Don't Trust the Warden

Chapter 7 – Caught Like That

The crawl space narrowed toward the end, a faint strip of light cutting through the darkness ahead.

Liv pushed forward, her breath uneven, her arms beginning to ache from the strain. Every movement felt heavier than the last, her pace slowing no matter how much she tried to keep going.

“Almost,” Jack said behind her.

His voice was steady. Certain.

She held onto that.

The opening came into view—a narrow gap just wide enough to slip through. Before she could adjust, Jack moved past her, fast and controlled, dropping first.

He landed quietly and turned immediately, already looking up at her.

“Give me your hand.”

Liv swallowed and reached down.

His hand closed around hers at once—firm, steady—grounding her before she even realized she needed it.

“Slide down.”

It was simple instruction that was practical and necessary.

And yet, the moment stretched.

She shifted carefully, lowering herself. One leg slipped through the opening and then the other. Liv's body was angling awkwardly in the tight space. The air felt thinner somehow, her awareness sharpening in ways she couldn’t control.

“Keep going.”

His other hand came to her waist.

Steady. Guiding.

The touch wasn’t rough. It wasn't even urgent.

But it lingered.

Then she slipped.

Not a full fall—just a sudden drop—but it knocked the breath out of her all the same.

He caught her instantly.

“Easy… easy there.”

His voice was low, unexpectedly gentle, close enough that she felt it more than heard it.

Her body met his body in stages.

Her hips first—caught, steadied.

Then her waist. His hand tightened slightly to hold her.

Then the length of her torso, sliding down against him, every inch of contact registering all at once, too much and not enough at the same time.

Her breath broke.

He absorbed her weight without effort, one arm braced behind her, the other firm at her waist, holding her as if she weighed nothing at all.

For a moment, she didn’t move. She just couldn’t.

The contrast hit her immediately—her balance uncertain, her body reacting, pressed against something that is solid and unyielding. His chest was right there, close enough that she could feel the heat of him; the steady rise and fall beneath her. A strange, unfamiliar ache tightened through her chest, sharp enough to make her breath catch.

Her feet found the edge of his shoes, barely grounding her. Her thighs pressed against his, firm and unyielding, and the contact sent a sharper awareness through her body. There was something solid beneath her, something she couldn’t ignore, brushing against her with every slight shift, making her breath catch before she could steady it.

Their faces were close.

Too close.

Her breath hitched again as their eyes met, just for a second, but long enough for something unspoken to pass between them. Not accidental. Not entirely.

Her gaze flickered, uncertain, searching—caught between confusion and something she didn’t recognize in herself. She felt it again, that same unfamiliar pressure, and this time she didn’t look away fast enough.

Something had shifted. Something sharper.

It wasn’t something she understood. But only something she felt–sudden and unfamiliar, tightening through her as she stayed there, too aware of him, of herself, of everything between them.

Maybe it had always been there. But she was only noticing it now. And for a second longer than it should have been, he didn’t let go. Then, slowly, his hold eased, guiding her back to her feet rather than simply releasing her.

But his hand lingered at her waist—just a moment longer than necessary—the warmth of it still there even after he let go.

Liv stepped back, her breathing uneven as she tried to steady herself, to push the sensation aside, to pretend it hadn’t affected her the way it had.

Jack straightened, his attention shifting outward again—but not entirely and completely.

For a brief second, that was longer than it should have been—he hadn’t moved away either.

The room around them came into focus.

Small. Dim. Metal shelves lined one wall, stacked with old tools, cleaning supplies, and forgotten equipment.

Storage.

Quiet. Too quiet.

Jack was already moving toward the door, listening.

“Service corridor outside,” he said. “Close to the outer section.”

Before Liv could respond, the handle turned and her heart jumped.

The door pushed open, and two inmates stepped inside.

They froze and saw her.

And everything shifted. There was no hesitation—only opportunity.

“Look at that—”

One of them moved first, closing the distance quickly. His hand shot out, grabbing at her arm, her waist, pulling her forward.

Liv gasped, twisting instinctively, but his grip tightened.

Then it was gone.

Not released. Taken.

Jack moved in fast, stepping between them. His hand caught the man’s wrist and twisted sharply.

A crack echoed in the small room.

The man dropped hard, clutching his arm. The second inmate lunged straight at Jack. This time, Jack didn’t step back. Instead, he stepped in. One clean movement—his forearm drove into the man’s throat, cutting his momentum and forcing him backward. A short strike followed to the ribs, then another to the jaw.

The man dropped instantly.

Silence followed.

It was over before Liv could fully process it.

Both men were down. Not moving.

Her breath came in uneven bursts, her hands shaking as everything caught up to her at once. Her pulse raced too fast, too hard.

Jack turned back to her. “Are you hurt?”

She shook her head, but her body didn’t cooperate. The adrenaline drained too quickly, leaving her unsteady, her balance slipping before she could correct it. Without thinking, she stepped into him. Her arms went around him, clinging to him without hesitation.

Up close, there was no ignoring it. His shirt was gone, his skin still warm and damp from the heat of the chaos, the fight, the effort. Her hands landed against bare muscle, fingers spreading instinctively as if she needed to feel that he was real.

In contrast, she was a mess—her blouse half-open, buttons loosened and uneven, the fabric shifted out of place, her skirt pushed higher than she realized, exposing more of her legs than she ever would have allowed under normal circumstances.

But she neither noticed nor cared. Once she was against him, everything else faded.

Jack didn’t just hold her—he enveloped her. His size, his strength, and the breadth of him seemed to close around her completely, drawing her in until there was no clear boundary between where she ended and where he began. Her body fit against his with unsettling ease, and her cheek pressed to his chest, while her arms wrapped around him as if she had always known how to be there.

Her breath caught, softer now and less frantic.

And then something shifted. A flicker of memory that's sudden and unwelcome.

Strong thighs beneath her. The weight of her body settling there.

Arms wrapped around a neck, just as solid, just as unyielding.

Her stomach tightened. Her fingers moved slightly against him, almost restless now, sliding along his side, then back again, as if testing the shape of him, confirming something she didn’t want to name.

It felt the same.

Too close. Too familiar.

The realization came in pieces and not fully formed. But it was enough to make her pause for a second too long. Heat rose to her face, unexpected, and unexplained, as the echo of that sensation lingered—something deeper, the hardness pressing between her legs and her thighs brushing against his. It was something she had no language for, but couldn’t dismiss.

It had only been a dream. Hadn’t it?

Her grip tightened again, unconsciously.

Jack felt it.

He hadn’t meant for the moment to linger, but he didn’t step away either. His hand moved at her back, slower now, and less neutral. His palm settling more firmly at her waist, idly sliding toward the exposed skin of her leg where her skirt had ridden up. The motion was controlled, deliberate, but there was a quiet shift in it—something less detached, more aware. His thumb brushed once, almost absent-minded, then stilled.

Jack didn’t pull her closer. He didn’t need to. She was already pressed so tight into him.

From the outside, it didn’t look like the aftermath. It didn’t look like “shock” either. It looked like something else entirely.

Like she belonged there.

And she had chosen to stay.

The door opened, and voices rushed in—guards shouting orders, movement spilling back into the corridor as control slowly returned.

A guard stepped in first, scanning the room before his posture shifted at the sight of Jack. “Warden.”

The word landed harder than it should have.

Liv felt it before she processed it, her breath catching as Justin’s voice echoed in her head without warning.

Don’t trust the warden.

Her fingers stilled against Jack’s chest.

Slowly, she turned.

Justin stood among the other inmates, held in place by guards. His face was bruised, and his gaze fixed on her. Not just on her—but on where she stood, pressed against Jack, her hands still on his bare chest, his arm still around her as if it belonged there.

For a moment, everything lined up too clearly—the warning, the man, the way she hadn’t moved away.

Her chest tightened.

Because now she could see it the way he did.

How it looked. What it meant.

And worse—why she hadn’t stepped away.