Page 7

Dax

I set the tray between us, a barrier, for her or me, I’m not sure which. Maybe both.

The food on it is about as appealing as the tray itself.

Overcooked rice clumps together next to something grayish that might have been chicken once, covered in congealing gravy.

A few limp green beans round out the masterpiece.

She takes a bite without hesitation, though, chewing thoughtfully like it’s filet mignon.

I watch her, waiting for the inevitable grimace, but it doesn’t come. She doesn’t wrinkle her nose or shove it aside. She just eats. She hasn’t looked down on any of us since she stepped off that ferry. Not yet, anyway. The only people she seems to hold in contempt are the guards.

When she turns to me, there’s a smile on her face, small but real. It’s beautiful, and it knocks me back for half a second.

“What will I find in Dax Stryker’s file?” she asks.

Shit.

I keep my face neutral and blow out a slow breath, taking a bite of the gray chicken. The taste is as bad as it looks, but I chew anyway, letting the question hang. She doesn’t push, just waits, and every second stretches longer as my thoughts claw their way to the surface.

All my sins. All the bodies.

I’ve killed more people than I can count. Every single one of them deserved it. I’d do it again in a heartbeat. What does that make me?

“Dax?” Her voice is calm, soft, but it cuts through my thoughts like a blade. She’s watching me like I’m some kind of puzzle, turning the pieces over in her head, trying to fit them together.

It should piss me off, most people don’t bother looking past the surface. They see what I want them to see. But there’s something about the way she looks at me that makes me want to say more than I should.

“Why are you asking about me?” I say finally, keeping my tone neutral. “Aren’t you here to evaluate the program?”

She leans forward slightly, her fingers curling around the edge of the table. “Maybe learning about you is part of that.”

Her answer isn’t sharp, sarcastic, or baiting. It’s honest, and it catches me off guard. For the first time in a long while, I feel like someone’s actually seeing me. Not the enforcer. Not the monster. Just me.

It’s unsettling as hell.

“You’ll see several murder convictions,” I say finally. No point in sugarcoating it. She’s going to read it all anyway.

Her smile doesn’t waver.

“You’ll see I rode with the Ravens,” I add, testing her. “As their enforcer.”

Her expression doesn’t change. Not a flicker of judgment, no tightening of her lips or raising of her brows. Nothing. The woman has no sense of self-preservation.

I try to picture her on the back of my bike, her legs wrapped around me, her arms tight against my chest. Her hair would catch the wind, and I’d smell that soft, sweet scent of hers.

Something warm and clean and totally out of place here.

Damn it. She doesn’t belong on a bike. Not with me. Not with the man I am.

And yet, I’d give anything to take her on a ride.

“How did you end up here?” she presses, her tone still calm.

“Plea deal,” I answer honestly, leaning back slightly. “My state had the death penalty. I was fucked otherwise.”

She nods, her pen poised above the notepad she’s barely touched. “You got life, then.”

“Life, plus a couple hundred years,” I say, my lips twisting into something that’s not quite a smile. “Figured I wouldn’t outlast it.”

She leans back now, her eyes still on me, and I can’t tell if she’s studying me or just waiting for me to say more.

“So,” I say, turning it back on her. “What will I find in your file?”

She laughs, soft and clear, and it hits me like a sucker punch.

That sound shouldn’t belong here. It shouldn’t belong to me.

But as it rings out, echoing off the cold walls of this godforsaken place, I know she’s mine. No way around it. Doesn’t matter how wrong it is, or how much I tell myself I’ll be bad for her. She’s already claimed a spot in my head I don’t let anyone near.

“Well, there won’t be any murder convictions,” she says, her lips quirking up into a small smile.

Christ almighty, she’s joking with me. She doesn’t flinch, doesn’t back away. She’s teasing me like I’m just some guy sitting across from her. Like I’m not exactly what her parents probably warned her to stay the hell away from.

I watch her lips move as she talks, and all I can think about is bending her over this table. The sweet sound of her laughter replaced by gasps, her nails digging into my arms as I show her exactly what I’d do to her.

“You’ll see someone who wants to make sure you’re not taken advantage of just because you have a past,” she continues, her voice growing steadier.

“You’ll see I’ve worked hard with other facilities to make real change.

I’m an advocate for…” She pauses, sighing softly, and that little sound unravels me further.

“There’s no reason to ever treat anyone…

” She pauses again, like she’s trying to find the words.

I sit back, tearing my eyes away from her mouth, though it doesn’t help much.

“I see that,” I say finally. “But don’t go thinking any of us are worth saving. We’re not worth you being here.”

“But you are,” she says, like it’s the simplest thing in the world.

That shouldn’t hit me the way it does. She says it without hesitation, no trace of doubt, and it burrows under my skin, wedging itself in a place I’ve locked down for years.

Me? I’m not worth the shit on her shoes.

“You should’ve left when I said,” I mutter, my voice coming out sharper than I mean.

“Why?” she demands, her gaze locking on mine.

“It’s not safe here. In case you haven’t noticed, the inmates are running the joint,” I say. “The guards should be locked up, and you… you’re—” a tragic headline in the making. I don’t finish the thought, but I know she hears it anyway.

“Not getting on the next ferry if I haven’t finished my work here,” she says, cutting me off.

She’s so mine.

I grip the edge of the table, grounding myself before I do something stupid. “I’m going to lose a lot of sleep making sure you survive to the next ferry.”

She laughs again, and damn it, that sound does something to me.

“What’s the program?” she asks, her tone softening.

That’s a splash of cold water if I’ve ever felt one.

I exhale slowly, leaning back. “That’s something you only talk to me about,” I say, my voice low, even. “Until you get off this rock. Even then, sweetheart, people kill to keep those kinds of secrets.”

Her smile falters slightly, and I can see the question forming in her eyes. She doesn’t ask it. Smart woman.

“Not killers like me,” I add. “You’d see me coming. It’s the dirty bastards who kill innocent women you need to worry about.”

Her expression shifts then, something I can’t quite name flickering across her face. Not fear. Not disgust. It’s something deeper, something that makes me want to grab her hand, pull her out of here, and lock her away somewhere safe where no one, not even me, can touch her.

“Fine, it’s just us,” she says, like I’m not already painfully aware of how alone we are right now.

My gaze flicks away from her briefly, scanning the yard. A couple of guards linger near the far wall, chatting like this is just another quiet night. A few inmates meander nearby, smoking or leaning against the fence. None of them would dare screw with me. Not openly.

“What is the program?” she presses, her voice steady but softer now.

I drop my tone, lowering my voice so it barely carries. I shouldn’t tell her. Hell, I shouldn’t even be entertaining this conversation. But something about her makes it impossible to stop. “Research,” I say finally. “Testing. Rats and beagles just don’t give the same results.”

Her face freezes, her lips parting slightly as she stares at me, horrified.

The look makes me want to kill someone. “It’s not so bad,” I lie, my voice rough. “Someone has to make sure that delicious scent you wear doesn’t make your skin peel off.”

Her hand flies to her mouth, and for a second, I think she’s going to recoil, finally see me the way most people do. But then, to my absolute shock, she reaches out and touches my arm.

Her fingers graze me lightly, just above the elbow, her touch achingly gentle. “You’re not kidding?” she asks, her brows drawing together as she studies me.

I glance at her hand, my skin burning under the contact. Woman. You have no idea what you’re doing.

“They’re testing things on you?” she continues, her voice dropping, as if someone else might overhear. Her hand stays on me, and it takes everything in me not to close the distance between us. “That’s illegal.”

I laugh, sharp and bitter. “No one gives a shit what they do to us. There’s big money in this. Medical trials are slow and expensive when they’re legal,” I say.

Her eyes widen, and I see the pieces click together in her head. “Medical…” she murmurs. “Pauly. A shot. What did they give him?” She starts to rise, her movements quick, like she’s ready to storm off and demand answers.

“Sit,” I say firmly, my tone brooking no argument.

She freezes, then slowly lowers herself back down, her gaze locked on mine.

“What did we agree on?” I ask.

“Between us,” she admits, her voice soft but full of frustration. “But, Dax, what are they giving you?”

I exhale, running my tongue across my teeth.

“This week? Who knows. We don’t get to ask questions.

” Her eyes stay on me, those pretty blues cutting through every defense I have.

Shit, I’m running my mouth now. “Look, those of us who toe the line don’t get the nasty stuff.

Pauly’s fresh out of solitary. A real pain in the ass.

” I shake my head. “But he doesn’t deserve to be a test monkey any more than me.

He just doesn’t have the damn sense to…”

“None of you,” she interrupts, her voice sharp and fierce. “You can’t think you deserve to be treated like animals.”

I am an animal.

Her words hit something deep, something I don’t have the tools to deal with. Before I can respond, I spot a guard edging closer, his beady eyes flicking between us like he’s looking for a reason to interfere.

I lower my voice to a whisper. “Come here.”

She hesitates for half a second before sliding closer.

I pull her into my lap, my hand gripping her hip, and lean close to her ear. “Play along,” I murmur.

Her breath catches, and for a split second, she stiffens, like she’s deciding whether to trust me. Then she exhales, slow and shaky, and melts against me.

She’s soft in all the places I’m hard. Warm where I run cold. And for a moment, I forget why I did this in the first place.

“Yes, Dax,” she says softly, purring my name.

The sound goes straight through me, hot and sharp, and the second it leaves her lips, the whole damn game shifts. The act doesn’t feel like an act anymore.

My fingers tangle in her hair, the soft strands slipping between them like silk. I tug gently, tilting her head back, and my mouth brushes the line of her jaw. Her breath hitches, and that tiny sound ignites something dark and possessive in me.

This was supposed to be for show. But as her body presses into mine, as I feel the heat of her through her clothes, something dangerous takes root. I should push her away. End this before I forget that it’s just a game.

But I don’t.

Not yet.

Not until I have no other fucking choice.

The guard chuckles behind us, his boots scuffing the pavement as he moves on.

I force myself to loosen my grip, to pull back just enough to break the moment. My hand falls from her hair, but the tension in my chest doesn’t ease.

“Dax…” she whispers, her voice soft but uncertain.

I exhale, slow and steady, and brush my thumb over her hip before letting go completely.

“Not here,” I say, my voice low.

She doesn’t move right away, her body still pressed against mine. And when she finally does pull back, it feels like a part of me goes with her.