Home > Walker (Grim Sinners MC Originals #4)

Walker (Grim Sinners MC Originals #4)
Author: LeAnn Ashers







Sitting at my desk, I watch as another one of my clients breaks down in their car after a long and horrible session.

Being a psychologist is one of the hardest jobs; I’m wrecked daily with the stories I’m told but driven to help them.

I mostly deal with PTSD cases, so I usually hear the worst of the worst. I turn my head away from the window, my eyes misting over as I let myself feel.

I close my computer and gather my files before I head over to the prison.

It’s a dangerous job. My dads have fits about it but someone has to do it. If the prisoners have gotten the care they deserved from the beginning, a lot of this could have been avoided.

Locking the door behind me, I make my way over to my client’s car and knock on the window gently to not startle her.

She glances over at me, her eyes red. She opens the door for me, and I bend down so I can speak with her.

“Are you okay, Frances?”

She nods at first then immediately shakes her head no. “Do you need me to do anything for you? Call someone?”

She dries her eyes; she’s just an eighteen-year-old girl who has been handed a very traumatic hand. A boyfriend she snuck out to see didn’t come to pick her up and someone decided to take her off the streets when she was sixteen.

“My brother.” She scrolls through her phone until she reaches a contact and hands the phone off to me.

I take the phone and shut her door not wanting her to hear my conversation.

“Hey, sis,” he answers.

“This is Frances’s therapist. She’s really upset right now, and I was wondering if you can give her a ride home because I don’t think it’s safe for her to drive.”

I hear him let out a deep breath over the line. “I will be there in a few minutes. Can you stay with her until I get there?”

“Of course.”

He hangs up the phone and I open the door handing her phone back, but she doesn’t let go of my hand as she takes the phone. She’s holding onto my hand like it’s her lifeline.

She is staring out of the window toward my building. “I have never properly cried; I’ve been numb for so long and this is the first time I’ve let it all out.” I stand here and let her talk about everything that crosses her mind, sometimes words aren’t needed but you need someone just to listen.

A little while later a car pulls up next to us and her brother gets out of the car. She lets my hand go and practically sprints to him, hugging him so tightly.

I walk to my car knowing she is in safe hands now; he puts her in his car. I wave bye to both of them and drive the ten miles to the prison.

I mentally prepare myself to bring out my inner boss bitch to face these guys.

I pull up to the gate and scan my badge, my heart beating faster the second the gate opens.

Here we go.

I’m led to a room with a metal table and chairs bolted to the ground. I’m personally searched for weapons and my bag has been searched thoroughly.

I pull out the files for the guys I’m supposed to be seeing today to go over which medications I should start them on.

I have security guards stationed at every corner of the room; the men don’t have privacy for their sessions like in the real world.

The door is pushed open and a man wearing chains cuffed around his ankles and then shackled to his wrists is led in. They push him down onto the seat, he bares his teeth at them like an animal. He tries to shrug them off.

I hold my breath until they have him chained to the table. I pretend that I’m not fazed by his actions and open his file reading over everything.

He was seriously abused as a child which led to him developing multiple personalities and almost all of them are not good.

I can feel his deep, dark eyes piercing into my face as I read over everything.

“Mr. Randoff, how are you today?” I ask him.

He jumps forward like he is going to attack me, but the chains stop him a foot away from me, his face straining and becoming redder by the second.

“Well, I’m assuming that you are not good.” I go over the list of different questions to ask him about how he is feeling, his mental state. He is void of emotions.

I look to the guards, and I write a prescription for him to start him off and hopefully help him.

I hand it off to the security guard and then he’s practically dragged out of the room, his eyes not leaving mine once.

“You okay, Summer?” one of the security guards asks.

I let out a deep breath. “I’m fine, just ready to get all of these visits over with.”

He studies me for a moment before he moves closer behind me which makes me feel a little bit safer.

I have five more clients before I’m done for the day. At least these men were more lucid than the first guy.

I’m escorted out and try to ignore the screaming men who are yelling at me through the cells. They’re so loud I can hear them through the glass.

I hurry out of the walkway, ready to get out of here. I just hope those men I prescribed meds to can be helped a teeny tiny bit.

I try to think that maybe there is a bit of good in everyone but hearing the stories I hear every day and being here, I know without a doubt there is extreme evil in this world. I’m faced with the haunted faces of those who have suffered by their hands.

One thing I’m more than ready for is to curl up in my bed and sleep the day away.


* * *





* * *


I fist the blanket at my side, waiting and fucking pleading for the images to escape from my mind, to give me a moment of peace to escape the horror.

The screams of my mother pleading to save my life, begging for them to not hurt me, never leave me.

Being in the SEALs all these years, I was too fucking exhausted to even dream because the second my head touched the pillow I was out. But when I returned home from the SEALs, the memories came back with a vengeance. I sit up in bed pressing my fists into my eyes.

I need to get out of here, I need to fucking breathe.

I slide out of the bed and into the kitchen to grab a beer. It’s fucking cold out here in Michigan, but it’ll be a nice distraction from my mind.

Sitting back on the porch swing, pulling the blanket over my legs, I take a long pull of my beer.

When I was ten years old, my mother and I lived on a horrible side of town. My mother would sleep in the living room in fear of someone breaking into the house while we slept.

And they did.

One night, I woke up to my mother screaming for me to hide. I didn’t. All I could think about was getting to my mother to make sure that she was okay.

They held us captive for twenty hours, torturing us for the fun of it. They didn’t kill us, but the remembrance of what they did to my mother is what haunts me.

I was too young to help her, too young to do anything but sit back and watch whatever she could do to protect me.

I want to hunt those fuckers down; it’s on my fucking mind every single day to make them hurt the way they hurt my mother. They are getting out of jail in a month, maybe that’s what’s causing these dreams to come back with a vengeance.

The fire inside me seeks revenge for what they did to my mother. I sit here and wait for the sun to come up, wanting the day to start; nights are the worst for me.

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