Page 27 of Claim

I swallowed them dry.

“Back to the wing.” She turned away. “Buzz if you vomit or can’t breathe.”

They uncuffed me long enough to cuff me again.

That was medical.

Alive. And very clearly not their problem.

I’d had my share of patch-ups on the outside. Back when I was a mouthy little shit getting into fights for fun and Mum would clean me up at the kitchen sink, muttering under her breath. Then Keeley learnt how to do it properly, hands steadier than Mum’s, so she took over. After that, I did it myself. I learnt quick cause I had to. Then when I started rolling harder, Tyler’s bird would help. Shanice, once or twice. Always with that look that said I’d earned it. I’d thank her. Fuck her. Transaction closed. None of them were gentle. None of them needed to be.

Then there’d been Tristan.

When I’d turned up at his place with a knife wound, his hands had been warm. Careful. As if he cared. The only ones that ever did.

Fuck.

I hated how I kept thinking about him. In here. This place of concrete and teeth and rules carved into flesh. Even the memory of him didn’t belong behind these doors.

He was long gone and better for it.

They walked me back to the wing. Lockdown again. My fault this time. As I passed the cells, I caught the looks. The muttered jeers. The resentment. I was almost grateful when my door came up, because all of that was waiting for me the moment we were let loose again.

Dent unlocked the cell. “You need to learn when to walk away.”

I snorted. “Bit hard that, in a crowded stairwell.”

Dent didn’t answer. What could he say? Ghost had been waiting for me to be boxed in with the screws far enough off to let it turn ugly before they came running and called it mutual.

The door shut.

And I was back in my six-by-six.

Colin shot up from his bunk. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

The lie came easily. Automatic. But when I shrugged, pain bit hard enough to spark white at the edges of my vision.

Colin saw it. “Sit.” He gestured to his bunk.

I sat. More collapsed really. Let it take my weight. The adrenaline had gone, leaving everything louder. Every breath rubbed wrong.

Colin hovered, shifting from one foot to the other as if he didn’t know where to put himself. Hands useless. Eyes darting to me, then away. Then he grabbed a cup from the sink, filled it with water, and held it out. “I got you a new one.”

I took the cheap plastic, prison issue mug. One that had come in the induction pack for those with no money on their books. They had to give you the basics, no matter your status. A cup was one of them. If you lost it, that was on you. And no one touched another man’s cup. That was a rule. One of the few that held. I’d lost mine on the stairwell. Fuck knew how he’d got another.

Right then, the gratitude hit like oxygen.

I drank. Long pulls. Water slopping down my chin, hands shaking just enough to piss me off. “Thanks.”

He nodded, then glanced at my chest. “Your ribs. They wrap you?”

“Barely.”

He crouched, reached under his mattress and pulled out a spare vest. Worn thin. Clean enough. He tore it straight down the side. “Lift your arms.”

I narrowed my eyes. “How do you know what you’re doing?”