The Prison Project (by Bethany Donaghy) novel Chapter 140

Coban’s POV

The X-ray machine clicked once more – loud, mechanical and final.

Then the hum died.

Silence settled once again as I waited for the next move.

They were taking too long… Addison was taking too long…

The doctor stepped out from behind the shield, scribbling something on his clipboard without even looking af me. “You can breathe,” he said flatly.

1 already was.

Barely.

My pulse thudded behind my eyes, a steady hammering rhythm that had nothing to do with the break in my nose and everything to do with how fucking wrong this was going.

Every minute I stood here was another minute closer to the swap. Another minute Margot was unprotected.

Another minute Addison was failing me.

Bitch…

The doctor adjusted his glasses and approached me. “Nasal bone is fractured,” he announced, like I hadn’t already figured that out. “We’ll need to realign it before you go.”

“Just do it,” I snapped, voice low and sharp.

He gave me a level look – cold, unimpressed. “You’re very impatient.”

“No shit,” 1 muttered.

Before he could answer, a voice crackled over the intercom outside but it was muffled, indistinguishable, but the sound was enough to make my shoulders tense.

The guard’s head turned slightly toward the door.

My heart dipped, then rose violently.

Was that them?The suits?

Was Addison actually doing her damn job?

The doctor motioned for me to sit on the padded stool beside the radiation panel. I stayed standing.

He raised a brow. “You’ll want to sit.”

“I’ll stand.”

The guard shifted his weight behind me, arms folded tight.

I didn’t care.

I wasn’t settling in. Not now. Not when I needed to be ready to move the second an opportunity arose.

The doctor sighed, exhausted already, stepping closer with gloved hands. “Fine. But hold still. It’ll hurt.”

Good.

Let it hurt.

The more broken I looked, the more believable my excuse would be for wanting to see the suits – fear of a fight, risk of retaliation, whatever bullshit story they needed to justify why I needed “immediate executive contact.”

The doctor gripped my nose.

I hissed

“On three,” he said

And then he just fucking snapped it on one anyway…

Pain detonated behind my eyes in a flash of white so violent I swayed. A choked curse tore from my throat,

hands clenching into fists at my sides as he pressed, twisted, and forced the bone back into alignment.

“You bastard!” I snarled through clenched teeth, breath shuddering as I doubled forward for a second

The guard took half a step forward.

I shot him a glare that stopped him dead.

The doctor stepped back finally, wiping his gloves on a sterile cloth. “There,” he announced. “Good as it can be without surgery.”I dragged air into my lungs, blinking until the room sharpened again around the edges.

The doctor turned away, snapping his gloves off. “You’ll be returned to your cell block once I update the chart.

Don’t get into any more fights for at least a day or two Mr Santorelli!”

“No,” 1 cut in before he could finish.

He paused.

The guard stiffened

“I’m not going back yet.” I continued defiantly.

The doctor blinked like he didn’t trust his hearing. “..Excuse me?”

I said I’m not done here, I want meds and I’m feeling nauseous now.” I lied.

• The guard stepped forward now, jaw tightening. “Santorelli. Don’t start.”

I looked the doctor dead in the eye. “Someone is supposed to see me here soon…”

“Who?” he asked, suddenly confused.

1 was flailing now, unsure of how to respond, as l opened and closed my mouth like a damn fool – the excruciating pain in my face having an effect on my thoughts too…

“We don’t have time for this nonsense today!” The doctor clicks at my lack of response to his question.

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