Chapter 30
CHAPTER THIRTY
Marie
Dinner had been light—roasted pork, steamed vegetables, and a slice of fresh bread that Wade had buttered himself before setting it on my plate. I'd eaten mechanically, my mind already halfway to wherever we were going.
Wade had watched me the entire time, tracking every bite, every sip of water, making sure I finished. When I was full, he'd nodded once and stood.
"Time to go."
Now we were in the back of the Rolls-Royce, the leather cool against my fuzzy pink pajamas. The interior was dark except for the glow of passing streetlights, and Wade's hand was warm, wrapped around mine, his thumb stroking back and forth over my knuckles.
The landscape changed through the tinted windows, from the estate's elegant grounds to more industrial areas. Buildings that looked repurposed, and places that blended into the background.
The car slowed as it turned onto a gated street. A nondescript building rose ahead, its dark concrete devoid of windows, and security lights harsh and bright at the entrance.
Thomas pulled up to another gate where two guards in tactical gear stepped forward, rifles slung across their chests. One leaned down to the driver's window, his face all sharp angles and no-nonsense until Thomas said something I couldn't hear.
The guard's eyes flicked to the back seat, to Wade first, then to me.
Surprise flashed across his face, genuine shock that Wade had brought a woman in pink fuzzy pajamas to whatever this place was, I guess. He quickly caught himself and smoothed his expression back to neutral.
I almost laughed. The absurdity of it would have been funny if I weren’t about to see the man I’d just stabbed.
The gate rolled open, and Thomas drove past more guards, stationed at intervals and checkpoints where he had to stop and verify something.
The security was suffocating. Layers and layers of it, all designed to keep people out. Or keep someone in.
We descended into an underground garage, the headlights cutting through concrete pillars and deep shadows. The temperature dropped noticeably, and the air was heavier down here. Thomas parked, and the sudden silence felt too loud.
He pulled out his phone, already working before Wade had even opened his door.
Wade squeezed my hand once, then stepped out, offering his hand. I took it, not entirely sure if my legs would hold me.
Behind us, Thomas spoke quietly into his phone. "Yes. Inform the warden we're moving forward with the transfer tonight. No delays."
My brain tried to process what that meant, but Wade was already guiding me across the garage floor toward a large industrial wall lined with metal shelving units.
Shelving units that were filled with weapons.
Guns of every size and type were organized by caliber. There were knives, things that looked like they were from action movies. Ammunition boxes were neatly stacked alongside holsters and equipment I didn't have names for.
Everything was organized, telling me this wasn’t just decoration. This was an armory.
Wade released my hand and stepped forward, confident and sure.
He selected a matte-black gun from the middle shelf and turned it over in his hands once, checking it. Then he reached for a magazine, his long fingers working with lethal familiarity.
He pulled the slide back to check the chamber, then let it snap forward. He engaged the safety with his thumb, the small lever moving with a quiet snick, and then tucked the gun into his waistband at his back.
He should have looked threatening or dangerous, but only he looked capable. Powerful. Like a man who knew what he was doing and wouldn't hesitate to do it.
It was, insanely, one of the most attractive things I'd ever seen.
He turned back to me and gestured to the wall full of weapons.
"Take your pick.” His voice echoed slightly in the empty garage. “Though your fish carving work earlier was wonderful if you'd rather stick with what you know."
He was talking about the knife I'd shoved into Castellanos's stomach and twisted.
A small, traitorous part of me preened at the praise. Wade said it as if I’d accomplished a great feat, instead of attempted murder.
I shook my head. "I don't need anything."
His eyebrows lifted slightly. “Are you sure?"
"I'm done stabbing people," I confirmed. "I just want to talk to him and say what I need to say. That's all."
Wade smiled and cupped my face in both hands, kissing my forehead.
“Let's go talk, darling."
He took my hand again, fingers lacing with mine, and led me to a door set into the concrete wall, heavy steel reinforced with bolts.
Wade pressed his thumb to a scanner mounted beside it, and a red light turned green. The lock disengaged, and he pulled the door open.
The room was small, lit by fluorescent tubes overhead. It was concrete floors and concrete walls. No windows, with a metal bench bolted to the ground.
On that bench, flanked by two men who looked like they could break a person in half, sat Castellanos.
And he looked terrible.
His skin was pale and waxy, and his shirt was gone, replaced by thick bandages wrapped around his torso where I'd stabbed him. His pants were soaked, the fabric clinging to his thighs, and the smell hit me a second later.
He'd definitely peed himself.
His hands were duct-taped behind his back, silver tape wrapped so many times it looked heavy. His ankles were bound together the same way, tape circling over and over, securing him to the bench.
He wasn't the monster from my nightmares anymore. He was just a man, small, broken, and powerless.
The two guards, massive stone-faced men dressed in black, lowered their eyes the instant Wade and I stepped inside. Their postures shifted immediately, and they didn't look at me. Didn't acknowledge my existence except to step back slightly, giving us space.
Castellanos's head lifted slowly, like it took effort. His eyes found mine, and recognition flashed through them.
Then fear. Actual, genuine fear. Of me.
My chest constricted, a tremor starting in my fingers and crawling up my arms. Memories drifted through my head all at once—his office, the locked door, his hands, the guilt he'd layered onto me until I couldn't tell what was real anymore.
Wade's arm wrapped around my waist immediately, pulling me firmly into his side. His other hand found my hair, fingers threading through in that soothing rhythm I knew by heart.
"I'm right here," he whispered into my ear. "Take your time. You're safe. He can't touch you."
I nodded, not trusting my voice yet, and forced myself to keep looking at Castellanos.
He tried to sit up straighter, tried to summon some of that old arrogance I remembered so well, but the movement pulled his stab wound, and his face twisted in pain. He sagged forward, and one of the guards grabbed his shoulder to keep him upright.
"Marie." His voice was hoarse. Thin and weak. "You—you can't just—"
"Don't." The word came out sharp, cutting him off mid-sentence. "You don't get to say my name. You don't get to speak until I tell you that you can."
His mouth snapped shut, and his eyes went wide, genuine shock flickering across his face.
Wade's hand tightened on my waist, and I felt his lips curve into a smile against my temple. Proud. He was so proud of me.
I took a breath, then another. Wade's presence at my side was the only thing keeping me upright, keeping me from doing anything except standing here and facing this.
"I came here to tell you something," I said, my voice growing stronger with each word. "Something I need you to know.”
Castellanos stared at me, sweat dripping down his temples, and he tried to speak again, his lips parting, that old sneer starting to form.
One of the guards moved so fast I barely saw it. His hand shot out, shoving a bloody rag into Castellanos's mouth before a single sound could escape. Castellanos's eyes went huge, trying to jerk away, but the tape held him in place.
The guard looked at me and gave the tiniest nod.
Wade stepped forward too, bending down until he was at eye level with Castellanos, close enough that their faces were inches apart.
"One wrong word," Wade began, his voice soft and cold as winter, eyes like chips of ice, "and you're dead before you finish the syllable. Nod if you understand me."
Castellanos went perfectly still until he nodded.
"Good." Wade straightened, stepping back to my side, his hand finding mine again. "Continue, my darling."
I looked at Castellanos, who was gagged, bound, and terrified, and felt something change.
The girls were safe now, I was safe now, and he was sitting here looking at me with fear in his eyes.
Fear of me.
"You tried to break me.” My voice didn't shake this time. "For five years, you tried. You hurt me in ways I'm still learning how to heal from. You degraded me. You made me believe I was nothing—that I'd always be nothing. That no one would ever see me as anything more than what you made me."
My throat tightened, but I pushed through.
"You made me schedule the other girls, made me complicit. Made me feel like I was part of what you were doing to them, so the guilt would keep me quiet."
Castellanos's eyes flashed at hearing me admit it.
"But you were wrong.” My voice was louder now. "About all of it. You didn't break me. You tried, but I survived you. I survived every single thing you did to me, and I got out."
Wade's fingers continued to stroke through my hair, anchoring me, reminding me he was there.
"I found someone who sees me for who I am," I continued, glancing up at Wade for just a second before looking back at Castellanos. "Not what you tried to make me, but for my strength, my worth. Everything you tried to destroy."
I took a step closer, and Wade moved with me.
"And today, when you thought you could use my shame against me, when you tried to drag me back into that place with those videos—I fought back." My voice dropped lower.
"I put a knife in you. Me. The girl you thought you'd broken. I stabbed you, and I twisted it, and you bled at my feet."