Two nights later, the air inside Blackthorn Prison hung thick and heavy with the metallic tang of rust, stale sweat, and distant echoes of men who had long since given up on redemption. Sophia moved like a shadow through the dimly lit corridors, her black hoodie zipped just high enough to hide the rapid rise and fall of her chest, her leggings clinging to the curves of her thighs. Her dark hair spilled loose over her shoulders, wild and untamed, nothing like the neat, professional bun she wore during daylight hours. She was no longer the composed prison counselor. Tonight, she was simply a woman answering a dangerous, irresistible call.
Her heart slammed against her ribs with every silent step. Fear and raw anticipation twisted together low in her belly, sending slick heat between her leg
