All Chained Up (Devil's Rock #1)(23)

“You want him to live? You want anyone else to die? Then go ahead and come in this room,” he called up into the camera, pressing the barrel of Murphy’s gun to the doctor’s temple. The move forced Dr. Walker’s head far to the side, and she bit her lip to stop the whimper that threatened to escape her. “That bull won’t be the only one to die, I f*cking promise you! The HSU belongs to us now. Got it?” Gronsky pointed the gun toward the camera and shot off another round, blasting it to pieces.

She cried out. Bitter fear coated her mouth. It was insane. She felt like she was trapped in some crazy movie. This didn’t happen in real life. Not my life. Not me.

Except it was happening.

It was happening right now to her.

Her fingers gripped Josiah where he still stood before her. She glanced around the room, as though searching for a way out. Her gaze jerked to a stop on Callaghan, sitting so calmly, bound to the bed, his face void of emotion. He didn’t even care. He dealt in violence. Saw it every day. Committed it. What was happening in this room didn’t faze him. Disgusted and glad that at least he was restrained, she returned her gaze to the inmate with a gun.

Finished with the camera, Gronsky forced the doctor to sit on one of the beds. The slighter man immediately slumped over, holding his ribs, and she felt true fear for his injuries.

The other inmate, Pritchard, removed everything else from Murphy’s belt. Murphy gave a small groan, indicating he was still alive, and she uttered a small prayer. Until she realized he wouldn’t be alive for long. Not without medical care. Blood pooled around him like thick dark syrup.

Dr. Walker must have had the same thought. He lifted his head and gestured to the guard, his voice a weak wheeze as he said, “He will die. Let me see to him—”

“You think I care about some pig?” Gronsky demanded. “Maybe I should go ahead and shoot him? Put him out of his misery.”

“You kill him and it won’t go over easy for you,” Josiah warned, his hands palms out once more, as though he was trying to placate a wild animal. Which was essentially the scenario.

“You think I care? I’m in for life! They’re not letting me out again.”

There was a heavy pause. Just the soft wheeze of Dr. Walker’s breaths and a faint gurgling sound from Murphy as he bled out.

“How long do you think you can hold us in here?” Josiah asked, his voice surprisingly even and calm. “Before they force their way in?”

Gronsky shrugged. “Don’t care. Might as well have some fun while we’re here.” His eyes drifted to Briar then and a cold finger scraped down her spine.

Josiah’s hand gripped her hip, tucking her even farther behind him. “No.”

It was a single word, but it held a wealth of meaning. Over the nonstop blare of the prison alarm, Gronsky understood what Josiah meant. The smile deepened in his perspiring face. He understood and he didn’t care.

Gronsky shared a look with Pritchard, who released a small huff of laughter and rubbed a finger against the long line of his nose, considering her where she cowered behind Josiah.

Terror filled her and her stomach heaved. She was going to be sick. These men had already lost everything, she realized with a sinking sensation. They didn’t care what they did. They didn’t fear consequences.

And they wouldn’t accept no.

Josiah turned his head to look back at her. The bleakness reflected in the dark depths of his eyes struck her hard. Made her feel more alone. As though this entire situation was hopeless. As though she was already lost.

Josiah’s lips parted and he uttered quietly, for her ears alone, “Run.”





NINE


BRIAR KNEW SHE would never reach the door. She’d never make it. But the desperate look in Josiah’s eyes and the rocks sinking in her stomach told her she had to try. It was her only chance.

She broke away and lunged for the door, her arms pumping, shoes slapping over concrete. She prayed to God she at least got the door open before either one caught her—or worse, before a bullet tore into her back.

Scuffling erupted behind her. Don’t let it be Josiah. Don’t let him get hurt. She didn’t pause to look, though. Josiah had given her this chance, and she wouldn’t waste it by taking a second to look over her shoulder.

She was almost to the door when a hard hand grabbed her by the hair and swung her around. Agony burned through her scalp. Screaming, she clutched her ponytail at the base, certain she was about to lose every strand on her head.

Gronsky tumbled her against him, one arm wrapping around her while the other one held her prisoner by her hair. Over his shoulder she could see Josiah fighting with the other inmate. A series of punches to the gut followed by a savage backhand sent him crashing to the floor.

“Please, please,” she begged, not even recognizing the sound of her voice. She sounded far away. Like someone else. Like her mother.

The realization jolted her. Looking up, her gaze locked with the inmate’s wild eyes. He made a shushing sound, his cruel fingers digging into her hair, forcing her neck back, arching her head at an uncomfortable angle.

He walked her backward, still shushing and crooning at her like she was some skittish colt. Her legs collided with one of the beds, and then she had nowhere to go. His weight was pressing her down and she was falling.

There were other sounds, too. The screaming alarm. Dr. Walker shouting, pleading, begging. Josiah crying out as Pritchard brutally beat him.