“C’mon, man,” Pritchard growled. “We ain’t got all day and I want my turn, too.”
Annoyance cracked the stony mask of his face, but he obliged, coming over her, flattening his hands on either side of her head. She sucked in a sharp breath, certain she was about to start hyperventilating. Or pass out. Maybe that was best . . . so she wouldn’t be present for what was about to happen to her.
He was so big she felt smothered, even though he hadn’t dropped his full weight on her body. Ducking his head, he brought his mouth close to her ear. “Just lay still,” he whispered.
She swallowed back a sob.
She had chosen such a careful life. Safe. How could this be happening . . . ?
She blinked suddenly burning eyes, the air still crashing from her lips harshly.
Maybe it was such thinking that got her here. Thinking that she somehow deserved better. That something like this could never happen to her if she made smart choices. If she didn’t want it to. If she didn’t let it.
“Shh.” He placed one hand on her forehead while the other hand gripped her waist, a tactile reminder that he was not about kindness or tenderness. He was about ruining her. Hurting her. “It will be over soon.”
Oh. God. She shuddered, bile rising to her throat at his hushed utterance.
She turned her face away, stared toward the windows, trying to disappear inside herself. Something glinted through the glass, catching her eye. She squinted, noticing it again. It flashed in the sunlight from atop the neighboring building.
Then suddenly Callaghan surged. Lightning fast, he sprang. She flinched, expecting pain, but it never came. He didn’t touch her.
His hands dove for Pritchard—-grabbed him by the throat and hauled him off the bed. Simultaneously, he lashed out and kicked Gronsky in the face in a smacking crunch of shoe on bone that launched the other inmate halfway across the room.
Suddenly free, she sat up, gaping at Callaghan and Pritchard. They fell to the floor in a pile of wrestling limbs and flying fists. Gronsky staggered around with his hands cupping his nose, blood streaming through his fingers, obscenities flying from his mouth like bullets.
“Run!” Callaghan shouted as he fought with Pritchard, grunting as the inmate landed a blow to his bruised ribs.
The sound of his bellowed command reverberated through her. He was helping her? He was on her side . . .
Snapping out of her astonishment, her gaze swept the room, landing on the gun several feet away. She jumped off the bed and scrambled toward it, but Gronsky was on her, his hand clamping down on her calf and bringing her down on the ground with a sharp cry.
She twisted and started kicking at him with the heel of her foot. He howled, blood flowing more freely from his face, but he didn’t release her. He clawed up her body with digging fingers. She struggled against him, scrabbling and scratching, desperate to carve out a piece of him.
He spat hot curses as he cocked back his fist and nailed her in the face with an iron fist. Pain and fire erupted in her cheek, radiating outward to her jaw. She was going to be sick. She went limp, blackness edging in on her vision.
Dimly, she heard a roar, and then Gronsky was gone. His weight off her. Wheezing for breath, she rolled to her side, holding her face and fighting off nausea.
She blinked several times, bringing her vision into focus. Callaghan lifted the inmate up off his feet with a growl that sounded like it was wrenched from the depths of him—-then slammed him back down onto the concrete. Gronsky’s head struck the floor with a sickening smack. He collapsed there. Stunned. Maybe dead. She didn’t know.
Chest heaving, Knox staggered one step and stopped before her. She gazed up at him, feral and wild, blood dripping from a fresh cut to his mouth. She pushed unsteadily to her knees. He reached for her arm, helping her to her feet.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
She nodded, a sob threatening to break loose from her chest. She pressed her lips tight to deny it, but then a rush of movement behind him made her scream.
Knox whirled around as Pritchard charged them. Knox shoved her back. The collision propelled her into a bed. Gasping, she arched away, her fingers clutching the edge of a mattress behind her. Before she had time to react, to search for the gun again, a flash of reflected light hit her in the face.
A pop of gunfire shattered the world in an explosion of glass.
A man screamed. Then there was another pop.
Knox tackled her, wrenching her to the floor. “Stay down!” he shouted.
“What’s happening?” she croaked.
She lifted her head to see what was going on, but he slapped a hand on her head and forced her back down. “Damn it, they’re shooting!”