8. Chapter 8 #2
Stopping at her row, my bag falls to the floor.
Three strides later, I swing back just like Elias taught me and send my fist through her face to the inside of her occipital bone.
Her hair’s next—Kate’s fingers wind around and around the mousy-brown color to jerk her out of her seat.
The way Chelsea screams is hypnotic. I feel nothing when she reaches to swat at us and flounders; angering Kate further.
Other students leap out of the way to avoid being hit—some hoot and pull out their phones to record, but for once, I don’t care. We don’t care.
One, two, three hard yanks and she’s out of her chair being dragged towards the stairs. Out here, Kate has more space to fuck this girl up for tormenting me through four years of college.
Plunging to our knees, we straddle her waist and bludgeon her again.
And again. And again. Her screams curdle under the tell-tale sound of blood bubbling in her fat fucking mouth.
Fighting for her pathetic life, she claws at my arms, trying to shove me away, but loses ground inch by inch. Sucks for her, the pain fuels us.
When blood hits my skin, it’s borderline euphoric. The viscous warmth soaks into my pores, splattering across my face at every impact. Still, my swings don’t stop. Not when an indescribable wave of relief rushes through me when my knuckles split and our blood begins to mix.
We need more—Liz needs it, Naamah demands it.
Leaning over, I’m face to face with my bully, rubbing my nose and mouth across her cheek, over her forehead, down her busted nose, then speak into her gasping bloody mouth.
“If you so much as look at me the wrong way again, there’s no end to the torture you will receive. You fucked with the wrong girl, Chelsea Adams.”
Suddenly, my body’s ripped away from hers, feet high off the ground as strong arms bind around my waist. I don’t fight when I’m thrown onto the floor and hear the rasp of metal cuffs cinching around my wrists.
I am my parent’s daughter.
“Clean yourself up,” the officer grunts, tossing several wet naps and a few napkins at me.
With my arms restrained to the table, I have to get creative if I want to reach them.
Kate’s still riding shotgun, but even she knows that one wrong move with the authorities will end with us in a cell—or in her case, hanging from a noose.
Managing to reach the wetnaps and rip them open, I lean forward and rub them vigorously over my face, removing the crusted blood from my skin.
A shower is in order as soon as I get home, whenever that may be.
If the booming sound of Elias’s voice is any indication, I will be out swiftly; never mind how much trouble I will be in—a lot and soon.
“Now’s the time to tell me your side, Sadie.”
I don’t respond—Dad taught me to never talk. Mom backed him up by drilling it into my head: if I ever speak to the police, it will be with a lawyer present. Since I called Elias, and not them, a lawyer is not outside the door—just my pissed-off bodyguard.
“You’re not making this any easier on yourself. We need your cooperation before Chelsea’s mom arrives from the hospital. You know she’s going to press charges, might as well get your statement over with.”
“Officer…what’s your name again?”
“Detective Hall.”
“Detective Hall, stop talking. I’m not answering any questions.”
“You’re not under investigation, Mirand—“
“I’m aware. Miranda Rights are to be given if I answer investigative questions. You can claim you’re not interrogating me all day long, but you’re asking about the specifics of an incident that can be labeled a crime. So, yes, you’re interrogating me, therefore I will not be answering anything.”
Ignoring him, I use the last wet nap to scrub blood out of my hairline—the moment my mom and dad see my mugshot, they are going to go ballistic. Better wash up so they don’t think it’s mine—not that they would. They know better.
“I can hold you for up to seventy-two hours; think I might.”
“Okay,” I shoot back dryly. “If you’re going to charge me, go ahead. I’ll bond out anyway.”
“What makes you so sure of that?”
Finally, a question I can answer.
“I’m the heir of Patton Tech. There’s more money in my trust fund than there is in the county budget. My lawyers will have me out before sunrise.”
Finishing my whore’s bath, I neatly pile the filthy wet naps so they’re easier to remove—it’s not the janitor's fault I’m covered in blood. This is the least I can do.
Frustrated with me, Detective Hall stands and places his hands on his hips like a disappointed mother, hoping I'd have been more cooperative—pity.
Professor Jacobson told him I was merely standing up to my bully, onlooking students told him I went rabid, Chelsea’s friends were too busy crying to get much out.
There are a lot of variables and conflicting stories he’s trying to clear up.
Add in my non-compliance, this case is going to be a shit show for him.
Sorry, Detective. This one won’t tie up with a pretty little bow that fast.
A hard knock pounds through the door. I glance over my shoulder to look at it as Detective Hall surrenders and motions for it to open. Oh how my little black heart sings its devious praise when Elias steps inside. He gives me one quick scan then speaks, his tone revealing just how pissed he is.
“Uncuff her.” Two words, spoken like he’s ordering a spec-ops team and not the police.
“You are?”
“Elias Sullivan. Cain Defenses. Uncuff my client, before I have the entire Patton Tech legal team down here sifting through your evidence locker and case files.”
Jeez, getting us all hot and bothered over here, ‘Lias.
“Sadie’s part of an active investigation and being questioned. If you’re not her legal counsel, or a legal guardian, you will need to leave.”
“Are you charging her?”
“That’s ongoing.”
“Then we’re done here. Uncuff her. Last warning.”
They’re in a visual standoff, warring over me, over all four of us, and it couldn’t be hotter.
This man helped torture someone for me; now here he is, putting his career on the line.
No need for a lawyer when my Moros is sleuthing frustration, globs slapping on the cold concrete floor.
Rich and as viscous as blood when it’s rubbed into my skin.
Detective Hall begrudgingly reaches to unlock my cuffs.
I watch him rather than his hands, amused by the unprofessional snarl on his face.
A few clicks, and a rasp of metal later, the cuffs vacate my wrist and slide free from the table where they disappear into the holster on his belt.
Pointing at me, he talks to Elias like I’m non-existent.
“The only reason I’m letting her walk is because I know a bullied kid when I see one. It’s best she gets counseling, because this is going to be ugly in court.”
“Noted.”
Finally, he looks at me and I can’t help but smile.
A Cheshire cat ate the canary type of grin—all teeth and playfulness that’s chomping at my dura mater.
Lifting me out of my seat by my elbow, which I’ve come to realize is his way of restraining his vexation, he leads me out of the interrogation room to get my property from the release office.
Outside the sun is shining and I feel amazing—walking on cloud ten, eleven, twelve, far above nine—today’s been one of the best days I’ve had in years.