“Steak,” Leo growls, shoving her out of the way and taking out the steak.
“Chicken,” she snaps back, shoving him. He doesn’t move.
“How about,” I yell loudly, causing them both to turn, “you have both.”
Claire rolls her eyes. “That ruins the fun.”
Leo gives her a lusty expression, one that she always seems to miss. I don’t miss it; it’s loud and clear to me.
“Stop being difficult,” I chastise her playfully.
“Fine,” she sulks. “Let the Incredible Hulk have his steak.”
Leo snorts and turns to her. “I’m glad you’ve finally learned your place.”
Claire opens her mouth to respond, but I put my hand up. “Children, that’s enough.”
They both give me pouty expressions that have me smiling. I wave my hand. “Carry on, then.”
I turn and walk out of the room, deciding to find a good book and curl up on the couch while they battle it out in the kitchen.
That’s just a normal day for me.
Just how I like it.
CHAPTER THREE
The prison is quiet this morning. People are fluttering about, keeping to themselves, and the inmates aren’t saying a great deal. They’re all in their cells, most of them staring blankly at walls. The very idea of being trapped in a space like that for years on end has my heart tightening. It’s one of my biggest fears.
There are a few prisoners in here who are wrongly convicted; it happens. It’s a sad fact of life, but it’s just how it goes. I don’t see it a lot, and even when I do there’s nothing I can do to help – after all, what could I do? It’s not my job, and it’s something that can’t be changed. I just can’t imagine how horrible it would feel. To be forever trapped for something you didn’t do.
“Another early one, Ash?” Tristan says, appearing beside me as I reach security.
“You’re here early,” I say, checking the time. He doesn’t usually do the morning shifts.
“Yeah. Just wanted to make sure the new prisoner was secured.”
“Right.” I yawn. “How’s all that going?”
We reach security and start the long process of going through.
“You will see him today. You can check it all out when you go down there. He isn’t saying a word.”
“He doesn’t really have to. Well, not to us, anyway.”
“No, but it all helps,” Tristan mutters.
“That’s true. You want me to see what I can get?” I ask, shrugging off my jacket.
“Yeah. He won’t speak, and I’m trying to assess him. His court appearance isn’t for another few weeks.”
“What have you got on him so far?”
“Not a great deal,” he says, stepping through and stretching his arms out for scanning. “His name is Beau Dawson. He’s the vice president of the Jokers’ Wrath MC. Not married. No family. His sister died when they were both fifteen. They were twins.”
“That’s interesting,” I say, stepping through after him. “Do you know what happened?”
He shakes his head. “Details are sketchy at this point, but I’ve got someone looking into it.”
Someone looking into it? It’s not really his job to have someone look into details such as that.
“Who is looking into it?” I ask.
He stiffens and shakes his head quickly. “Oh, just some other guards.”
Something doesn’t feel quite right, but there’s nothing obvious enough standing out that I have the grounds to do something about it.
“Fair enough. Well, I’ll stop by and see if I can get anything else.”
He pats my shoulder. “You’re awesome. Thanks.”
I go through my usual routine of changing, logging in and pairing up with some other guards. Then I begin my rounds. We stop at Beau’s cell first, because Tristan wanted me to see his reaction. I peer in, and my lips part as I suck in a breath, God, will it get easier to look at him? Surely it will?
“Beau,” I say, though my voice doesn’t come out as firm as it usually would.
Beau lifts his head, revealing those incredible grey eyes. They’re lighter grey, like a storm cloud that has given off all its rain and is fading into the blue sky. His black hair drops over his forehead and his expression is almost murderous as he glares at me. They don’t like being here; it’s not abnormal.
“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.