All Chained Up (Devil's Rock #1)(3)

“What’s seg?”

“Oh, that’s what we call segregation.”

She nodded, thinking about his words and deciding that she was acting like a wimp. She needed to get over her fears. Turning, she unlocked the mesh glass cabinets and began exploring the supplies. They were well-stocked. “Dr. Pollinger’s retirement caught y’all by surprise, then?”

“Yeah. He wasn’t planning to retire for another five years. No one blames him, of course. The stroke just made him decide to move things along faster.”

“Life’s too short,” she agreed. “Hopefully he’s recuperating and enjoying himself.”

“Last I heard, he’s improving his golf swing in Plano.”

“Good for him.”

“That’s right. The rest of us schlubs gotta put in our time.” He grinned good-naturedly.

“Well, hopefully you’ll find a replacement soon.” And then she could stop coming here.

“At this prison?” He snorted. “Not likely. We’re eighty miles outside Sweet Hill and five hours from anywhere that serves decent sushi. It’s practically the end of civilization. The Texas Badlands aren’t exactly where a doctor wants to work. But at least we have you two coming in once a week. That should help.”

Unease trickled through her. When Dr. Walker asked for volunteers, he made it sound like this arrangement would be temporary. A couple of weeks of making the hour and a half trip to Devil’s Rock, at the most. She wouldn’t have volunteered if she thought this was a permanent arrangement. She didn’t get a nursing degree so she could work in a prison, after all. Bless those who did, like Josiah Martinez, but she didn’t have it in her for this kind of thing.

She worked in a doctor’s office in a small town where the biggest thing to happen was the arrival of Starbucks last year. If she wanted more excitement, she could move to Forth Worth or Houston or Austin and take a job at one of the hospitals there. On any given day, the most extreme thing she saw was a broken arm. On the scariest day, a case of meningitis.

So what are you doing here?

“Guess we better roll through those protocols,” Josiah announced, clapping his hands lightly and rubbing them together.

Banishing that internal voice that sounded a lot like her sister, Briar forced a smile and paid attention as the LVN started explaining what to do in the event of scary-not-going-to-happen-in-a-million-years-situations. At least she hoped so.





TWO


“DROP THE BISCUIT, *, or the next thing in your mouth will be my fist.”

Knox tightened his hold around the other inmate’s neck the barest amount. Not enough to kill him or even knock him out, but he knew the bastard had to be seeing spots.

“Fuck you,” the guy wheezed.

Christ. He thought he was beyond this shit. He had spent the first year in here tasting blood. Every day, he fought. Protecting his back and his brother’s had been priority number one. Still. Here he was. Throwing down over a biscuit.

It hadn’t taken long for Knox to realize he and North needed allies, so he’d played the game. Made those allies—and kept them. For eight years he’d kept them. But that didn’t mean he didn’t have to fight anymore. He still had to crack a few skulls now and then just to hold his place in the pecking order.

Right now, for example.

The kid couldn’t be over twenty, and he felt a stab of pity. That was how old he’d been when he entered Devil’s Rock’s hallowed walls. Twenty and scared shitless but determined to protect North and himself. Of course, this kid had enough swastikas and shamrocks covering him to crush any notion of youthful innocence. He was a full-fledged White Warrior, and given a chance, he’d shove a shank between Knox’s ribs.

“Now don’t crumble it,” Knox warned. “I’m not eating any f*cking crumbs off this floor, you hear?”

Knox knew it was just a biscuit. In another life, years ago, he’d probably left many a one uneaten on his plate, but this was a different life now. He couldn’t let such a thing slide. Food was a commodity. No one gave it up without a fight. To do so would mark him weak. Not just him, but his brother, too. Hell, their entire crew.

And Reid wouldn’t have anyone in his crew if they were weak. It didn’t work like that in here. Eight years had taught him that. Hell, the first week had taught him that.

Reid was as merciless as they came. The scary motherf*cker had been in here only a few years longer than Knox and North, but he ran one of the biggest crews. The day he let Knox and North into their midst had marked their survival. Only the strong ran with Reid.

Inmates gathered around Knox, spitting and growling like beasts hungry for blood. Guards would be on them any minute. His brother stood by, his deep brown gaze scanning the crowd, watching Knox’s back, making sure none of the White Warriors decided to jump into the fray.

Reid and the rest of their crew looked on, too. No emotion bled from their stone-cold faces. In here, emotion got you killed. Or worse. And there was definitely worse than dead in Devil’s Rock. If Knox had to live like some of these poor bastards, enduring what they did every day, he would gladly take a shiv to the ribs.

The scrawny skinhead writhed against the manacle of Knox’s bicep, his brethren hovering close. One move from them and Reid would intervene. They knew it. Everyone did. The hatred between Reid’s crew and the White Warriors was mutual and ran deep, but they weren’t interested in dying today, so they held back.