35. Fiona
Chapter Thirty-Five
FIONA
The prison looks just as gray and unwelcoming as I imagined it would, all concrete and steel, its walls crowned with coils of razor wire that glint dully beneath the overcast sky.
I peer out the window as we pass by a guard tower. “I don’t understand why Brennan is annoyed he didn’t get to come with us. This place is depressing.”
Cormac’s mouth twitches. “I think he was hoping to watch me sucker-punch your ex-boyfriend.”
I huff a laugh, but it sounds hollow.
The truth is, Brennan probably wouldn’t have been the only one to enjoy that, not that I would ever admit that to Cormac.
I shrug. “I think he just doesn’t like being sidelined.”
“Once we’re done here, we’ll call him and see if what Freddy says, lines up with what we have already.”
“If he talks.”
Cormac glances at me. “You think he won’t?”
I hesitate. “Honestly, I don’t know.”
“You seemed sure he would.”
“That was before…”
“Before what?”
I gesture vaguely toward the concrete walls rising ahead of us. The guard towers, the razor wire. The finality of it all.
“Before I saw this place in person. Freddy never liked owing anyone. He always needed leverage. Even when everything was falling apart, he still thought he had options.”
“And now?”
I swallow hard. “And now, he’s already at the bottom. There’s nothing left to threaten him with. No reputation to protect. No future he’s trying to bargain for. This is the one place where silence will cost him absolutely nothing, and that’s…dangerous.”
Cormac’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t disagree.
The closer we get, the heavier my chest feels as my mind starts to flood with memories I’ve desperately tried to forget.
Carly standing in the kitchen, her face pale and tear-stained as the truth finally spilled out of her mouth. The way I looked to Freddy for confirmation, and when I saw the guilt in his eyes, my life fractured.
After that, nothing fit back together properly.
I wonder what Freddy will look like now. If prison has hardened him or hollowed him out. If the sharp edges of him have been worn down by routine and concrete and time, or if they’ve only sharpened.
I wonder if he’ll meet my eyes, or if he’ll look straight through me like I’m just another ghost from a life he burned to the ground.
But I’m not here for explanations. I just want answers. And I hate that the man responsible for my sister’s death might be the only one who has them.
I curl my fingers into the fabric of my jacket as Cormac pulls into the visitors’ lot.
My stomach is already tight with nerves, but seeing the prison in person makes everything worse.
Cormac frowns at me. “Are you sure you’re good?”
I don’t look at him when he cuts the engine, I don’t trust my face not to give me away, so I nod, because that’s easier than explaining the knot in my chest. Easier than saying no, I’m really not, because it doesn’t change the fact that I need to do this.
We step out of the car and walk toward the entrance, but as we approach the thick glass doors, I stop short, my feet refusing to carry me any closer.
Cormac is beside me, solid and silent.
I don’t look at him, but I feel the question in the way his hand gently reaches for mine.
“You don’t have to do this,” he says.
I swallow, my throat tight. “I know.”
He exhales slowly, like he’s bracing himself. “We can leave. I’ll find another way.”
“We don’t have anything else to go on.”
“I’ll find something.”
“That could take months or years, and we don’t know if we have that kind of time.”
Cormac exhales slowly through his nose, his jaw tightening. “Fiona—”
I turn to face him and place a steadying hand on his chest. “If Freddy knows something, then this could be the answer we’ve been looking for.”
“And if he doesn’t, I will have dragged you into this prison for no reason.”
“At least then we’ll know for sure.”
Cormac studies me for another beat, then nods once.
“Let’s get this over with.”
I’ve never been inside a prison before, and after today, I hope I never have to again.
The lobby is stark and cold, lit by harsh fluorescent lights, and it smells like disinfectant with a faintly sour undertone. A reception desk sits behind a pane of reinforced glass, with a bored-looking guard stationed behind it.
Cormac steps up to the glass. “We’re here to see an inmate. Freddy Walton.”
The guard pauses, his fingers hovering over the keyboard.
“Is this a scheduled visit?” he asks without looking up.
“Yes.”
That finally earns us his attention.
He studies us both for a long moment, his eyes flicking between Cormac and me.
I shift on my feet, suddenly feeling like I might end up in handcuffs if I make the wrong facial expression.
“I’ll need an ID,” he says.
Cormac hands his over immediately. I do the same, though my hand shakes as I slide it across the counter.
As the guard types away on his keyboard, I stare straight ahead at the wall, trying not to throw up.
When the officer disappears through a door behind the desk without a word, I sneak a glance at Cormac.
His shoulders are tight, and I can tell from the hard set of his jaw that he’s bracing himself for something.
“Phones and keys,” the guard orders when he returns a few moments later.
My phone disappears into a small plastic locker behind the desk.
Suddenly, I feel naked without it, completely cut off and unreachable.
After walking through the metal detector, we’re finally handed visitor badges and escorted toward a set of locked doors.
I don’t want to do this.
I don’t want to see him.
I don’t want to hear his voice.
You’re here for Cormac.
That’s what I need to remember. Even when the bad memories surface and all the pain that comes with them, I need to remember that I’m doing this for Cormac, for Scout, and for the entire Sullivan family.
My family.
The first locked door buzzes open with a sound that makes my skin crawl, then it slams shut behind us.
The second door does the same, and then the third.
Each one seals us deeper inside, cutting off the outside world piece by piece until it feels like we’ve crossed some invisible line we can’t uncross.
The corridor beyond is long and narrow, the concrete walls scarred with gouges and scratches that look less like wear and tear and more like desperation carved into stone.
There are voices now, shouts echoing from behind closed doors somewhere in the distance.
I keep my gaze fixed ahead, afraid that if I look too closely at the reinforced doors lining the hallway, I’ll start imagining what’s behind them. Or worse, who.
Cormac walks half a step ahead of me, subtly positioning his body so I’m shielded from view. It’s instinctive. Protective.
I know he’s doing it without thinking, and the knowledge both comforts and terrifies me because no matter how strong he is, no matter how dangerous people think he can be, here he’s just another man.
We’re almost at the meeting room when a sharp, piercing alarm slices through the air.
I flinch instinctively, my hand finding Cormac’s.
The guard freezes for half a second, just long enough to make my stomach drop.
Then all hell breaks loose.
“What’s happening?” I ask, my voice barely audible over the rising noise.
Cormac doesn’t answer. He pulls me closer, his arm coming around my shoulders, his body angling in front of mine without hesitation.
One of the guards snaps into his radio. “Inmate disturbance. Possible riot.”
Riot?
Somewhere down the corridor, a door slams and someone yells, then footsteps start thundering from multiple directions, and suddenly inmates are flooding the corridor.
Cormac pushes me back against the wall as bodies surge past, shouting and shoving as the guards try to regain control.
“Cormac—”
His arm locks around my waist. “I’ve got you. Stay with me.”
But staying with him isn’t something I get to choose.
The crowd surges, and someone slams into the side of me, knocking the breath from my lungs.
Another slams into Cormac, and I cry out as he loses his hold on me.
Momentum carries me sideways, scraping my arm against the cold concrete wall, and my hands instinctively claw for something, anything, to anchor myself.
Cormac reaches for me, his expression turning feral in an instant, but bodies crash between us, separating us even more.
Panic spikes as I desperately try to reach him.
“Cormac!” I scream, but my voice gets lost over the shouting of the inmates.
A guard suddenly grabs my arm, yanking me hard in the opposite direction, pulling me out of the surge.
“Secure room, now!” someone shouts.
“FIONA!” Cormac roars.
“Cormac!” I twist around, but the sea of bodies swallows him.
I’m dragged down a side corridor, my feet barely able to keep up.
My blood roars in my ears as I twist, straining to see past the chaos, searching for Cormac’s dark hair, his broad shoulders, anything.
I don’t see him.
He said he would stay with me. He promised—
I’m shoved into a room, and the door slams shut with a finality that steals the air from my lungs. For a split second, I just stand there, frozen, my brain refusing to accept what’s happened.
Then instinct kicks in, and I surge forward, my palms slapping against the reinforced glass as I strain to see past the guard’s shoulder.
“Cormac!” I scream.
Bodies rush past in a blur of orange and gray.
Someone crashes into the wall so hard the impact rattles the door, sending a sharp tremor through my arms.
I flinch but don’t move, my eyes scanning desperately for any sign of him.
But there’s nothing.
I press my forehead to the glass, fogging it with my breath.
A guard positions himself by the door, blocking my view intermittently as he barks into his radio.
I don’t catch the words, only the sharp edge of urgency in his tone. I swallow hard, gripping the edge of the glass as though I could pull Cormac into view.
My thoughts spin out of control.
What if he’s hurt?
I think of Scout then, the image of him vivid and stark in my mind. The way he hugged Cormac’s legs and told us both to come back as quickly as possible. The absolute trust in his eyes as he watched us get into the car through the front window.
I have to get out of here.
Now.
The guard barks into his radio again, his stance wide and ready like he’s bracing for impact.
I pound on the glass, my hands stinging with every strike. “Please! Let me out!”
No response.
I force myself to breathe slowly, counting each inhale, willing my racing heart to follow.
Panic won’t help him, but how can I not when he’s lost in a place full of dangerous men with nothing to lose?
The shouting continues, echoing from somewhere down the hall.
Metal scrapes violently against concrete, and I flinch with every sound.
The guard by the door speaks into his radio again, the tension clear in his posture.
I press closer to the glass, my heart threatening to explode.
I yell as I pound on the glass. “Let me out! Let me out! LET ME OUT!”
Either the guard doesn’t hear me or he doesn’t care. He continues talking into his radio, oblivious to the screaming woman on the other side of the glass.
“HELP! HELP!”
I scream until my throat goes raw, but still, Cormac doesn’t appear, and I don’t know if he ever will.
My breathing comes too fast, too shallow, as panic claws at my chest.
“Cormac,” I whisper, my voice breaking.
This place wasn’t built for mercy. It was built to swallow people whole.
We might have come here together, but I have no clue if either of us will make it out.