Free Hardened by Ashe Barker Page A

didn’t see it that way.”
    “You told them?”
    I shake my head. “Not all of it. Not the spanking bit. But they knew I was in your cell. There were cameras on the wing and they obviously went over all the footage with a fine-tooth comb to gather evidence about how the riot started, ringleaders, all that stuff. I couldn’t come up with a convincing explanation for what I was doing in your cell, and there were other questions too. For instance why were my clothes left behind in there? And why did I not come out when the furniture started flying and try to restore order?”
    “You’d have been torn to bits.”
    “I should have tried.”
    “Fuck that. We did the right thing. We both survived, and none of the prisoners ended up on charges for murder or assault. And as for the clothes, we needed to make you as inconspicuous as possible, so you changed your officer’s shirt for prison issue.”
    “You made me take off my bra too.”
    He smiles, his eyes twinkling. “Ah, yes, perhaps not strictly necessary but I’ve never been one to pass up an opportunity. Did they pick up on that?”
    I nod, mortified just by the memory of trying to explain everything that happened that afternoon to a far from sympathetic management enquiry. Time to change the subject.
    “Were you hurt? In the fight with the other men, I mean. I saw you, before they hustled me away.”
    “Bruised ribs and a broken finger, that’s all. Nothing much. I was shipped off to Strangeways jail in Manchester and put back on basic though, which pissed me off. I liked my radio and proper toilet and I had to do without all those luxuries for months. My parole board was postponed too. I served an extra year for my part in the riot.”
    “But that wasn’t fair, you had no part in it.”
    “Ah, Molly, such faith in the system. There’s not a lot happens in prisons that I’d really describe as fair, but it’s in the past now. I’ve moved on.” He smiles at me and picks up the cafatière. “More coffee?”
    I nod, and wait in silence as he pours. He sips his coffee, black I note, and fixes me with that stern look again.
    “So, we’ve established that you believe you were a crap officer, though I think you’re being rather hard on yourself. As screws go, I’d say you were decent enough. And we’ve dealt with Rachel. Now shall we discuss Mr. Whitkirk?”
    “Who?”
    “Your husband. I take it he isn’t with you?”
    “Oh, no. No, we’re divorced. Well, nearly.”
    He makes no comment on that, just watches me, waiting for more.
    “It was a mistake. I got married because I felt I had to. I had to do something, after what happened between us. Andy was there and he just sort of bulldozed me into it.”
    “You surprise me, Molly.” He doesn’t say it, but I sense I disappoint him too. That hurts.
    “I surprised myself. But as you say, it’s in the past and I’ve moved on.”
    “Have you? In that case, why are you back here, looking for me and wanting to discuss spanking? And why did you feel you had to do something?”
    I draw in a deep breath and meet his gaze. His expression isn’t hostile or accusing, just interested. And determined.
    “Okay. Andy always hated my job, and after the riot he never got his head around how I came to spend forty minutes locked in a cell with prisoner. I told him nothing happened but he didn’t believe me.” Jared’s lip quirks at that, and I shrug. I did what I did, and there’s no undoing it all now. “He was jealous, angry, insecure, and I was fragile in the aftermath of it all. I was weak, and I wanted some peace and quiet. It just seemed—easier. So I handed in my notice and married him.”
    “I’m getting the impression this wasn’t a love match.”
    “Not really, as it turns out. We were engaged though, and living together, so it was a natural step. Or it seemed like that at the time.”
    “You had a live-in fiancé, and you still let me spank you?”
    “I know. I just got caught up in it, and