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Pain pierced his chest.
“How does it feel, bitch?”
He blinked.
Footsteps thudded. More wind. And pain.
Men swarmed him. Old. Young. All in orange. Dark tattoos on their necks. Arms. Hands. A twisting snake. A roaring dragon. Tear drops on a tanned cheek.
Their arms flew up and down and he screamed and screamed as the pain cut through him.
Distantly, he heard the alarm when it began to blare.
But they didn’t stop.
Not even when he begged.
Chapter Fourteen
His hands curled around Avalon’s waist. Her mouth was open beneath his, her taste making him mad with need, but this was not the place. Alarm bells were ringing in his head because of the crap that Everett had said.
How had he known about the Jag? I never told a soul about the Jag. And how did he know I was in a gang back then? How did he?—
Avalon pulled back. Her long lashes lifted.
And Beau realized that the alarm bells weren’t ringing just in his head. An actual alarm was blasting through the prison. Fear filled her green eyes.
“What’s happening?”
He grabbed her arm and ran for the door. Even as he reached out to yank it open, Douglas surged inside.
The DA yelled, “Lockdown!”
The alarm seemed to blare louder.
“The whole damn place is going under a lockdown. There’s been an attack in the yard. Swarm of prisoners jumped someone.” Douglas had yanked off his tie. “Come with me, now, before we all get our asses trapped in here for who the hell knows how long!”
Like Beau had to be told twice. He kept his hand wrapped around Avalon’s wrist. Adrenaline spiked in his blood. Wasn’t this one of the things he’d always feared when it came to Avalon? That she’d be trapped with killers when something bad happened? An inattentive guard who let a prisoner get too close? A riot where there was no control?
He’d spread the word hard at every prison she entered. Made it clear through his connections that she was not to be touched. But he still had enemies. People who might not follow along like they were supposed to.
People like freaking Everett Thomas.
You’re a dead man, Everett.
Guards were running forward.
He heard talk of tear gas being deployed. There were more frantic shouts. Metal doors clanged shut. Douglas hauled ass, but the DA kept glancing back to make sure he was being followed by Beau and Avalon, and it was while he was glancing back that last time—that was when he was attacked.
A bear of a prisoner in a garish, orange jumpsuit came out screaming, and he swung what looked like a lunch tray into the side of Douglas’s head. Douglas cried out in pain even as he stumbled to the side and slammed into the prison bars of an empty cell.
The prisoner raised the tray again?—
Beau plowed into him. He drove his shoulder into the man’s chest, and then he pounded his fist right into the prick’s groin. Oh, what? Like he wasn’t supposed to play dirty? It was the only way Beau knew how to play.
The tray clattered to the floor.
The prisoner grabbed his dick and moaned in pain.
