“My name is Ash,” I begin, “I just came to check in on you. I’m a guard here.”
His glare doesn’t waver; in fact, it’s a little intimidating. He’s lethal; it seeps off him.
“Have you had any troubles overnight?”
He doesn’t answer; he just keeps his killer expression trained on me.
“Nothing?”
He doesn’t move. It’s unnerving.
“You’re the vice president of the Jokers’ Wrath MC. That must be a different kind of lifestyle?”
His eyes narrow, but he still says nothing. Interesting. It clearly gets a reaction out of him, even if he refuses to speak.
“I know you have no family. I suppose that’s what they are? Would I be correct?”
His eyes flash and then harden. His jaw tics and it’s clear family is a touchy subject. Just to test my theory, I ask a difficult question. I wouldn’t usually do this, but Tristan has instructed that I get as much as I can out of him, so I go ahead.
“I was informed you lost your sister at a young age. Is that why you did what you did?
Like a flip is switched, he thrashes in his chains, his eyes wild and frantic.
“Shit,” I curse under my breath.
He jerks, his large body arching upwards in what is clearly anguish. His entire frame is straining, his wrists jerking on the chains, his face going a dark shade of red with emotion.
“You’re going to hurt yourself,” I say, my voice tough, even though I feel horrible. “Calm down, Beau.”
His fists are clenched so tightly they’re white; his arms are bulging, ropes of muscle pulsing beneath his skin. He thrashes harder, panting. I turn to the Jeremy, who is already radioing it in. Only minutes later more guards arrive and we all step in. Blood is running heavily down Beau’s wrists. If we don’t stop him, it will get worse.
I take one of his arms, and the muscles flex beneath my fingers as I hold him firmly. Three other guards take different parts of his body. He growls and snaps, then he barks, “Fuck off, you cunts.”
Well, then. It would appear Beau can talk.
“You don’t settle down, you’ll end up in bigger trouble than it’s worth,” Luke growls at him.
I didn’t even see Luke come in.
Beau turns his eyes to me and bares his teeth. I glare at him, not showing any kind of emotion. He swings his body to the side, sending me flying backwards onto my ass. He did it on purpose, I know he did, and that makes me angry. It’s not the first time this has happened; I’m always being knocked over. Anger swells in my chest all the same, because I still hate it. I might have upset him, but he doesn’t need to push me around.
I get to my feet and walk forward, pressing my fingers down onto his shoulder and pinching a nerve there—I learned this in training. He roars in pain and lurches forward, landing on the floor. It hurts, I know it hurts, but it’s an easy and effective way to take a prisoner down without the need for weapons.
I lean down, rocking on my heels as he stares up at me with rage in his features. In a low, growling tone, I say, “Don’t touch me again.”
Then I get up and leave.
They can deal with Beau Dawson.
~*~*~*~
“You look exhausted,” Claire says when I drag my backside into the house that night.
I throw my purse down and shrug my jacket off. “Mentally exhausted, perhaps.”
She pours a glass of the red wine she’s drinking, and brings it over to me as I drop down onto the couch. “Here you are.”
“Ohh, you’re a champ.”
She smiles and flops down beside me on the couch.
“Can I ask you something?”
I sip the wine, closing my eyes and groaning with delight. “Sure,” I finally manage.
“I overheard Leo talking this afternoon.”
My eyes pop open and I turn to her. “And . . .”
“And I heard that . . . Queen of Whoretown is pregnant.”
I snort at her choice of words. “I don’t know a great deal about it, but I did warn him last night that he needs to be careful.”
“What does he see in a girl like her?” She pouts prettily.
“She’s easy.” I shrug. “Leo is complicated and she doesn’t question him, she just gives him what he wants.”
“Complicated is certainly what Leo is.”
I nod, pursing my lips. “Does it bother you?”
She shakes her head quickly, too quickly, if you ask me. “No, of course not.” She waves her hand and snorts. “He can do whatever he wants.
I grin at her, but choose to say nothing more. I wish those two would pull their heads out of their backsides and see that there’s a serious sexual connection there.
“Did you get to see the crazy gunman today?” she asks, turning towards me with a curious expression. Her eyes are wide, her lips pursed.
“I did, nothing major happened,” I sigh, leaning my head back.
“Your job sucks.”
I laugh. “Some days I could agree with you.”
“You up for pizza and movies tonight? I’m too lazy to cook.”
I groan, kicking my shoes off. “Absolutely. I’m stuffed.”
“I got that new movie, The Fault In Our Stars.”
“Oh no,” I groan, pressing a hand to my cheek. “I heard that one will make me ugly cry.”
“Ugly, snot-pouring-out-your-nose, wailing kind of cry,” she nods.
“Can’t we watch something happy?”
“Trust me,” she says, standing and skipping into the kitchen. “It’ll be fun.”
It’s not fun.
Halfway through the movie I’m blubbering, clutching my wine to my chest, and wishing I had protested harder. This movie is so beautiful, but so incredibly heartbreaking. I can’t deal with this sort of emotion. It’s ruining me. Claire is sitting beside me, making the occasional sobbing noise, her hand pressed to her mouth.
Damn her and her sad movies.
CHAPTER FOUR
“In a better mood today, are we, Beau?” I say, leaning against the cell door and staring in at the broody biker.
It’s the third day, and they’re still trying to figure out what happened—there really aren’t enough details around it. He’s up for a sentence, but witnesses are being very unclear. Apparently one said Beau was arguing with the man, but didn’t shoot him. Another is saying that there was another man with him, and that he couldn’t pin who it was. Security cameras went down before the shooting, so it was absolutely planned.
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 alw
ays 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 open my mouth to say something, but a group of guards enter the room. I stand, meeting Beau’s eyes. He nods at me and I turn swiftly, exiting the room. His words play in my mind. Why would Tristan, Luke and Peter just go in and beat him? I’ve known Tristan a long time; he wouldn’t just do something like that.
I’m paying no attention as I walk down the halls until I smash into Tristan’s chest. His arms go around me, and he chuckles softly. “Are you okay, Ash? You were off in a world of your own.”
I step back. I study him, and it’s hard for me to see any change. However, the very fact that he’s been off the past week is running through my mind. Could Beau be right? Is there something going on?
“Why were you in there, Tristan?” I ask. I can’t help it.
His eyes harden, but he quickly wipes the expression away. “I told you, I went in there to check and he beat on me.”
“Then you should have defended yourself and stepped out, you had no reason to put your fists on him.”
He glares at me, showing me that I’ve hit a nerve and making me believe that Beau might just be right. “He’s a big man, far bigger than me. He overpowered me. Now, I have a report to file. Are you finished?”
I narrow my eyes and then force a smile. I think I need to step away from this for now, because it’s going to put me in a difficult situation if I get involved. My eyes are peeled, though. I’ll be watching.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I didn’t mean to jump on you. Is everything okay now?”
“No problem. Funniest thing, though,” he says, running his hands through his hair. “The security cameras went down an hour ago; technical problems. We can’t catch Beau attacking me, so there’s really not anything I can do except put a report in.”
My heart stammers. The security cameras never go down. It’s just not something that happens. The only way they turn off is if someone does it themselves. I blink rapidly, trying to keep my expression impassive as all the details swim in my head. What the hell is going on here?
“That’s too bad,” I say, shrugging. “Are they moving him?”
He nods. “Of course. Kent believes me.”
Kent is the head of the prison, and everything and anything goes through him. He makes most orders. Of course Kent would believe Tristan. Let’s face it, who is going to believe a prisoner? Especially a biker who is accused of shooting and killing innocent people.
“Where is he going?”
“Solitary confinement. Forty-eight hours.”
I nod, swallowing, trying to keep myself calm. “Well, I’m going to go. It’s about that time.”
He pats my shoulder. “Have a good night.”
“Yeah,” I say, turning. “You too.”
Something is going down. I can feel it.
I just don’t know what it is.
CHAPTER FIVE
A week passes without any further drama. Beau comes out of solitary and goes back into his cell, and Tristan seems to keep his distance. He’s quieter than usual, and on the phone a lot, but otherwise it all seems to be going fine. There have been no more fights and no more issues between Tristan and Beau.
I’m busy doing my usual round on a Sunday morning, when I pass Beau’s cell. He’s staring down at his balled fists, panting. He seems angry about something, and I so desperately want to go in there and find out what but I don’t. I just wrap my fingers around the cell bars and lean in.
“Something wrong, Beau?”
He jerks his head up and his eyes burn into mine. “Go the fuck away.”
I narrow my eyes and see that he’s shaking, just slightly. “Are you okay?”
“Did you not hear me?” he bellows. “Fuck off.”
I meet his gaze and his eyes practically burn right throug
h mine. His grey depths are turning a light shade of blue with his rage.
“I’m not the bad guy here. If there’s a problem you can tell me what it is.”
“So you can run to your supervisor, and tattle like the good little guard.”
I frown. “You underestimate me, Beau.”
“Stop fuckin’ callin’ me that.”
“It’s your name, isn’t it?”
“Doesn’t mean I want you to use it.”
I sigh, but I don’t argue. I just stand there, staring into his cell for long, long moments. He finally stands and walks over, stopping in front of the bars.
“Let me ask you somethin’, girl,” he says, his voice low. “Explain to me how you define a bad person, and a good person?”
I tilt my head to the side. “Bad people do bad things; good people don’t.”
“You think it’s that simple? Are you goin’ to tell me you’re as absent-minded as the rest of these fucktards?”
I bristle but I don’t react. Instead, I think about his question. Really think about it.
“It’s not easy to define if a person is good or bad. Sometimes good people do bad things, because they’re hurting, or because something bad has happened to them. Sometimes their minds play tricks on them, and sometimes their hearts don’t speak up in time. It’s not the same for a bad person.”
He nods at me to go on.
“I believe if you’re truly evil, then there isn’t much that can change you. If you’re sculpted into an malicious person from a young age, you have the hope of being better. If you’re just evil for the sake of being evil, for the sake of taking things that aren’t yours, such as others’ lives, then you’re unable to be saved.”
He’s studying me, his head tilted to the side. I keep going.
“Bad people choose to do the things they are doing, good people try hard to avoid being bad. They strive to be better, but, like I said, sometimes even good people can do bad things—it’s just that they do it with a different heart.”
He stares at me for so long I shift uncomfortably. “And what do you think I am?”
I’m shocked by his question. Yet I’m sure of my answer. “I think you’re a good person who did a bad thing, because of something that happened.”