Chapter 41
Chapter Forty-One
Zac
It’s time,” the Enforcer growls.
Thick fingers clamp under my handcuffed arms, the sting of their hands digging into bruises that haven’t even begun to heal making me wince. I’m yanked up so fast that the world tilts, my knees buckle, but they don’t let me fall. Behind me, Kayla cries out as she’s hauled to her feet.
I want nothing more than to collapse, legs no better than jelly. I’m almost a dead weight, the Enforcers the ones controlling my every movement.
Ahead, the door is hauled open. I grit my teeth, steadying my legs and standing on my own feet, even as my body screams to fold in on itself.
I’m ready to endure this shit show of a fucking trial, already knowing I won’t be getting out of this without severe punishment. Five days in The Cell was proof enough.
I can only pray that Emilia is safe. That she’s still breathing free air.
That her friends have rallied around her, helping her fight back against whatever bullshit the State hurls their way.
She has to be okay. She has to. If she’s got any sense, she’ll have kept her head down and continued with her life without making a fuss, pretending none of this ever happened. That I never happened.
The Enforcers drag me forward, and my wrists burn against the tight cuffs. Sharp gasps ripple through the room. Instinctively, my eyes lift, and the world stops.
Emilia.
She’s here.
Her face is pale and tired, her blonde hair messily pulled away from her face. Her eyes are wide, shining with a hollow, shattered kind of hope within that hits harder than any blow I’ve taken this week. Her friends are sitting around her, and so are Claudia and Jordan.
The Enforcers shove me roughly into a chair, and I tear my gaze to the floor, silently cursing all of them for being here. For bringing her here.
Surely, they know no good can come from today. That being here will achieve nothing. They shouldn’t be here. She shouldn’t see this.
I feel her eyes on me, the weight of her gaze boring into the side of my face.
“Zachary Hastings?” Germain’s voice slices through the air.
Reluctantly, I nod, and an Enforcer slams his baton into my side. Hissing, I force out a word through the pain. “Yes.”
“Kayla Thomson?”
Kayla’s voice is meek when she says, “Yes.”
“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury,” Germain begins, tone rich with absurd authority. “This is a criminal case against two defendants who committed infidelity against their partners.”
The word hang in the air, heavy and poisonous.
“Given the fragile nature of our society,” Germain continues, “this crime is deemed far more serious than many others.” Her gaze snaps to me, and then to Kayla, hungry for a reaction. “How do you plead?”
Her beady eyes zero in on Kayla, a hint of a smirk pulling at her lips.
Kayla’s shaking. “Not guilty,” she says.
“I see.” Germain’s lips press into a hard line. She turns to me. “And you?”
My molars ache from how tightly I’m clenching my jaw. “Not. Guilty.”
“Okay, then.” Germain’s tone is almost mechanical, as though she’s reading from a script she’s practiced a hundred times.
She rifles through the stack of papers on the table in front of her.
I force my gaze away, fixing instead on the regal crest carved into the wall behind, the one that’s obviously been here since before the war, back when this courtroom actually meant something.
“Unfortunately for you,” Germain says, eyes still on the page, “there were multiple eyewitnesses. One who reported you, and one who has already testified against you.”
The words hit like a physical blow. Already. Testified.
Claudia shoots up from her seat, voice ripping through the air. “Already testified? Shouldn’t they be testifying now? In court? You’re lying!” The girl’s usual calmness is nowhere to be seen.
“Sit down unless you wish to be escorted out,” Germain says, not even glancing up.
Two Enforcers shift away from their positions at the wall, and Jordan grabs Claudia’s arm, dragging her down and whispering in her ear.
“We have kept the identity of the witnesses a secret as they requested,” Germain continues. “They have every right to remain anonymous.”
“Bullshit,” Claudia spits.
Finally, Germain looks up, her lips pressed into a thin line. “This is my courtroom, young lady. I suggest you hold your tongue, unless you’d prefer to spend the night in The Cell.”
I can’t help it—my gaze drifts towards them. Emilia hasn’t moved. She sits utterly still, as though holding her breath. Her eyes are locked on me, wide and glistening. The sight—her worried, fragile expression—has my heart clenching, aching worse than any bruise or any broken rib.
I swallow hard, trying to bury the emotion, not wanting her to see it. I clear my face and wrench my gaze away.
“And now that you know there are witnesses, do you wish to change your pleas?” Germain asks.
“Will it make any fucking difference if we do?” I spit before I can stop myself. The Enforcer’s baton slams into my ribs, a sharp thrust that knocks all the air out of me.
“Zac!”
For the first time in nearly a week, I hear her voice. It’s shaky but urgent, laced with panic.
I don’t dare turn.
Germain doesn’t flinch. “The witness testified that the party was on the fifteenth of June,” she recites.
“Statements say that the room was dark, the music loud, and that multiple people were dancing. When the lights were switched on, you two were found in the middle of the room, engaged in sexual activity with one another.”
“It was hardly sexual activity,” Kayla retorts, and for the first time since she walked in, there’s a spark in her eyes—one I thought they’d killed. There’s a deep black bruise ringing her eye.
Germain cocks a brow. “So you admit something did happen?”
“No!”
“Then what was it?”
“Kayla was drunk,” I snap. “She was drunk because her mother went missing and she was grieving. Maybe we should be here investigating that instead. Where’s her fucking mum?”
Not a single flinch from the jury. From the Enforcers. From Germain.
“I’ll add drinking contraband to the charges, then.” Germain’s calm, pressing her pen to the page.
My fists clench so tightly that my nails split through the skin on my palms. “You already fucking knew that,” I snarl.
“So, it sounds to me,” she says slowly, “like maybe you took advantage of her, Zachary?”
I huff a disbelieving laugh. “Unbelievable.”
The baton slams into my abdomen before the last syllable leaves my mouth. Pain detonates over an existing bruise, and I bite down on my tongue, tasting blood as I hold back a pained cry, black dots tainting the edges of my vision.
“Zac did nothing of the sort!” Emilia calls out, sharp and clear. My head jerks up. Emilia’s standing, hands gripping the edge of the pew.
No. Sit down, Emilia. Please. Please sit down. Every muscle in my body tightens with panic. A few of the Enforcers shift.
Germain peers across the room. “You’re Emilia, correct?”
“You know who I am.” Emilia’s voice is steady.
Sit. The fuck. Down.
Germain lowers her eyes to her notes. “Zachary’s wife.” The words slam into me. Nothing good can come from this…
Claudia’s arm shoots out, yanking Emilia violently back into her seat.
I can’t breathe.
“I see,” Germain murmurs. Her eyes flick from me to Emilia, and a strange, knowing smile pulls at her lips. “I think I understand what we need to do.”
Her tone twists my stomach.
She inhales slowly, folding her arms across her chest and leaning back in her seat.
“You see, when the State was established, and our laws and rules developed, it was with one absolute goal in mind: to increase the population. Our marriages have encouraged such a thing, and by choosing those whose personalities align, we have also become quite successful matchmakers.”
She smiles gleefully.
My skin crawls. I try to shift in the chair, but an Enforcer slaps his hand onto my shoulder, clutching at the cut that seeps just below my stained, beige prison jumpsuit. I grunt.
“There are those who develop close relationships, those who fall in love.” The smile widens, but then falls. “Of course, during a time like this, it’s difficult to keep the faith, or keep morale up. It makes us question whether we’ve made a mistake.”
Emilia’s still as stone beside Claudia, her face pale. Germain shuffles her papers, slow and deliberate.
“So, we’re just going to have to press you further.” She pauses. “By testing those relationships.”
I frown. For a moment, I don’t understand.
Then the silence shatters and the Enforcers move.
Every. Single. One.
They surge from the walls in perfect unison, their boots pounding, chairs screeching, bodies lunging towards our friends as chaos detonates through the room.
My body reacts before my mind can catch up. I lurch forward, but multiple hands clamp around my arms, another set around my ribs, dragging me back into the chair. My hands struggle against the handcuffs, the metal biting into the raw cuts on my wrists, but I don’t care.
The Enforcers tear through the rows. Claudia’s yanked sideways with a cry, and Jordan’s on his feet, hitting one square in the jaw before another drives a fist into his stomach. Sam’s shouting, Heidi’s crying, and even Raymond attempts to throw a useless punch into an Enforcer’s face.
Kayla’s sobbing and thrashing in the chair not two feet from me.
I fight. Hard. My elbows slam back into solid flesh, my boots kicking out for anything—anything that could loosen their hold. But I’m too weak, half-starved and beaten, and it’s not enough.
Emilia turns, alone in the pew. Our eyes lock.
They’re full of terror, but beneath it, something steadier burns through. Defiance. She clears her face, forcing calm into her expression, and gives me the smallest nod.
My breath catches.
An Enforcer slams into her. I roar, the ferocity tearing my throat apart. He grabs her wrist, but she reacts fast, wrenching towards his thumb and ripping herself free.