STORY 21: FUCKING THE PRISONER (End)

Chapter 1 Zara’s POV “Where is the patient?” I asked, my voice sharper than usual as I pushed open the heavy door of the prison infirmary. The guard by the doorway barely lifted his head, chewing gum, lazy as fuck. “Inside, bed three.” The smell hit me first, disinfectant, sweat, and that metallic sting of blood. My shoes clicked across the dull tiles as I moved further inside, and my stomach tightened when my eyes landed on him. He wasn’t like the others. Most prisoners I had treated in this job were either broken down, old, or too far gone in drugs to even look human anymore. But this one, he looks entirely different. He sat half propped on the bed, his muscular arm stretched out, the other cuffed to the iron frame above his head. The restraint made his chest pull tight, his shirt torn, exposing cut muscle and skin inked in black tattoos. There was a fresh slash across his bicep, blood running down, staining the sheets. His head turned the moment I entered. Jesus Christ. His eyes wer