Precarious(7)
“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.
“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.