Precarious(10)

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 through 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?”