that make you? Setting him up to be raped, murdered, why? Huh? Do you even know, Rogers? Or are you just following orders?”
Rogers’ face contorted with rage. “You know what, inmate? I don’t like your tone.”
Cy gave him a smile. “You know what, boss? Not a fan of yours either, if we’re being honest.”
“You really think your boy is any safer just because you took Thor out of commission? You think there aren’t a dozen others who’d easily pass him around until there was nothing left? All you did was delay the inevitable and piss off the warden.” He came to squat in front of Cy, making sure to stay just out of reach. “That’s why I’m here. I needed to let you know that you’re officially removed from the canine service program.”
Cy bit the inside of his cheek to keep from asking about Rosie, but there was no need. “Don’t worry, though,” Rogers said as he stood and walked to the door. “Your dog failed out of the program. She’ll be on her way to the shelter by morning. I hear pitbulls don’t fare well at the shelters. It’s a shame. I know how much you loved that dog.”
Cy waited until he was certain Rogers was gone before flinging his tray across the room with a hoarse shout. “Fuck!” he yelled, punching the wall the way he wanted to punch Rogers, letting his fist fly again and again until the pain made him woozy and his blood painted the egg white yellow bricks.
When he stumbled back onto his mat, his hand looked like ground beef and throbbed in time with his accelerated heart rate. It wasn’t until rounds that the guard noticed Cy’s injury, alerting the other officers and transporting him to the infirmary.
The infirmary was quiet with only two other inmates seeking treatment. One was asleep on a bed in the corner, and another was having a cut on the forehead sealed closed with medical glue. Cy laid on his bed, his uninjured hand cuffed to the steel frame.
When the nurse finally made it to Cy, she tsked at the mess of his hand. She was an older woman with silver curls pulled back into a ponytail and a flinty gaze that said don’t fuck with me far better than words ever could. She donned gloves and rolled her stool to his bedside, probing Cy’s hand, ignoring his grunts of pain.
She shook her head. “You need x-rays. You might have several broken bones.”
“No. No x-rays. Patch him up so we can take him back to the hole.”
The woman turned to glare at the guard who spoke. “Who the hell are you?”
The overly muscled guard smirked at the older woman. “Perkins. I’m new. Warden says to patch him up and send him back to solitary.”
She fixed him with a flat stare. “Luckily, I don’t answer to you or the warden. Dr. Mitchell will be here in the morning. You can tell her why you refused needed medical care to a patient.” Perkins rolled his eyes at the woman but then turned back to his post. She gave Cy a reassuring smile. “I’m just going to get this cleaned up and wrapped. I’ll keep you here overnight and have Mitchell look at you in the morning. She’ll make sure you get the care you need.”
Cy nodded, but his mind was elsewhere. Rosie. Had they already taken her back to the facility? Would they take her tomorrow? He wished he had somebody he could call, somebody who would take care of her until he was free. It hit him then. He was likely never going free. Nicky would. If he could get a message to Nicky, maybe one of his friends could go get Rosie. Could find her a good home.
“You okay?” she asked.
“Yeah,” Cy muttered. “Fine.”
She smiled as she dabbed his bloody knuckles with something that stung. “You don’t sound very convincing.”
Cy turned his attention to the tiny older woman, noticing her leopard print cat eye glasses for the first time. “It’s a long story.”
“It’s just you and me and the coma guy over there until Mitchell gets in at seven. I’ve got time.”
Cy laughed despite himself. “Are you allowed to call your patient ‘coma guy’?”
Her mouth lifted at the corners. “He’s not in a coma, he’s just sleeping off some prison wine. He’ll be fine. Why are you beating up…concrete?” she asked, using a pair of tweezers to pull a piece of the wall from his wound.
“No talking,” Perkins