Chained: A Bad Boy Romance (6 page)

“Yeah, we probably will,” she said. “I guess I love him. A little.” Her laugh echoed through the building. Again, every set of eyes turned to us. “So tell me about your new job, how do you like it? I can't believe you're working there. That prison is creepy, even from the outside.”

I watched her pour three sugars into her coffee and sip it. “Still have a sweet tooth, huh?” I had to say it, the woman had been sweetening everything for years, even her vegetables. It was no wonder she was so high strung.

“Ha! Yeah. It's good, I swear. I don't just do it to help me get through the morning.” Sara squinted at me, pointing with her coffee cup. “Don't change the subject. How's work?”

“I like it, it's definitely different. I don't really care for the warden, but overall it's going well.” I wanted to yell,
I have a crush on an inmate! I can't get him out of  my head!
But I couldn't do that. She would definitely disapprove, and probably smack me.

Maybe I should tell her, I could use a good slap to bring me back to reality.

Even the mere idea of touching—god, fucking—Owen was breaking a major rule for patient and doctor relationships. I really wished I could tell someone what was going on in my head.

“That's it, huh? That's the reason you give me when I can see things for you suck face? I don't buy it. When you're ready to tell me, let me know.” She sipped her espresso and rolled her eyes. Sara knew me too well, she'd realized I wasn't being honest.

I sighed violently. “It's complicated, let's just leave it at that.”

We spent the rest of the time catching up on her social life and laughing about our college days. It felt good to have my mind redirected for the moment. I was relieved to be thinking about something other than him.

Yet, he still weighed on my thoughts. The issue was just paused for the moment.

Glancing up, I saw the room was clearing. The morning coffee rush was over, but that meant... “Shit! What time is it? I have to be at work for eleven.” I glanced down at my phone and saw I had fifteen minutes to get to the prison. “I have to go, sorry! We need to do this again!” I stood up swiftly and frantically grabbed my things.

She jumped up, sticking her arms in her coat. “I have to go too, I'll walk out with you.”

We exited to the street, getting blasted by the cool air. The snow fell at a steady pace, a thick layer already covered the ground. The road was hardly visible beneath the white blanket that coated it.

“I'm over there.” I pointed to the right. Just then, I noticed a small dog briskly walking across the street in my peripheral vision. He looked mangy, most likely a stray.

Poor thing stuck out in the cold.
I hated seeing pets without a home. Who would abandon an animal like that?

My ears pricked at the sound of tires squealing. In front of me, a car slid into the intersection. I knew something was wrong when it twisted, losing traction as it glided on the snow.

I watched in slow motion as it barreled towards the defenseless dog.

No!

I threw my purse down and burst into the road. I pushed myself, desperately trying to reach the dog before the inevitable happened. There was no care for my own safety. In that moment, all that mattered was the frail animal.

I'll save it, I have to! Oh god, please!

My eyes grew large and my heart raced as I watched the dog make a feeble attempt to run out of the way. His small feet tried to scramble, but the icy conditions made it impossible.

A high pitched whimper split the air.

I was too late.

The car slid into a snow bank, coming to a halt with a metallic crunch.

My heart sank in my chest. Not once did I slow down, I hurried until I neared the body of the dog. From the corner of my eye, I watched as everyone ran to the aid of the driver. They helped push the vehicle out of the snow, but no one was coming to help the dog.

Somehow, the responsibility had fallen to me.

Kneeling down, I touched the cold, shivering body of the animal. It was a small dog, some sort of mutt. The white fur on its side was stained with blood.

I had almost forgotten Sara was there until she crouched beside me.

“Wow, that was crazy, huh? Is he alright?” she asked as she rummaged around through her purse. Her tone was much more casual than I would've expected.

“Sara, call the animal hospital, let them know I'm on my way with a dog that just got hit.” I removed my scarf and proceeded to carefully wrap him inside it.

“Charlie, it's just a stray. Don't you have to be at work?”

I glared up at her, forehead knotted, saying nothing. She could see how concerned and upset I was. Immediately, her demeanor changed.

Plunging her hand into jacket pocket, she pulled her phone out. “Okay, I'm calling.”

Turning back to the animal, I curled it in the scarf and pulled him to my chest. I didn't care if he was a stray or not, he was a living creature. I couldn't leave knowing he needed help.

I carried him carefully over to my car. He was breathing heavily in my arms. A soft whimper escaped as he looked up at me.

“Don't worry, I'm going to get you help,” I whispered as I approached my vehicle. I rested him delicately on my passenger seat.

I hope he's going to be alright. Poor thing.
I softly pet the top of his head, his eyes looking up at me in distress. Tears welled up and fell as I looked down at him, knowing he was in pain.

Hopping into my seat, I turned my key in the ignition and sped as quickly as I could down the icy road. I wanted to floor it, but I didn't want a repeat of the earlier accident.

On the drive to the animal hospital I pulled out my phone and dialed the prison. “Glen, it's Charlie. I need you to cancel my first two appointments today. I'm going to be late.”

When I was kid, my grandfather owned a farm. I would go visit every summer and  I always loved helping with the different animals. As much as I enjoyed my profession, there was a special place in my heart for animals. They didn't have a voice of their own, they couldn't ask for help if they needed it.

If I thought about it, there was a connection between those creatures and the people I sought to save.

The drive felt like it took forever. Finally, I pulled into the hospital parking lot. Carefully lifting the dog back into my arms, I shoved out of the door. My knees were still wet from the snow and slush on the ground.

I can't believe this happened. I'm going to make sure he gets everything he needs. I really hope the injuries aren't too bad.

“You're going to be okay, shh.” I tried to console the whimpering dog. Kicking the front entrance open, I ran up to the front desk.

The staff member there looked up at me. “What can we do for you?”

“He was hit by a car and needs help right now!” I shouted, clutching the ragged, dirty dog. Tears had left streaks down my cheeks.

The hospital worker reached out for him. It was hard for me to pass him off, my grip tightening around his frail, quivering body.

He's so helpless, how do I know they'll give the same attention to this lone dog as they would to a family pet?

“My name is Dave,” the staff member said calmly. “We will take good care of your dog. Please let me see him.” Reluctantly, I did so. “You said a car hit him?”

My hands dug into my jacket. “It lost control on the icy road.”

Dave nodded, making me wait as he carried the dog into a room. I was anxious, so when he returned, I jumped forward. “Will he be okay?”

“He'll be fine. Let me get your information, okay?”

Dave took down my name and number so he could call about how the dog was after they examined and treated him. Inhaling until my chest hurt, I felt drained as my adrenaline faded. Then, I spotted the clock above the front desk. It was already noon.

Shit, I need to go!

As much as I wished I could stay to be there for him, I needed to get to work.

My body fell like dead weight into the driver's seat of my car. I couldn't believe how my day had turned.
I hope they call me soon with an update.
That sad, injured face haunted my mind.

Before leaving the hospital I glanced at myself in the mirror. The traumatic event had left me looking ragged.
I can't go into work looking like this.
Black was smeared halfway down my cheek bones from my eyes, my hair was twisted in different directions and wet from the falling snow.

As I fixed myself quickly, the empathy I felt for the dog swam up again. It was overwhelming.
He's going to be fine, he's getting help.
I took in a deep breath and tried to calm myself on the ride to the correctional facility.

I walked briskly into the prison, my adrenaline starting to pump again.
My brain is going to be fried.

My feet, still wet from the snow, hit the marble tiles. With a sharp gasp, I twisted, trying to keep my balance. Gripping the wall, I puffed out a breath, smoothing my shirt. I had been distracted trying to adjust myself that I almost didn't notice Warden Lynch.

He was rested against the front desk, talking with the clerk. I could already feel a headache brewing, the last thing I wanted was to see him, or to explain why I was late. He would most likely think it was ridiculous and irresponsible for me to put a stray dog before my obligation to
'his'
prison.

He held his coffee mug up to gesture hello at me, then continued with his conversation.

I smiled and hoped that would be the extent of his greeting. When I passed him without any questions, I breathed a sigh of relief.

I made my way down the corridor towards my office. I had started to approach the community room and could hear some loud yelling coming from inside. When I reached the glass windows that overlooked the area, a large mass of men were yelling and fighting.

The guards posted inside were standing motionless. I tried to understand what was happening.

There was a small man cornered against the back wall by seven men. A large crowd of other prisoners surrounded them, antagonizing the group on.

The guy in the middle was definitely the leader, he was laughing and jabbing the defenseless prisoner. The others around him followed in suit. Each one took a turn to spit on the smaller guy.

He looked frightened and kept glancing up at the guards as if waiting for them to do something. I felt the same as I looked down on him.
What are they doing? Why aren't they stopping this?

The man that led the attack had a ragged scar across his throat. He seemed to be encouraging each of his cronies. He would point at one of them and they would take their turn.

Each assaulted him in some way as he covered his body, trying to block the blows. The man in charge ran his hand over his greasy black hair as he laughed uncontrollably.

A short, fat guy with a shiny bald head grabbed the injured prisoner by the back of his neck. He pulled his arm back and released a punch into his stomach. The leader patted the fat man on his back as he stepped away, making room for someone else.

This is awful! He can't defend himself against all of them. It's disgusting that they're all finding this funny. Where is the humor in this?

I couldn't believe what I was witnessing. The guards all watched from above and said nothing. They made no attempt to intervene. I raised my hand to the window, about to pound on it to get their attention. I wanted to yell to the guards to do something, or even just draw the attention away from the weak prisoner and onto myself.

They should be controlling the situation. How can they just stand and watch so carelessly? Do what you're getting paid for, assholes!

Right as I lifted my hand, I saw the group of observers part like the red sea. A figure walked effortlessly through the mass of men.

Those who where following the main instigator backed up completely. The leader didn't notice at first and continued to throw blows at the cowering man.

The room fell silent. I heard the soft muffle of a voice. The unknown figured had turned and I could see his side profile. 

Owen. That's Owen.

My heart skipped a beat. He pointed at the scarred man who had been beating on the prisoner. The two of them exchanged words. I couldn't hear what was being said, but the gestures said it all.

Owen pointed towards the hurt prisoner and then at the big man in front of him. His eyebrows were crinkled low over his eyes, he definitely didn't approve of the behavior these guys had displayed.

The aggressor tried to get close to Owen's face, he shoved him and Owen barely moved.

I was in awe of his strength, to be there taking a stand, to not back down to the other man and hold his ground.

In a burst of speed, Owen thrust his open hand into the guy's left shoulder. Then, he began yelling and pointing towards the beaten man who was now curled up on the floor in pain.

He's protecting him. He stopped the attack.

My body got chills. Here I was, standing and watching this supposed bad boy show a tenderness that I had not expected was there. I was mesmerized as he shoved the other guy across the room.

No one else joined the fight. Even the guards just observed, not willing to give any assistance.

Owen was in charge.

As the fight ensued, the leader raised his fist and took a swing at Owen. He was clearly enraged by the fact someone would stand in the way of him and his victim.

I found myself cheering inside my head for Owen, hoping he would knock this guy out. My face was pressed against the glass, knuckles turning bone-white.

What am I doing? This isn't me. I don't like fighting.

But his body language, his sternness, was giving me butterflies.

I'd seen several fights at my old job, but this was different.

This didn't feel pointless.

Owen grabbed the man by his arm and threw him down. He jumped on top of him and repeatedly punched him, one fist after the other. It wasn't until that moment that the guards finally intervened.

They swarmed the two men like flies to a piece of meat, their guns raised in an effort to gain back their control.