Again, his steely blues captured my eyes, and he reached up to cup my cheek with a roughened palm. “Nothing. It’s just I wish I could take care of you. I wish we could have what other people have, but we can’t.” My body went cold when he pulled away from me. “Lyla, if you don’t leave, they’re going to kill you. I can’t stop it. I can’t protect you here. I can take care of myself. Please, just go.”

I shook my head. I couldn’t leave. There was still so much left to do.

“If you go, I’ll send you money every month to help with your bills,” he said, shocking me.

“What? You’re not doing that. How the hell would you do that anyway?”

“There’s a fight club,” he started.

“No,” I hissed when I wanted to yell.

I didn’t even let him finish. I’d heard about the fight club. I’d stitched up boys who fought in it, and there was no way I was going to let him do that. No freaking way. Especially not for me, and especially considering he’d just recently healed from a head injury.

“Lyla, just listen,” he started.

“No. There’s nothing to listen to. I’m not quitting yet, and you’re not fighting in any stupid fight club.”

Without letting him talk again, I turned to leave. His fingers dug into my arm when he pulled me back, his hand going straight to my ass and squeezing. He was hot and cold—on and off—my own personal rollercoaster ride.

“You’re so fucking hot when you’re angry,” he growled against the side of neck.

His teeth grazed my skin, sending chills down my side. Then he was kissing me, his tongue plunging into my mouth roughly as he tasted me. I kissed him back, enjoying the feel of being manhandled. He was so big—so strong—so freaking sexy.

Oxygen flooded my lungs when he finally pulled away, and my hand flew to my swollen lips, feeling the tingly heat from him.

“Think about it,” he said, and then he turned away and sat on the bed just in time for Reeves to pull back to curtain.

“Everything okay in here?” he asked, his eyes moving from X to me.

“Everything’s just peachy,” X responded in his usual gritty tone.

He was taken back to his cell an hour later, and it wasn’t long before I was finishing up my paperwork and biting the tip of my pen thinking of him and the way his hands and mouth felt all over my body. My skin flushed and I smiled to myself, knowing that one day soon, he’d be all mine.

THE NEXT MORNING, Dr Giles and I were walking out. We’d just finished our shift and while he still had tons of energy, I felt as though I was seconds away from passing out. Sleep tickled the edges of my conscious, and I was worried that maybe it wasn’t safe for me to drive home.

Tossing my bag onto the counter for the officers to look through, I stepped through the metal detector just like I did every day. I stepped through coming in and I stepped through going out, never had there been a problem, except for this time.

The alarm beeped, warning the officers that something metal was on my person. There wasn’t. I knew that. I’d taken the time to put everything in my bag. I’d learned the rules, the way things worked, and I also knew what to do to get myself out of Fulton and into my bed quicker. I was prepared for the metal detector.

Jumping at its loud beeping, I rolled my eyes as I turned around to go back through. I stepped through a second time, sure that the first alarm was a fluke, but again, the alarm beeped.

“What the—?” I started. Looking down, I made sure my badge was taken off. I didn’t have pockets in my scrubs. There was no metal on me.

The alarmed beeped again the third time I stepped through, and I sighed in aggravation. I was tired. Stressed. And every other word that meant I really just wanted to go home and get in my bed.

Officer Mitts stepped my way with a smile. “It’s procedure,” he said.

I held my arms out to my sides and shook my head. “Yeah, yeah, yeah.”

His waved the hand-held metal detector my way, running it up and down my legs and around my hips. When it didn’t beep, he moved it up over my stomach and then down my left arm. Bringing it across my body, the alarm beeped when he waved it across my chest. My shirt had a tiny pocket that I never used, and that seemed to be the spot that was drawing out the metal detector’s attention.

Mitts reached into the tiny pocket and pull out a small, thin knife. The switchblade popped out with a click when he pressed a tiny button on its side. Shock moved through me. I’d never seen the tiny knife before.