Chapter 41 #2
A flicker of surprise lines her features, but she quickly steps back, once, twice—away from him—until she collides with another. His arms coil around her, and she screams, slamming her sharp heel onto his foot. He bellows, loosening his grip and stumbling, but two more descend from behind.
They yank her, kicking and screaming, from the seats. Claudia’s yells crack with sobs, and Jordan’s thrashing so hard it takes three to hold him back.
“Let her go,” I bellow, voice hoarse. “Let her go!” Panic encircles my chest, squeezing so tight that I can only manage hoarse, shallow breaths.
One of the Enforcers grabs Emilia’s hair, wrapping his fist around the updo and yanking her head back. A cry rips out of her, and she claws at his arm, but another steps forward, slamming a boot into the back of her knees.
She falls forward, collapsing to the ground, still struggling, even as they drag her upright by her hair, forcing her to look at me.
Those eyes—impossibly blue—meet mine. They’re wet and glassy, but she blinks fast, trying to clear them. Her lip quivers as she tries to keep her fear from showing. She’s trying to mask it all.
For me.
“Let her fucking go,” I growl. I thrash against the men pinning me in place, ignoring when their hold sinks into skin that’s already mutilated.
“Now,” Germain yells over the chaos. “What we have here is a wife who is equally, and unequivocally responsible for what you’ve done, Zachary.”
“No,” Kayla cries beside me. “Mils, no!”
“She’s done nothing,” I snarl. “Let her fucking go, or I swear, I’ll kill you all.”
Germain just hums, a small smile on her lips. “Seems to me,” she says softly, “I made the right call here.” Her pen points towards Emilia. “Now. Was Emilia there that night?”
“No,” I spit.
Germain tuts, almost mocking. “We have an eyewitness, remember?” She turns to the Enforcers holding Emilia, tone filled with fake sweetness. “Zachary just lied.”
One of the Enforcers draws his baton.
Panic detonates in my chest. “No, no, don’t!” I thrash, wrenching against the men holding me, every nerve screaming. “Don’t touch her!”
Emilia’s eyes slip from mine, towards him, and fear shatters through her mask.
In the distance, I can vaguely hear our friends still fighting, still struggling, still sobbing. But it’s drowned out by the rush of blood pounding through my ears.
The Enforcer doesn’t hesitate. The baton slams into her face, sharp and sickening. She cries out, head slamming back, and the world drops from under me. The baton drops to the floor, and his fist slams into the other side of her face. She splutters.
“Emilia!” Her name rips from my gut, utterly ragged. My body practically convulses as I try to escape the Enforcers restraining me, wounds all over my body splitting open, seeping through the shirt beneath my jumpsuit. “Stop! Stop, stop, stop!” I yell. “I’ll confess.”
Everything freezes.
Germain turns towards me. I fall still, panting as I stare up at her. “I’ll confess,” I repeat, voice hoarse and rough.
Emilia’s face lifts, blood trailing from the corner of her mouth. “Zac, no!”
“Alright, then,” Germain says lightly. “Zac?”
“I kissed Kayla,” I force out. Each word feels like glass as it scrapes through my lips. “Emilia had nothing to do with it. Kayla had nothing to do with it. I took advantage of a girl grieving her mother.”
“Zac—” Emilia chokes.
“Zac, you can’t—” Kayla’s voice cracks.
“Let. Them. Go.” My words cut over theirs, low and final. I stare at Germain, eyes laser focused on the bitch.
“Well, there you go,” Germain says, dropping her papers to the table. “I think we’ve heard what we need to.” She glances at the other side of the room. “Jurors, you may retire to discuss what you’ve heard.”
“That’s it?” A man I don’t know—the dark-haired one who must be Kayla’s husband—shoves the Enforcer at his side. “That’s the whole fucking trial?’
Germain is calm. Smiling. “If you don’t observe in silence, as are the rules, you will be escorted out.”
Reaching up, he slams his fist into the Enforcer behind him. “I don’t fucking give a shit! This is absolute bullshit!”
“Jace! Please!” Kayla calls, begging him as tears streak down her face. His jaw tightens, nostrils flaring, but he throws up his hands, giving in.
There are too many of them. This room is theirs. Not ours.
My head drops. The laminate floor is stained and cracking. I can feel the piercing blue eyes burning through the top of my head.
She never should have come. She doesn’t deserve to be a part of this.
Reluctantly, I lift my gaze to hers. Her hair is a nest of waves and knots, but at least it’s still on her head and no longer being pulled by dirty Enforcers.
Relief niggles at my gut, swiftly followed by rage.
Rage for every one of these cunts who have laid a hand on her.
I memorise every face: the thin scar by the right eyebrow, the crooked nose, the way one of them blinks.
I file it all away, promising them hell.
She still looks at me, eyes pinned on mine.
I drink in every inch of her: the faint scar beside her right eye, her blue gaze, the blonde hair, the curvaceous, sinful body, a single strand of hair that falls against her cheek.
I see everything. The tears on her lash line, the red on her cheek, the trail of blood from mouth to chin.
The Jury is gone for mere minutes before returning, filing into their seats in silence.
“Have you reached a verdict?” Germain asks.
I keep my eyes on Emilia, soaking in the brightness of her eyes, the sunshine of her fucking hair, already knowing what’s coming.
“We have.”
“Do you find the defendants guilty, or not guilty, of breaking State laws by engaging in infidelity in a public setting?”
Emilia’s lips part, and she swallows. I force a smile at her, but it’s weak and brittle; it’s not comfort, as much as I want it to be.
I can see her hope shrinking right in front of my eyes.
“Guilty.”