Fear For Me: A Novel of the Bayou Butcher(2)

No, they wouldn’t. He’d never been suicidal. He didn’t want to see what waited in the next world for him. He liked this world far too much.

His gaze darted quickly around the room. Only Sheila and Douglas were there. The guards had been lazy when they burst into his cell. They’d just taken the shiv that he dropped.

They hadn’t even checked him for another weapon.

They should have.

Douglas bent toward him. “Let me cuff him to the—”

Jon lunged up as he yanked out the second shiv. Douglas didn’t have a chance to scream before that shiv sank deep into his throat.

Sheila just stood there, eyes wide, frozen.

Fear could do that to a person. Make them freeze when they should flee. Not that he was going to give her time to flee.

He yanked the shiv out of Douglas as the guard’s body fell to the floor with a thud. The thud made Sheila flinch. She opened her mouth to scream.

Her scream would alert the guards outside. No one ignored a woman’s scream in this hell. The prisoners might enjoy the scream, but no one ignored it.

I can’t have her bringing company in.

He grabbed Sheila, wrapped his hand around her mouth, and put the bloody shiv at her jugular. “There are two ways this can work.” His lips brushed over her ear. The scent of peppermints teased him. So much better than piss. He inhaled deeply, then said, “I can kill you now, or you can be a good girl.” He liked good girls. He liked bad ones, too. “If you’re good, then you get to live longer.” But you’ll still die. He’d gone too long without a woman’s blood staining his hands.

No, she wasn’t the bitch who tormented his dreams, the one who’d pay for taking so much away from him, but Sheila…oh, sweet Sheila would still bleed damn well for him. She’d give him the rush of power, of pleasure, that he’d missed for so long.

She was his tool. His toy. His ticket out of the cage.

He could feel the mad thunder of her heartbeat against him. Sheila was small, probably only around five foot two. Curved, but she hid her figure under her oversize scrubs. Her features were plain, when he liked his girls prettier, but she’d do.

She’d definitely do.

“Call out to the guards,” he ordered her, keeping his mouth at her ear. She was trembling against him. “Tell them you’re stitching me up.” Because they were just outside that door. He knew that. He let the shiv slice her, drawing forth a long trickle of her blood. Yes. I missed that. “If you call for help, you’ll be dead before they get in the room.” Those words were a promise. Sheila would have read his file. She would know all about the things he’d done.

She would believe him.

She should believe him.

Sheila’s head moved in a fast nod. This part was the gamble, but really, what did he have to lose?

Nothing. If she ratted him out, then he went back to his cell. He was already serving multiple life sentences—what more could they do to him?

If Sheila didn’t scream for help, if she did exactly as he’d ordered, then…

Freedom.

His fingers lifted from her soft mouth.

“I-I’m going to need more time.” Sheila’s voice grated in his ears because the fear was so sharp in her words. Would the guards hear the fear?

His own heartbeat kicked up. Sweat trickled down his back. The wound in his stomach began to throb.

“Finish your duties!” Sheila called, her voice getting a little stronger. It was lights-out. All the guards needed to patrol right then. “I’m stitching him up now.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The guards shuffled away.

Jon smiled. He pressed a kiss to Sheila’s head. “Good girl,” he whispered as he turned her in his arms.

She stared up at him. Her eyes were wide, stark, terrified. Just the look he loved.

“Wh-what happens now?”

“You stitch me up.” First order of business. He couldn’t very well escape with a wound that might get infected.

Her breath was panting out as she reached for the needle.

“Now, you’re gonna need to be careful.” He angled his body so that she could reach his wound—and so he could keep the weapon at her throat. “Because you make one wrong move, and I’ll slice your throat open.”

The panting of her breath got worse. Her fingers were shaking so badly it took her five tries to get the first stitch in place.

He smiled as he watched her work. He’d always been involved in cutting people open, not stitching them back together. It hurt every time the thread went in, but he found he didn’t mind the pain as much.

Not when he got to watch her face and think of all the things he’d do to her. She would be his practice run. A guy could get rusty after so long away from his trade. He had to make sure he was in top form when he delivered the payback that was coming.

Then she was done. Sheila even cleaned him up. Wasn’t that nice? What, did she think that if she was good enough to him, he’d let her go?

Not happening, Doc.

But she’d done her part. The rest would now be up to him. He glanced over at the clock.

Jon knew where the scrubs were kept. He’d put them on and slip away at the shift change that took place in ten minutes. Ten minutes. That wasn’t much playtime.

The other doc—Casey Hall—had left his ID behind. He’d noticed that Hall did that. A mistake, leaving the ID behind on the weekend, but Hall had a bad habit of being a little too forgetful. With Hall’s ID, Jon would be able to get out so easily.