floor about to die from an attack – even then, we learned how to defend ourselves properly in our training. There’s no need for this.
“He attacked me when I came in here. I had no choice,” Tristan barks.
“You need to step out and call it in,” I demand. “I’ll wait with him. You know the rules. Get out, Tristan.”
Tristan turns, and Beau glares up at him. He has blood running down his mouth, so much so that it makes me wonder if he’s been hit more than once. Tristan cuffs his hands behind his back and steps back, nodding at the other two guards. They both stare at me, and then exit the cell. Tristan pulls out his radio and calls it in as he passes me.
When they’re gone, I step inside and stare over at Beau. He glares at me, his face a mess. I pull off my jacket and walk over, sitting beside him on the bed, and pressing the cotton material to his face. He growls but he doesn’t make any move to attack me, which seems strange, considering they accused him of attacking them.
“Do you want to stay in here?” I mutter, staring at the split in his lip.
“Why are you fuckin’ here?”
“Because you’re beating my guards.”
“Wrong,” he growls. “They were beating me.”
“Because you attacked them.”
He leans in close, causing me to flinch, but I don’t move back. He’s trying to get into my space, trying to intimidate me. It won’t work.
“Tough little thing, aren’t ya?”
I shrug. “Just doing my job.”
“Let me tell you a little somethin’ about your job,” he murmurs. “You got a whole lot of fuckin’ criminals around you.”
“No shit,” I snort. “Last time I checked that’s what’s usually in a prison.”
He narrows his eyes into a full-throttle glare. “Not what I meant. It ain’t the criminals inside the cells you should be watchin’.”
“What are you talking about?” I say, even though I’ve already had the same thoughts cross my mind. “You’re hardly in a place to be making accusations.”
He raises his brows. “That so? If anything, I think I am in the perfect position to be making them.”
“How do you figure?”
He smirks. “Because I’m a criminal myself, remember?”
Asshole.
I say nothing; I just cross my arms.
“I’m guessing I have about five minutes before they come in here and lock me down, so here it is. Your boys, there, came in here and beat the fuck outta me. I was sleepin’ in my bed, doin’ nothin’. There is a reason for that, but it’s a reason I’m not discussing while I’m in here. Just know those boys are up to no fuckin’ good, and they’re doin’ some bad shit. Keep your eyes peeled.”
