Precarious
Page 7
“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.
I get to my feet and walk forward, pressing my fingers down onto his shoulder and pinching a nerve there—I learned this in training. He roars in pain and lurches forward, landing on the floor. It hurts, I know it hurts, but it’s an easy and effective way to take a prisoner down without the need for weapons.
I lean down, rocking on my heels as he stares up at me with rage in his features. In a low, growling tone, I say, “Don’t touch me again.”
Then I get up and leave.
They can deal with Beau Dawson.
“You look exhausted,” Claire says when I drag my backside into the house that night.
I throw my purse down and shrug my jacket off. “Mentally exhausted, perhaps.”
She pours a glass of the red wine she’s drinking, and brings it over to me as I drop down onto the couch. “Here you are.”
“Ohh, you’re a champ.”
She smiles and flops down beside me on the couch.
“Can I ask you something?”
I sip the wine, closing my eyes and groaning with delight. “Sure,” I finally manage.
“I overheard Leo talking this afternoon.”
My eyes pop open and I turn to her. “And . . .”
“And I heard that . . . Queen of Whoretown is pregnant.”
I snort at her choice of words. “I don’t know a great deal about it, but I did warn him last night that he needs to be careful.”
“What does he see in a girl like her?” She pouts prettily.
“She’s easy.” I shrug. “Leo is complicated and she doesn’t question him, she just gives him what he wants.”
“Complicated is certainly what Leo is.”
I nod, pursing my lips. “Does it bother you?”
She shakes her head quickly, too quickly, if you ask me. “No, of course not.” She waves her hand and snorts. “He can do whatever he wants.
I grin at her, but choose to say nothing more. I wish those two would pull their heads out of their backsides and see that there’s a serious sexual connection there.
“Did you get to see the crazy gunman today?” she asks, turning towards me with a curious expression. Her eyes are wide, her lips pursed.
“I did, nothing major happened,” I sigh, leaning my head back.
“Your job sucks.”
I laugh. “Some days I could agree with you.”
“You up for pizza and movies tonight? I’m too lazy to cook.”
I groan, kicking my shoes off. “Absolutely. I’m stuffed.”
“I got that new movie, The Fault In Our Stars.”
“Oh no,” I groan, pressing a hand to my cheek. “I heard that one will make me ugly cry.”
“Ugly, snot-pouring-out-your-nose, wailing kind of cry,” she nods.
“Can’t we watch something happy?”
“Trust me,” she says, standing and skipping into the kitchen. “It’ll be fun.”
It’s not fun.
Halfway through the movie I’m blubbering, clutching my wine to my chest, and wishing I had protested harder. This movie is so beautiful, but so incredibly heartbreaking. I can’t deal with this sort of emotion. It’s ruining me. Claire is sitting beside me, making the occasional sobbing noise, her hand pressed to her mouth.
Damn her and her sad movies.
CHAPTER FOUR
“In a better mood today, are we, Beau?” I say, leaning against the cell door and staring in at the broody biker.
It’s the third day, and they’re still trying to figure out what happened—there really aren’t enough details around it. He’s up for a sentence, but witnesses are being very unclear. Apparently one said Beau was arguing with the man, but didn’t shoot him. Another is saying that there was another man with him, and that he couldn’t pin who it was. Security cameras went down before the shooting, so it was absolutely planned.
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.
I get to my feet and walk forward, pressing my fingers down onto his shoulder and pinching a nerve there—I learned this in training. He roars in pain and lurches forward, landing on the floor. It hurts, I know it hurts, but it’s an easy and effective way to take a prisoner down without the need for weapons.
I lean down, rocking on my heels as he stares up at me with rage in his features. In a low, growling tone, I say, “Don’t touch me again.”
Then I get up and leave.
They can deal with Beau Dawson.
“You look exhausted,” Claire says when I drag my backside into the house that night.
I throw my purse down and shrug my jacket off. “Mentally exhausted, perhaps.”
She pours a glass of the red wine she’s drinking, and brings it over to me as I drop down onto the couch. “Here you are.”
“Ohh, you’re a champ.”
She smiles and flops down beside me on the couch.
“Can I ask you something?”
I sip the wine, closing my eyes and groaning with delight. “Sure,” I finally manage.
“I overheard Leo talking this afternoon.”
My eyes pop open and I turn to her. “And . . .”
“And I heard that . . . Queen of Whoretown is pregnant.”
I snort at her choice of words. “I don’t know a great deal about it, but I did warn him last night that he needs to be careful.”
“What does he see in a girl like her?” She pouts prettily.
“She’s easy.” I shrug. “Leo is complicated and she doesn’t question him, she just gives him what he wants.”
“Complicated is certainly what Leo is.”
I nod, pursing my lips. “Does it bother you?”
She shakes her head quickly, too quickly, if you ask me. “No, of course not.” She waves her hand and snorts. “He can do whatever he wants.
I grin at her, but choose to say nothing more. I wish those two would pull their heads out of their backsides and see that there’s a serious sexual connection there.
“Did you get to see the crazy gunman today?” she asks, turning towards me with a curious expression. Her eyes are wide, her lips pursed.
“I did, nothing major happened,” I sigh, leaning my head back.
“Your job sucks.”
I laugh. “Some days I could agree with you.”
“You up for pizza and movies tonight? I’m too lazy to cook.”
I groan, kicking my shoes off. “Absolutely. I’m stuffed.”
“I got that new movie, The Fault In Our Stars.”
“Oh no,” I groan, pressing a hand to my cheek. “I heard that one will make me ugly cry.”
“Ugly, snot-pouring-out-your-nose, wailing kind of cry,” she nods.
“Can’t we watch something happy?”
“Trust me,” she says, standing and skipping into the kitchen. “It’ll be fun.”
It’s not fun.
Halfway through the movie I’m blubbering, clutching my wine to my chest, and wishing I had protested harder. This movie is so beautiful, but so incredibly heartbreaking. I can’t deal with this sort of emotion. It’s ruining me. Claire is sitting beside me, making the occasional sobbing noise, her hand pressed to her mouth.
Damn her and her sad movies.
CHAPTER FOUR
“In a better mood today, are we, Beau?” I say, leaning against the cell door and staring in at the broody biker.
It’s the third day, and they’re still trying to figure out what happened—there really aren’t enough details around it. He’s up for a sentence, but witnesses are being very unclear. Apparently one said Beau was arguing with the man, but didn’t shoot him. Another is saying that there was another man with him, and that he couldn’t pin who it was. Security cameras went down before the shooting, so it was absolutely planned.
