Chapter 31
Istill feel her on my tongue and smell her on my clothes.
No matter how much I replay the moment in my head, I still can’t believe she’s her.
When I saw her walk into the cell, it was like my body knew her better than I did.
After all these years searching, I can’t believe she was here beside me, making me fall for her all over again.
But how do I tell her she’s been my obsession all these years without opening old wounds that her mind has repressed?
How can I bring someone that much pain, all for the selfish purpose of her knowing she’s always been mine?
Is it true?
She doesn’t bear the mark of Ophidian, nor does she have the mark the little girl had on her hip.
My fingers brush the tattoo on the back of my neck, the lines close together and the numbers below.
We were tagged like produce being prepared to be scanned and sold off as stock. Branded like our lives were worthless.
I close my eyes and all I see is her. It’s an inescapable fate, only now, it comes with the burden of knowledge.
Knowledge that she is mine and always will be, but she’ll never know it.
The cold walls of my cell match the current chill in my chest anytime I think about telling her the truth. I know she’s going to find out soon, but I still have time.
Voices echo from the hall into my cell, and the sound of a baton clanking on the bars has me sitting upright.
I wonder if another inmate is being taken to his cell when a guard appears in front of mine.
He’s tall, probably as tall as me, with a snaggle tooth.
He looks to be sick of his job as he waves me over with a tired expression and hooded eyes.
“Come on, don’t make me wait, you know the procedure,” he barks, ordering me to put my hands through the rectangle opening so he can cuff them.
“I haven’t been notified of a cell change.”
“It’s not a cell change. You’re being transferred to maximum security,” he says as I slip my hands out of the rectangular opening. The door clanks when he opens it, pulling me out of my cell and into the hall.
It’s pitch black. The only light source is the guard’s flashlight as he walks me through the prison and out the front, where multiple guards wait.
One of them opens the back of the van, and I step in, taking a seat beside another guard.
No one speaks as the engine hums to life.
The guard who had opened the door now steps in and shuts the door behind him.
The hushed tones of the two men up front lightly filter through the space as we roll out of the gates of the prison and onto a narrow road. I wasn’t meant to be transferred tonight.
I don’t think I was meant to be transferred at all.
I can barely make sight of the trees outside, their branches bare, like scarecrows on a field, as silence overcomes the van, pressing itself onto my chest.
I’m usually better at dealing with silence when I’m alone, but not when I’m trapped in a vehicle, cuffed with four armed men. It’s unnerving, and the smell of dust, decay, and empty air sifts through the air filters, irritating my senses.
One of the guards looks back at me in the mirror, his eyes narrowing in the slightest when I stare back. I know they get to read all prisoners’ files. They need to know what they’re up against here, and with the way he looks at me, I know he’s read mine.
Countless offences when I was younger, some milder than others.
Petty theft.
Gang brawls.
But as I grew older, the crimes became darker.
When he breaks contact, I tip my head back, closing my eyes and counting the seconds as they pass by, to have some sense of time and how long we’ve been driving for.
I count the fifteen minutes in my head and shift in my seat, the chains around my wrists clinking together. The guard across from me tightens his grip on his gun at my movement, obvious trepidation in his eyes.
“What the fuck is this at this time of night?” I hear one of the men from the front curse as he puts the van into park. “You two,” he points at the guards in the back with me. “Stay here with the prisoner. Jacobson and I will see what’s going on.”
Bright headlights blaze through the cabin of the van, illuminating everything in sight.
Voices outside are muffled, and then a loud boom rings in my ears, launching the van sideways.
The shredding of tyres and the groaning of metal are all muted as the pain in my head pulses through me.
I feel the warm blood trickle down my temple, blurring my vision when I open my eyes.
I lurch forward into one of the guards, who’s still dazed, snatching the heavy rifle from his hands, and fire into his leg.
He screams as I aim it at the other guard, firing into his shoulder.
I manage to kick the other gun out of his hands, leaving him clutching his shoulder in pain as footsteps crunch through broken glass outside.
Whoever they are, they’re not in a hurry.
Their steps are almost deliberate as I listen, raising the gun to the doors at the back of the van, ready for anyone to open them.
Trust doesn’t open many doors in this world, but money does. And anyone could have paid to have my head. Quite specifically, Benedict.
The doors slam open, the figure now standing cloaked in the cover of darkness, his face masked. But I’d know those eyes even from a distance.
“Package is secure, comms now going dark,” Emmett says into his mic. One of the guards tries to reach for his weapon, but Emmett tuts, coaxing him to stay put. “You,” he says through his mask. “Take the chains off.”
The guard listens, slowly reaching for the key that hangs on his belt. The chains rattle against the metal of the van when they fall, then I push off the side and step out, closing the doors behind me. The earth feels damp beneath my white canvas shoes as I take in the darkness around us.
“No talking,” Emmett says in a low voice as we move quickly, weaving through the trees. The crunch of leaves and rustling branches cut through the silence of the night, the only sounds amongst the shadows.
After a short while, an engine rumbles in the distance, then I see it, the black SUV nestled on the side of the road. Emmett opens the back door, and I climb in, already knowing who I’m going to be greeted with.
Ezra turns in the front seat, with Henry beside him in the driver’s seat.
“Took you long enough,” I say, leaning back into the leather, a comfort I have been taking for granted.
“Thought I’d give you some time to reflect,” he replies with too much enjoyment in his tone. He tosses an old phone onto the seat between Emmett and me. “You’ll need this for the time being.”
I pick up the old burner and flip it open, pressing the down button, only one name popping up on the contact list.
Ezra’s.
“What does this mean? I can’t see her?”
I’m about to jump out of the car when I hear him chuckle. “All these years, and patience is still not one of your finest qualities, is it?” He lifts his gaze, staring at me from the rear-view mirror. “Have you told her who she is?”
After we’d switched cars, Ezra and Emmett headed back to London. We shouldn’t be seen together, and I had to hide. The very thing I fucking despised doing. I’d been driving for four hours, out of the city, following the few words Ezra had left me with as a promise.
I’d see Isla again.
The further I got from London, the more comfortable I became being seen by others. I wasn’t tipping my head down and covering my face with a hat or shoving my hoodie over it to hide myself anymore. Despite that, the closer I got to my destination, the more I felt a pressure push down on me.
I wonder if she still has the headaches.
I wonder if those headaches are from the trauma I gave her at such a young age.
Fuck.
What if it’s all my fault?
The small town I pull into is quiet—small streets, tall grass on the outskirts, and few people roaming in the early hours of the morning. I haven’t slept all night, and I won’t until I see her.
Reaching over to the map splayed open on the passenger seat, I juggle it in my hand as I continue driving.
Going analog means no digital maps or location tracking, and honestly, it’s fucking refreshing.
So much is still unresolved. Tony’s murder, the arson at Benedict’s, and how Judge Gordon is linked to all this shit.
I finally find the street and throw the map back into the passenger seat.
Right at the end of the road sits a home on a large piece of land, surrounded by trees, paddocks, and barns.
They look empty from where I pull into the long dirt driveway, but I can’t be sure.
Another vehicle comes into view. The small hatchback looks like it’s seen better days, and I wonder if she’s already here.
Ezra promised to call if he had any answers on Purileen, but I have other, quicker ways to get to them. I don’t know how long I’ll be here, but I sure as fuck am going to make sure she never leaves my sight again.
I might just chain her to a post as I search for the answers myself.
At least that way, I’ll know she won’t ever have the opportunity to leave me again.
I turn the key, shutting the engine off after I stop behind the hatch, my mind unrelenting in its thoughts. I can’t stop them as they flood in, one after the other, not allowing the previous one room to be absorbed before another attacks.
What is she going to believe?
The truth?
What is the truth? That you’ve spent your entire life in search of her just because she smiled at you a couple of times during your childhood? Because she hugged you when you shared your bread with her?
How are you going to tell her word-for-word what you did?
She’ll leave as soon as she finds out you hid this from her.
You should’ve told her the moment she stepped foot in that cell.
“Fuck, just shut the fuck up for a second!” I groan, pressing the bottom of my palms to my eyes.