All Chained Up (Devil's Rock #1)(8)

“Looks like you visit here often,” she muttered, her hand instinctively going to one angry-red scar slashing across his shoulder. The moment she touched the puckered flesh, she realized she had forgotten to put her gloves back on. Skin to skin, his flesh was warm against her bare fingers. Almost hot to the touch. She snatched her hand back.

He didn’t respond, and she heard herself murmur, “Not much of a talker, are you?”

After a moment he shrugged one shoulder and finally answered her. “Often enough. Been here awhile.”

That single announcement rattled around inside her skull like a loose marble. Even if he hadn’t announced it, she knew. She sensed it. He must have done something pretty terrible.

She swallowed the impossibly large lump in her throat, her mind briefly touching on what some of those horrible things could be before she stopped herself. She didn’t want to know.

They didn’t lock people up for a long time for doing nothing. It was the only nudge she needed to remember what kind of man she was dealing with.

He stared blankly at her, unapologetic. There wasn’t the faintest shame or regret in his expression over his admission. Been here awhile. He owned it like someone admitting to liking peaches ’n’ cream ice cream.

“Are you afraid of me, Nurse Davis?” Her skin reacted at his faintly mocking tone, jumping alive with a thousand goose bumps at the deep timbre of his voice. Nurse Davis. Just the sound of her name laced with derision was enough to jackknife her pulse. Like he knew some secret about her.

Her gaze ate up his brutally beautiful face. And that wasn’t right. Such beauty shouldn’t be threatening. Or wild or dangerous. But she supposed many things were. She thought tigers were beautiful but she wouldn’t dare touch one. And yet here she was, touching this man.

She looked down and examined the area that had made him wince and sucked in a gasp. The skin there was a deep red and already starting to bruise.

Ignoring his question, she wrapped herself in her professional armor and ducked her head for a closer look. “What happened here?” She shot him a warning glance. “What happened specifically?”

He shook his head like it was nothing. “Just the usual.”

“Fists? Boots?” she pressed. As big as he was, she couldn’t imagine a simple punch to the ribs doing this much damage.

“The usual,” he repeated.

“It’s useful in determining the severity of your injury if I know what exactly happened. I assure you, it’s not for my own perverse curiosity.” She stared at him, waiting with a lift of her eyebrows.

“Baton,” he supplied the single word.

A guard’s baton.

Frowning, she looked down at his purpling flesh and touched him there, gently running her fingers over the sensitive area, testing it for signs of an obvious break. She didn’t feel a protruding bone, but she knew the only way to know for certain would be to take an X ray. “You should comply with the corrections officers. This kind of abuse could result in some serious damage.”

Something flickered in his eyes. She couldn’t determine what it was. It passed so quickly, but a frisson of trepidation dripped through her. “Who said I didn’t comply?” he asked.

She hesitated, her breath catching, and she didn’t know why it should. The idea that seemingly good guys could be not good, that they could hurt someone when it wasn’t needed, when it wasn’t right . . . well, that shouldn’t be an unfamiliar concept for her. Mean people came in all shapes and sizes. She knew that better than anyone. “Are you saying they used excessive force with you?”

He cocked his head, and for the first time his hard expression cracked. Disgust leaked out. “Are you for real? Where do you think you are, honey?”

Briar stiffened. “I know exactly where I am. If the guards used excessive force, you should report them—”

“First day here and you know so much,” he murmured, his quiet voice no less deep or menacing. She felt her eyes widen as she realized the moment of her mistake. Her experience was not his, but she had presumed to know anyway. To understand. And then she dared to advise him how to live, how to exist in this cage. “You don’t know f*ck all about this place.”

She flinched. He might as well have said f*ck off. That’s what she felt. What she heard. What she deserved.

Face burning, she turned and picked up the gauze, feeling like that stupid girl who bit off more than she could chew. The teenager at her first party slamming back a shot and then choking on the burn as it slogged its way down her throat. She plucked at the tape holding the roll of gauze together, knowing that whether Dr. Walker wanted Callaghan to have X rays or not, he would want his ribs wrapped. For Callaghan’s comfort if nothing else.

Mostly she just needed to do something with herself after Callaghan’s stinging words.

Her hands were shaking as she got the tape free and began unrolling a section. No matter how she willed them to stop, they wouldn’t.

“Ah, what do we have here?”

Her head snapped up at the arrival of Dr. Walker. Relief coursed through her.

Renewed with purpose, she set down the gauze, stood aside and recounted Callaghan’s injuries, feeling in control again. A professional. Not at all like the rebuked child of moments ago.

The doctor sank down onto the edge of the bed and examined the head wound first, checking Callaghan’s eyes and asking the standard questions to determine if he had a concussion. He treated him like any other patient. Because that’s what he saw. A patient. He didn’t see the caged animal she did.