Chapter 32 Evie
EVIE
Tempest wastes no time driving us to the precinct, despite the late hour.
The hum of motorcycle engines trails close behind as we pull into the nearly vacant lot.
A brick building stretches before us, framed by swaying palm trees.
A gentle, foreboding breeze sends a chill down my spine as I step out of the car and into the night.
Silence descends when Noctis, Bane, Adrian, and Dominic join us at the concrete stairs, all of us staring up at the looming windows veiled by closed blinds.
“Are you sure about this?” Tempest asks, but we both know there’s no other option.
Without answering, I pad up the cracked steps and enter.
Flickering fluorescent lights buzz overhead as I pass through the monotoned lobby toward the front desk, where two men are talking.
A large screen with a rotating camera feed hangs on the wall behind them.
I allow myself a moment to search, but find no trace of my demon among the holding cells.
The first man to look up is a middle-aged officer with a permanent sneer and a bald spot poorly concealed by a greasy combover.
He nods along as the elderly man in front of him finishes speaking.
The man’s tailored black slacks and polished shoes spark a flicker of unease, tugging at something in the back of my mind.
“Father Michael?” I gasp, stomach twisting as recognition slams into me.
His sharp eyes snap to mine, shrewd and calculating.
I wring my fingers as he rises, peering down at me.
His once-dark hair has faded to grey around the temples, and his usual black jacket is replaced with a light blue polo, nearly the same shade as his eyes.
A permanent orangey tan stains his skin, and there, embroidered on his left breast pocket, is the emblem of my family’s church: a pair of hands raised in supplication toward a rising sun.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, more to break the staring contest than anything else.
“I could ask you the same, Evie.” One bushy brow lifts just as the front door opens behind me, the soft tread of boots echoing across the tile.
“It’s a shame I missed you at lunch this past weekend.
My son recently returned from his travels and was promised a meeting with a good, upstanding woman.
Jonathan assured me you would be there.”
Heat floods my cheeks as Father Michael’s gaze drifts past me, nostrils flaring.
I don’t need to turn around to know what he’s looking at.
Behind me are four of the deadliest men in the city, clad in motorcycle gear and covered in tattoos.
The epitome of everything Father Michael has spent the last nineteen years warning me against.
“Jonathan came to me for guidance,” he continues, voice rising so the others can hear, his condemning gaze boring into mine. “He confided in me about your troubled past and is worried you’re being led astray once more.”
Shame pulses through my veins, each pump of my heart pushing more of the potent drug through my system.
Because judging by the way Father Michael’s gaze dips to my chest and lingers, trailing down my body with slow appraisal, I already know my pervert half-brother supplied proof of my “troubled past.”
“There there, child,” Father Michael coos, a cold smile twisting his face as tears sting my eyes. “Come with me. I’ll return you to your father’s keeping and then Jonathan and I will purge whatever sin you’ve indulged in.”
“Get fucked, old man,” Tempest seethes, stepping beside me.
“Watch your mouth,” the officer snaps, pushing to his feet.
My gaze darts between Father Michael and the police officer, realizing just how weird it is to find a member of the church here. In a police precinct. Late at night.
I suck in a deep breath, not wanting to believe the obvious, but needing to speak the words aloud.
“Did Jonathan put you up to this?”
Father Michael’s lips press into a thin line as he lifts his chin. The look alone is all the confirmation I need. A door to the back office opens, and three more police officers emerge, looking ready to brawl at the slightest provocation, but I don’t shift my attention.
“He did, didn’t he?” A harsh laugh scrapes my throat before cutting off. “It was Jonathan who told you to arrest Silas, Erik, and Mavros. Wasn’t it?”
The last sentence is all fury, and I relish the way Father Michael recoils.
“Those filthy heathens deserve to be punished, just like them,” he spits, lifting a bony finger past my shoulder. He tsks. “And as much as it pains me to say it, you too, Evie. You’ve strayed from heaven’s light and plunged into darkness. What will your father say when he sees what you’ve become?”
“You can’t keep them in prison,” I say, chest heaving. And despite knowing Silas did kill Mark, the words don’t feel like a lie when I say, “They didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Actually, we can,” says the officer with the bad combover. “They don’t have alibis, and the victim is still missing.”
“That’s circumstantial evidence at best,” Noctis states, his words clipped but controlled.
“We have a witness who claims the victim and one of the suspects were involved with the same woman,” another officer adds. “We believe it may have been a lover’s quarrel.”
The blood drains from my face. They’re talking about me. Me and Silas—but also me and Mark.
Anyone could’ve seen us at the nightclub that first night. Dozens of people could’ve watched me leave with Mark, then seen him turn up the next day with a black eye. And me grinding on Silas.
As if called by thought, my gaze lifts to the camera monitors. One of the previously empty cells now holds three men. One of them cocks his head, almost like he can sense me watching. He stands, dark hair and thick lashes coming into view as he stares straight into the lens. Silas.
“Don’t blame yourself, Evie,” the first officer says, his tone growing more patronizing as he looks me over.
Nausea threatens to upend my stomach as he finally drags his eyes away from my body and gestures for me to go with Father Michael.
“These devils could bewitch anyone, but I sometimes join Jonathan when he’s out saving lost souls.
We’ll set you right. Tell your father I said hello when you get home. ”
Father Michael extends his hand, expecting me to take it. I could. I could let him take me back and accept whatever horrible punishment Jonathan comes up with, falling back in line with the future they’ve written for me. That’s what I’m expected to do. And in some ways, it would be easier.
I’ve been raised in this life. Told time and time again that being a wife, serving my husband, and becoming a mother was the path to find meaning.
It’s hard to recognize the grave when you’re already buried in it.
But somewhere along the way, I started digging myself out. Silas, Tempest, the Seven—they’ve helped me through the last of it, lifting me above the rot clinging to my body, the lies weighing on my soul. But it’s always been up to me to continue to fight. To choose to live.
“They were with me all night,” I say, ignoring Father Michael and focusing on the officer. I’m proud of the steeled tone to my words, even if I’m trembling inside.
“Don’t do this.” Father Michael shakes his head. “Your father will have no choice but to punish you.”
The combover is a lost cause, so I turn to the three officers who don’t seem to know who I am and lift my chin.
“Silas, Erik, and Mavros are innocent. And I can prove it.”