All Chained Up (8 page)

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

B
RIAR 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.

The room whirled and buzzed as she struggled on the narrow bed against the weight bearing down on her. There was a dizzying flash of ceiling tiles and the inmate's leering face over her. She turned her head sideways. His wet mouth landed on her cheek. A rush of stale breath filled her nose.

Her gaze landed on the single motionless figure in all of this nightmare. Knox Callaghan sat a few beds over, observing everything as if life and death wasn't being played out around him.

Gronsky continued to nuzzle at her cheek. Bile surged in her throat. She raked her fingernails down the side of his face. He lurched back, fingering the scratches. “Bitch!” He cuffed her upside the head. Hard. She held still for a moment, stunned and out of breath, her ears ringing.

He seized her chin and forced her to face him. “This can go two ways. You fight me and I hurt you. Or you don't fight. And I won't hurt you.”

Apparently he didn't consider raping her the same thing as hurting her.

“Either way,” he continued, readjusting his weight on top of her so she could feel the hardness of his erection at her thigh. “We're going to take what we want from you.”

She pressed her lips together to suppress her sob. She wouldn't break down. She'd seen and heard her mother cry enough over the years. It had never helped. Never did any good.

So there would be no tears from her. She wouldn't give this animal the satisfaction. She couldn't. She
wouldn't
. And she wasn't going to make it easy on him no matter how much pain he dealt her. Every moment counted. If she fought him long enough, maybe she could stall him. Maybe help would come in time. Help had to be coming. It
had
to.

She lifted her head off the bed and spit in his face.

“Fucking bitch,” he snarled, and then his hands were clawing at her, fast and angry, trying to get her out of her scrubs. Fabric ripped and she screamed and fought and struggled to escape. He was too strong. It was happening too fast.

“Pritchard,” he shouted to the other inmate. “Get over here and hold her.”

She twisted wildly, glancing around and spotting Josiah prone on the floor.
Please not dead. Please not dead
. There was no help coming from him.

Pritchard moved beside the bed. Grabbing her hands, he pinned them above her head on the mattress so hard she thought he would snap her wrists. She thrashed her lower body as Gronsky worked at the drawstring of her pants. Impatient curses flayed the air as he fought to undo the knot. She squirmed and twisted and worked her hips and legs. He flattened his body over her, digging an elbow deep into her abdomen and she cried out.

He gave a triumphant cry as the knot finally unraveled. Cool air wafted over her hips as he yanked down on her pants.

God. No, no, no.

“What about me?”

Everything inside her locked tight at the sound of that deep familiar voice.

Gronsky jerked his head around, his ponytail whipping on the air as he looked across the room.

She lifted her head, peering over the inmate's shoulder to where Callaghan sat on the bed. The lines and hollows of his face still revealed nothing. As though the chaos and violence didn't touch him at all.

“What about you?” Gronsky demanded, but his tone was different. Less edge. As though he recognized one of his own in Callaghan.

Callaghan angled his head and stared the other inmate down. It was remarkable. He was restrained to a bed while these two violent criminals had free rein of the infirmary, but he still managed to be scarily intimidating. He parted his lips and spoke words she couldn't have imagined in her worst nightmares.

“I want a piece of her, too.”

A cold blade of fear scraped down her spine.
No
. She whimpered. Now, for some reason, the tears felt close. She was on the verge of breaking down. Knox Callaghan wanted to hurt her. He wanted to do this terrible thing to her.

Gronsky hesitated and sent a long look to his friend hovering above her. Pritchard's hands flexed around her forearms above her head, each finger bruising her tender skin.

“What do you think, man?” Gronsky muttered in a low, conspiratorial voice, nodding in the direction of Callaghan. “He's part of Reid's crew.”

She looked up, watching Pritchard's face. He glanced down at her and then back up to Gronsky. Grinning furry teeth, he gave a wordless nod.

“All right.” Gronsky released her and dropped down on the ground, spreading his arms wide with flourish. “Sure. Why not?” We're all brothers in here, right?” He moved over to Murphy and collected the keys off his body before turning to Callaghan, unlocking his restraints and freeing him from the bed.

Her heart beat so fast her chest actually ached. Callaghan rose to his full height, towering over Gronsky and looking so big and formidable that something inside her withered a little bit at the sight of him. If the other two inmates had wrought so much damage, what would he do? This man who was capable of so much more? Who exuded power and strength and menace His cold eyes fastened on Briar as he rubbed at his wrists where the cuffs had been.

“Go ahead, man.” Gronsky gestured to her, his manner deferential. “We'll let you have first crack at her.” He laughed dumbly and fingered the scratches on his face. “I like them a little softer anyway. Maybe you'll fuck some of the fight outta her.”

With one hand still massaging his wrists, Knox leveled an empty stare at Gronsky.

The inmate's laughter faded in the face of his stony gaze. Gronsky shrugged. “Well, go on. Knock yourself out, man.”

Callaghan turned back to face her. “I'll do that.”

She dragged a shuddering breath into her lungs, everything inside her,
all
of her, shriveling up as he approached, his steps thudding over the concrete, each one jarring and striking fresh fear deep into her bones.

She shrank back on the bed, her gaze fixed in horror on him. She'd always known that Callaghan was dangerous, but she had somehow imagined him above this. Which was ridiculous. He had said it best. She didn't know fuck all about this place. Or him, for that matter.

He stopped at the foot of the bed, towering over her as she cowered, arms still pinned above her. Bitter dread washed over her as he did a quick scan of her body, and she hated him right then. As scared as she was, she despised him for making her feel like this, for betraying her. She had treated him. Cared for him—at least physically. And now he would do this to her.

Her pants were still pulled partially down, trapped below her hips, revealing her underwear. Sensible underwear. Pale pink cotton panties, but she had never felt so exposed and humiliated.

He grabbed her feet and jerked off her tennis shoes, not bothering with the laces. He tossed one shoe over his shoulder, then the next one followed. His gaze lowered to her panties, resting there for an agonizing moment, his square jaw granite. A muscle feathered along his cheek.

His hands curled around the loosened waistband of her scrubs, the backs of his fingers warm on the tops of her thighs. She jumped as though singed by a white-­hot poker.

“N-­No,” she choked.

His cold gaze shot to her face and held her stare for a long moment. Those blue eyes ensnared her, effectively trapping her more than the hands pinning her arms.

He looked away, shutting her out as he dragged her pants down her legs in one swift motion, stripping her of everything except her panties and top.

Something died inside of her as she lay there, splayed before these prisoners in only her underwear and a shirt. This was really happening.
Not a nightmare. Not a movie
. She swallowed back a sob, thinking of her sister and all her well-­meaning advice. She should have listened to her.

Gronsky groaned in approval, more animal than man, his features rapt on her, reminding her of some beast set on devouring her. He crowded close to Callaghan. “Fucking hot.”

Callaghan sent him an annoyed look. “Back off.”

She squeezed her eyes tightly shut, wishing she could shut her ears to their voices, too. To everything. To all of this.

A squeak escaped her when his hard hands circled her ankles, wrapping easily around their width. Her eyes flew open again as Callaghan dragged her down the bed and stepped between her knees. He ran his big hands up her bare legs, over her knees and the tops of her thighs. Gulping back a sob, she sucked in a breath. His gaze lifted to her face. That sea of blue could drown a small city. Astounding, really, that such cruelty lurked in those eyes.

Gronsky hovered a little behind him, shifting his weight on each foot, his face contorting with excitement as he watched Callaghan's hands roam over her.

“Knox,” she pleaded, hoping that using his name might reach him, might break through and affect him. Remind him that she was a person. Not an object to be used and destroyed. “Please.”

He didn't seem to be looking at her anymore, though. His gaze flicked up to the inmate pinning her arms to the bed and then sideways to Gronsky.

“C'mon, man,” Pritchard growled. “We ain't got all day and I want my turn, too.”

Annoyance cracked the stony mask of his face, but he obliged, coming over her, flattening his hands on either side of her head. She sucked in a sharp breath, certain she was about to start hyperventilating. Or pass out. Maybe that was best . . . so she wouldn't be present for what was about to happen to her.

He was so big she felt smothered, even though he hadn't dropped his full weight on her body. Ducking his head, he brought his mouth close to her ear. “Just lay still,” he whispered.

She swallowed back a sob.

She had chosen such a careful life. Safe. How could this be happening . . . ?

She blinked suddenly burning eyes, the air still crashing from her lips harshly.

Maybe it was such thinking that got her here. Thinking that she somehow deserved better. That something like this could never happen to her if she made smart choices. If she didn't want it to. If she didn't
let
it.

“Shh.” He placed one hand on her forehead while the other hand gripped her waist, a tactile reminder that he was not about kindness or tenderness. He was about ruining her. Hurting her. “It will be over soon.”

Oh
.
God
. She shuddered, bile rising to her throat at his hushed utterance.

She turned her face away, stared toward the windows, trying to disappear inside herself. Something glinted through the glass, catching her eye. She squinted, noticing it again. It flashed in the sunlight from atop the neighboring building.

Then suddenly Callaghan surged. Lightning fast, he sprang. She flinched, expecting pain, but it never came. He didn't touch her.

His hands dove for Pritchard—­grabbed him by the throat and hauled him off the bed. Simultaneously, he lashed out and kicked Gronsky in the face in a smacking crunch of shoe on bone that launched the other inmate halfway across the room.

Suddenly free, she sat up, gaping at Callaghan and Pritchard. They fell to the floor in a pile of wrestling limbs and flying fists. Gronsky staggered around with his hands cupping his nose, blood streaming through his fingers, obscenities flying from his mouth like bullets.

“Run!” Callaghan shouted as he fought with Pritchard, grunting as the inmate landed a blow to his bruised ribs.

The sound of his bellowed command reverberated through her.
He was helping her? He was on her side . . .

Snapping out of her astonishment, her gaze swept the room, landing on the gun several feet away. She jumped off the bed and scrambled toward it, but Gronsky was on her, his hand clamping down on her calf and bringing her down on the ground with a sharp cry.

She twisted and started kicking at him with the heel of her foot. He howled, blood flowing more freely from his face, but he didn't release her. He clawed up her body with digging fingers. She struggled against him, scrabbling and scratching, desperate to carve out a piece of him.