CHAPTER ONE
Ahead of the darkness is where I’ll find him.
ASH
My boots thud on the stark, tiled floor as I make my way down the long, narrow halls. This place is familiar to me; I’ve spent the last five years of my life working here. I’m a prison guard. It’s not always the nicest job; I’m faced daily with scenes that would send a normal person over the edge.
But to give up, to back down, has never been something I was good at. I’m as stubborn as I am headstrong, and that’s exactly why I’m good at my job. I’m thorough, I’m professional and I give the prisoners something that no one else can—I give them thought. I am always sure to leave them with something that will change a part of them permanently.
They call me Wildcard, for more reasons than one: the first reason being they find it utterly hilarious that I’m a woman in a world that is so heavily dominated by men. The second reason is because I can take a man double my size down on a good day. I’m fierce, I’m wild, and that’s why they keep me here.
I’m here for one reason and one reason only: to do my job. I paint my face with a mask that is rarely broken, making sure my eyes show no fear, making sure my expression doesn’t give away emotion. After all, it isn’t about me—it’s about them. They’re the ones in the cold, lonely cells for crimes they chose to commit. I’m just here to make sure they stay in line.
I round the corner to the security gates, and smile when I see the Control Officer, Tristan. He’s a friend, both inside and outside of work. His job, basically, is to make sure the guards are always doing their jobs correctly. He’s fantastic at what he does, and he’s a great person to work with.
“Good morning, Ash.” He smiles as I approach.
“Morning, Tris. How are things this morning?”
He shrugs. “Same as they were yesterday; hectic.”
I laugh, reaching up to tuck a strand of chocolate-brown hair behind my ear. “It’s what we thrive on. Anything I need to know about this morning?”
He runs a scanner over a fellow guard who is starting his shift for the day. It doesn’t matter if you’re a guard or a visitor; you go through intensive security every visit. They can’t risk allowing weapons, or any items that can be used as weapons, inside the prison.
“You’re on Ward D.” He winks. “They’re behaving so far.”
I let out a snort, before stepping forward and putting my purse down. I lift my arms above my head and he runs the scanner over me.
“Henry is on that ward,” I say. “How has he been behaving?”
He shakes his head, running the scanner down over my legs. “How does he always behave? Nice shoes.”
I grin down at my boots. I’m not the kind of girl to go for heels. I live in boots—knee-highs, ankle boots, Doc Martens, you name it. The ones I’m wearing today are black ankle boots that match my skinny jeans. Of course I don’t get to wear them long. As soon as I’m inside I have to get into uniform, but I don’t leave the house without looking sassy. “Thanks, they were a bargain.”
“You’re good,” he says, waving me through. “Have a good day. Meet me for lunch?”
I nod. “Absolutely.”
I go through quite a long process just to get into Ward D. Even though we’re not a maximum-security prison, this is still where our worst inmates are kept. I am never without another two guards by my side when I’m working in that section, purely for safety reasons, and they’re usually male. There are only four female guards in the entire prison.
The prisoners up here are problematic. They spend a great deal of time with our prison psychologist because of the crimes they’re in here for. It’s her job to decide if they need further treatment in a mental facility. There have been countless suicides. They’re criminals, and in most cases their minds are challenged in some way, shape, or form. It’s why they choose to do the sick and deranged things they do. In a majority of cases, there is pain that stems from childhood that leads to such activities.
“Morning, Ash,” Luke, the guard standing outside the ward, says when I approach.
Luke is only slightly older than me, with wavy brown hair and blue eyes. He seems nice enough, but he doesn’t usually say a great deal. It’s probably perfect with this job, because he’s always straight to the point and doesn’t get caught up in any drama.
“Hey Josh. How are things this morning?”
He shrugs, staring down the hall. “Fine. You ready to do your rounds?”
I nod. Usually rounds are what I do first. I go around, check out the cells and the prisoners, and then I’m usually sectioned in a certain area where I’ll spend the day. Sometimes it’s in the break room, other times it’s in the yard, and there are also times when I do paperwork in the office. It just depends on the behavior of the prisoners that day.